On January 17th, 2021 Betty White turned 99 (!), and Michelle Obama turned 57. H(late)BD, amazing ladies! It also marked the 2-year anniversary of poet Mary Oliver’s passing. And that means – I am 2 freakin’ years sober. WTF.
It’s taken me over a month to write this post. I kept thinking – be PROFOUND, Sober Sierra. BE SO PROFOUND YOU WILL CHANGE THE COURSE OF HUMANITY WITH YOUR WORDS.
So I just decided today was the day to get this thing done. You’re probably thinking – ‘Sober Sierra, you are under no obligation to post about this.’ And you would be correct with these thoughts.
But also, you might be pondering, ‘Well – she didn’t say anything about her 2-years, so maybe she has RELAPSED.’ Which is also a totally reasonable assumption. (BTW – we alcoholics all think this about each other when we don’t hear from someone for a long time. Totally normal. Don’t feel bad if it crossed your mind too.)
So my ego and I are here to say – I made it 2 years. A little over now, actually. 770 days to be exact. And 365 of those days were in 2020. Holy Hector, give me all the gold stars.
It goes without saying this second sober solar circumnavigation was quite different from the first. I went from living in a Recovery House with 7 other women to living in a remote cabin in the woods with 1 other man. I went from attending 5 meetings a week in rooms with 30 alcoholics to virtual meetings by myself on the living room couch.
But important changes have been happening. And if you told me 1-year ago I would utter the following, I would have thought you cuckoo:
- It’s actually kind of warm today at 45 degrees!
- I love being sober.
My first year, I was proud and grateful to be in recovery. By my second year though, I am finding myself in love with it. I felt all the feelings that 2020 had to offer (and boy, did it offer A LOT). I was present. I made decisions I can stand by and apologize for if I need to. I was me, in the deepest, truest sense.
And while there was much isolation this year, I certainly didn’t do it alone. My sober sisters, my dearest friends, incredible siblings and unbelievably loving parents kept me sane and committed.
And Steve. What can I say? I owe him his very own gushing post but for another day at another time. Or perhaps I will have to express it through interpretive dance or the best damn loaf of sourdough I’ve ever baked. I don’t know. Words do not seem to be enough.
But for now, My Love, thank you for being a witness to grief – mine and yours. And a gardener of growth – ours. We have climbed mountains, Baby. Summit after summit.
I think our crush and BFF Brene puts it best:
“Our job is not to deny the story, but to defy the ending—to rise strong, recognize our story, and rumble with the truth until we get to a place where we think, Yes. This is what happened. And I will choose how the story ends.”
I can’t wait to see where I end up with you. I love you… almost as much as I love being sober.
Onward and upwars. Year 3, here we come.