Dear Henry

 Dear Henry:

While I admire your inclination to write using pen and ink I assure you that my handwriting is virtually illegible . . . so electronica arise!

SuperK and I have been admiring/laughing/marveling/wondering at your repeated assurances that you are “as happy as you’ve ever been” during the pandemic. You may be marveling at that a little yourself.  

I have been looking at my relative state of contentment during the pandemic.  My life in A.A has been this weird migration from thinking I was a real laid-back dude (Translation: stoned and lethargic) to realizing I’m as Type A as you can be (competitive to a fault).  Over the last many years - especially since I retired - I’ve been attempting to merge my Type-A-ness with an understanding that being productive can be overrated.  Even more astounding to me has been trying to balance what the world sees as productive with what I see as productive.  Trying to understand the relative merits of Being V Doing.

The first time we went to Europe unescorted I almost killed us with an undoable agenda.  We’d labor to find a historic site and I’d be tapping my watch after 15 minutes, driven to get to the next place.  I showed SuperK the agenda for the next trip.  “Hmmm,” she said as she started crossing things out.  I still almost killed us, just not as dead as the first time.  Being Someplace V Doing Something Someplace.  Today we almost never travel without being able to stay in a spot for at least one extra day.  Feel a little bored, like we’ve seen what we came to see, casually, relaxed, thoughtfully, ready to move on instead of having to move on.

I still find myself chafing at the bit sometimes when I’m not being “productive.”  Museums have been part of a great awakening in my sensibility.  I don’t have to see every picture in the museum.  I don’t have to study the artist before I go.  I don’t have to read everything posted next to the painting, explaining what’s being expressed.  I can leave when I’m tired of looking at the art, whether this is 30 minutes or 3 hours.  You helped me with that - you just seemed to be looking at the art, letting it speak to you.  It’s OK to not like something.  It’s really OK to not understand something.  It’s going to seep into my consciousness differently than it will with someone else, and that’s OK.  Maybe that’s the point!

There’s an interesting spider web in the corner of my office area.  I think I’m going to look at it for a while, slack-jawed.

As ever and as always,

Love you, brother.