Be In the World

The longer I'm sober the simpler life becomes.  To put this in layman's terms: I'm getting stupider and stupider, happily so.

I spoke to the secretary of the Saturday meeting yesterday before the festivities got underway.  He's a heavily tattooed man, Hispanic, heroin addict, not especially educated, so someone I would have ignored before I gained a tiny bit of humility.  He quit coming to meetings during Covid but has recommitted himself to his recovery, getting a new sponsor and delving into The Steps again.  I got to hug him and tell him I love him.  There was a woman standing nearby, another dear friend, who I met at her second meeting eight years ago.

"Watch this," I told Paul.  I patted my cheek without looking at the woman, who came over and planted a loud kiss on said cheek.  I nodded to Paul: "How about that?"  "You did notice the sound effects?  I made a special effort," she said.

Before all of this kissing and loving began a man I know asked me if I had a minute as we walked to the meeting.  He has had a difficult year health-wise and he has married into a Lebanese immigrant family who interact together in a way that leaves him on the outside.  I think he's lonely.  I bet he's kind of afraid.  Getting older and weaker can be frightening.  He wondered if we could get together and . . . just have coffee.  "Of course," I said, touched that I had affected him in a way that allowed him to make this offer to me.  It's a great compliment.  It tells me that people understand that I see them.  It's so easy to put someone into a box of preconceived notions.  You're this and you're that and . . . let's see . . . it all adds up to someone I don't want to spend time with or someone who's going to bore me so keep moving . . . 

Into the kitchen I went after the smooching, pretty smugly, I should add.  I like the kitchen pre-meeting because that's where the coffee is - critical for a 7 AM meeting - so I get to greet almost everyone that comes in.  Post meeting I walked for an hour on the beach - on a delightfully foggy June morning - with a great, great friend, a guy who's diligent about his Program and actually interests me.  I know, I know, there are a few of them out there.  I excused myself halfway through the walk and sat down to meditate while listening to the waves.  I like nature sounds in the background when I meditate.  They're not disruptive to my concentration while helping me to connect to the natural world, a place that connects me to my Higher Power.  I mean, c'mon, I'm listening to wave sounds caused by the pull of the moon on the ocean, eternally repeating, as certain as my dislike for almost everyone on earth.

I strolled into the downtown area and bought some bok choy and white radishes at the weekly farmer's market before heading to my favorite coffee shop so that I could sit outside and read the paper and judge people as they passed by.  A young woman who works at the cafe walked outside to deliver breakfast to someone.  I had befriended her when I first started going to this particular establishment but because of my traveling and various quirks in our schedules and routines I hadn't seen her in a long time.  She glanced over and her face positively lit up - she rushed over for a hug and a brief chat before returning to work.  I was surprised at how effusive she was.  I mean, it really warmed my heart that this almost-child had that reaction.

While I was sitting there a young guy from the meeting stopped to say hello.  He has schizo-affective disorder and spent the last week in the hospital trying to get his meds rebalanced.  He's a nice kid but it can be somewhat uncomfortable dealing with him because he's clearly got some mental challenges.  Not scary-weird but autistic-weird.  I make a great effort to talk to him.  I make a great effort.  We're all psychos in recovery.  Nobody is too out-there that they can't recover but some people are harder to warm up to.  "Constitutionally unable to be honest," my ass.

Sort of the highlight of my morning was mugging it up with a young dad who was helping his daughter get the hang of taking her first steps.  Babies are always interested in my face for some reason.  Plus, I act like a two year old most of the time so maybe they recognize a kindred spirit.  I mean . . . who wouldn't look at a 67 year old hipster-doofus playing hide and seek with a newspaper while seeming to enjoy it immensely?  The parents loved it.  They were laughing as much as the infant.  We exchanged pleasantries as they left when I heard them speak in a foreign language and asked what it was.  Turns out they're a Dutch couple visiting SoCal on an extended trip so we a long conversation before they moved on.  Trust me - I know how refreshing it can be for SuperK and me to talk to someone who isn't one of us when we're on a long trip.  I hope I made them comfortable.

This is why I'm in recovery.  So I can be in the world.  So I'm not outside the looking glass watching other people be in the world.