How Sturdy Is Your Tether?

We all have those days, even weeks where we feel like we are floating around untethered. It feels like we are unattached, even though deep down in our soul we know that we are not. We know because we meditate every day and work hard to keep that conscious contact, but sometimes that tether feels thin. Not always the case though. Sometimes, oftentimes,  it feels thick and sturdy as a rope. And then sometimes, it feels as just the wispiest, transparent line that you know in your heart is there, but it feels so unstable. You can't read it away, because there are too many damn books to read. You can't write it away, because there are too many beginnings and not enough ends. You can't sleep it away because suddenly, you're sleeping like shit. Like, really bad. Not quite the same terror you would wake up with when you were drinking, but it reminds you of that because it's that same dreaded hour of 3am and you can't fall back to sleep. You can't pray it away, because you've forgotten all of your prayers. Your many creative ideas can't make it go away because there are so many, you just stare at them all, overwhelmed. Your eyes dart from project to project, you make lists, you stare at your Pinterest board but your brain seriously feels like it may explode. There's like a 70's slide projector flashing slides from a Yosemite vacation in your head, but the clicker is stuck and the carousel is just clicking through so fast you can barely make out each image: There's a mountain! Is that a bear? Old Faithful! Omg, look at Dad's socks!

Until you just scream...STOP!

STOP! JUST DO ONE THING. Just do ONE thing. What do you want to do today? You know, besides all of the other things you do for other people, just do that one thing for yourself.

One day, I decided I wanted to wear a new dress. Perfect. On my to-do list: Make a dress today. So I started. I found a vintage pattern, found a print I liked, something I already had in my stash. Kept it simple. I cut, I sewed, I stayed steady, meticulous and slow. For a little while that day, I felt the slack come out of my rope. It started to feel a little thicker, a little sturdier. This is what recovering through creativity means to me.

I made I little chart for myself as well, for those days that I'm especially out there spinning. This is mine, your's may look different.

PICK THREE:

• Fitness
• Family
• Friends
• Sew/Create
• Read/Write
• Self-improvement
• Clean/Chores

I have a few caveats, for me, there is rarely a day that family isn't one of the three. Self-care and Recovery are sprinkled throughout this list, but there was a time that Recovery had it's own line. And for me, Work falls under the Sew/Create line, so you guessed it, if it's not chosen that day, I don't get paid. In looking at this neat, clean list, I am reminded that there was a day when Drinking had it's own line too and the days that it was checked, that made everything else a half-ass, no quarter-ass attempt. This really helps me when I'm spinning out. It helps to sturdy my tether. Just pick three. If we just hang on, we have time and all will happen the way it's supposed to, in time.

What happens when the newness wears off?

What happens when the newness wears off of a project? A relationship? A commitment? What happens when the newness wears off of a diet, a New Year's resolution, a new year? What happens when the newness wears off of sobriety?

Does this happen to the general population? Are those of us in recovery the Special Adventure Seekers: Slayers of the Mundane? When I look back on my drinking years as a collective, it does look like Groundhog Day as there were no significant changes in my life, no upwardly mobile strides towards potential. But in the minute, day to day, I never really knew how my day would unfold after my first drink. No matter how unexciting it would be in reality, even if I didn't leave my house, it was unpredictable. It was reckless. And it kept me drinking. Do we just especially abhor repetition?

The thrills I sought changed over the years: men, career aspirations, spontaneous dance parties, but they were all in an attempt to change how I felt. Fueled by alcohol, I wanted instant gratification. Be Here Now was never in my wheelhouse but Change This Now was my jam. So what can I do when zipping off my own skin everyday is not an option?

I suppose the most effective solutions would be to hop on a cross-country train with nothing but books and a journal or max out a credit card or have an affair or...drink. None of which are valid options. Next. I'm not going to say meditate and do yoga because (a) duh and (b) going deeper is not what I want when I feel this way and perhaps I'm not a good enough meditator or yogini to transcend this mortal coil, but I'm not. Long term goal noted.  

So this is a non-exhaustive list, all of which I've done, never all on the same day although that is not beyond comprehension:

• Write myself right. Right about it, just like I'm doing. Hit publish. Make a connection. New connections are just the dopamine hit I need.
• Drive myself to nature, since it isn't in my backyard, and go for a long-ass hike. Bonus if there are hills/mountains/water involved.
• Start another fucking creative project. I need this like I need another oozing orifice in my skull but it really, really does the trick.
• Watch a movie or read a novel. And by that I mean, NOT a documentary or a non-fiction book, suggesting I do life a different way. When I am at this place, I don't really want to be told what to do but I do want to dream about something different. Attraction rather than promotion.
• Put on make-up and jewelry, fix my hair and go somewhere. Even if it's the bookstore, even if it's the library, even if it's a meeting or a cafe, go somewhere, bring my journal, spy on people, eavesdrop on conversations, make assumptions about other people's lives, observe, take notes. 
• If all else fails or even if they don't fail, pray. Pray a new prayer, one you haven't used before or pray that same one, but louder, in a more distinct tone so that there is no mincing of words, "You take this, please."

I do know this, always seeking something new is exhausting, and ultimately unfulfulling. I've conducted 46 years worth of experiments and they've all eventually led me to the same conclusion. Sitting with something for a long time is where the real growth comes from. This is a brand new lesson for me and I'm still learning. And with everything we want to change, no matter how we try and circumvent this part, we have to do things differently than we did before. Change is the antithesis to stagnation and it will materialize if we do the work, more slowly than quickly, I've found. This life is new, these lessons are new and herein lies the thrill.

Denial and Dreamcatchers

"I think you drink too much and that is your problem." 

She may as well had slapped me across the face. Doctors aren't supposed to say that to their patients. I was pissed and clearly she hadn't listened to anything I had told her. Never mind the huge omission of bottles and boxes of my weekly wine intake in our original interview. She obviously didn't hear the part where I said I couldn't get anything done, like I'd fallen down a well and I couldn't climb out, like I'd been slogging through mud, that I'd been stuck for decades. How about testing me for adult ADD? Surely I'm experiencing perimenopause. You don't think this is depression? Tell me fucking anything but that I drink too much. You have no idea what you are talking about. 

Denial has big green Incredible Hulk strength. It can pick you up and throw you into another reality where your sight-line is very different from everyone else's. I read somewhere that it's the denial of death that promoted our species, but all grown up, it's killing some of us. It doesn't come as a parting gift when we're launched into this world, but how quickly we figure out it's effectiveness. Even when you do catch a glimpse of the actual cold, hard situation, it's like the tall guy standing in front of you at a rock show. He may shift his weight and you can see the band for a second, but then he quickly moves back to his original place, leaving you staring at his backside again. 

When you see someone die a particularly long, drawn-out death, you sometimes get to see them return to that baby-like state, before the layers of life's bullshit piled on. I got to see this when my Dad was dying and it punctured some well of compassion deep inside of me where I suddenly saw him as an innocent child. The child that knew nothing but love before his Dad drank too much, before his Dad's rage made him break chairs over little boy's heads and before his Mom pretended not to notice. Before my Dad carried that behavior into his little family, not even needing alcohol, he yelled and thrashed and hit and name-called. He didn't know that that wasn't how other families lived, he didn't share and he didn't care. So he worked, he provided, he bought jewelry and cars and motorcycles and vacations, so he obviously loved us and we would turn out just fine. When I watched him suck down a milkshake on his second to the last day of life, I saw a child that was full of unjaded, unfiltered, unaffected love. 

"The truth doesn't stop being the truth just because we aren't looking at it."

In the last ten years of my drinking I thought my children were safe because I stayed at home to drink. Not that I had never driven them around after a few, but at home, I was certain we were safe. I will never ever forget the look on their little faces, eyes big as plates as they watched flames shoot up from the stove to the vent after I threw too much Pernod into a hot cast iron. Or the time they discovered I left the bathroom sink running and flooded the whole bathroom. Or the time I missed a step carrying my baby girl and landed on my elbow instead of her tiny skull. These things didn't happen because I had a drinking problem. No way. I just forgot to eat dinner. I was over-tired. I just shouldn't have had that tequila shot, but that was a one-time mistake. And besides, my kids are safe. They know I love them.

The best thing I've heard when I was getting sober and voluntarily running my hand over the daily fire of shame was, "model the solution".  I've mentioned this on the blog before, but it bears repeating because I think it's the best message we can send to our children. Every problem is fixable, there is almost always a do-over, life gives us second chances and there is always a solution. Even when we have to swallow the cold, hard pill of reality, if we don't like it, we can fix it. Whether we are ready or not, children can be very adept at lifting the veil, giving the tall guy at the rock show a shove. Asperger kids are especially skilled at this and with his unedited honesty, my son said one night, "Mama, I don't like it when you're drunk." I guess the fifth time is the charm, because I finally heard the truth. And I've finally forgiven myself, forgiven my Dad and his Dad, for not being able to face reality and live accordingly. We did the best we could.

So now, I try and see things for what they are. I'm not perfect but if I was, I guess I would just ascend to Heaven now. I'm finding whatever I'm currently denying seems to pop up in my dreams anyway and since my sleeping head is running clear now, they are often fresh and ready for analyzation come morning. I occasionally have the typical drinking dreams that sober people have, but mine are less about the experience of being drunk and more about the sneaking, hiding, lying and covering-up. I know that is most likely because sober people are expected to show up in their lives with 100% honesty and that is still a tough row to hoe for me. Some habits take longer to die, so in the meantime, I have a dreamcatcher in every room. At the risk of committing a cultural misappropriation crime, I just love what they symbolize and I think they're pretty. I like pretty things. And in giving up my dreams to my dreamcatcher, I'm reminded to give up the rest to the Universe. As long as I can clearly see things for what they are, they can sort out the rest.

p.s. These are pretty easy to make with some embroidery hoops, string, yarn or fabric strips, some beads and feathers. For the center, I use pieces from already crocheted table cloths that I find at thrift stores. This and some glue, color and a tea-pot-filled afternoon, you are on your way giving your dreams a beautiful new home.

The Hero's Journey

My family and I finally saw "Star Wars: The Force Awakens" last week. I felt like my relationship with Star Wars was so terminally unique that I couldn't possibly stand in a long line or share a noisy theater with too many average fans, so I waited. I put myself in this special category of fandom because of a research paper I wrote in college twenty-five years ago where I explored Joseph Campbell's Hero's Journey structure and George Lucas' little trilogy, after which he penned. I'm sure I half-assed the paper, but the muscle memory is still there. My old roommate Anya turned me on to Joseph Campbell, as she had a framed piece of circular art with the tiny words Follow Your Bliss, words that he made iconic. Anya's bliss usually led her into the kitchen most mornings for a cold glass of boxed Franzia, so I really thought there was something to him.

I thank the Universe for my Asperger kid on most days, especially when I get to ignite his little brain with things that I know will blow it open. He had his planets memorized frontwards and backwards before the age of four, so it's no surprise that the original Star Wars trilogy was on regular rotation at our house for many years after. I didn't really tire of them either and loved to play out Luke's character through J.C.'s hero blueprint (and, by the way, it's probably no coincidence that he shared initials with the other Hero Laureate J.C.). My son and I really got to indulge each other's nerd and the first time I put the head-phones on him blasting "Space Oddity", he looked at me like, "I get this, Mom, I profoundly get this."

When I heard that David Bowie's lungs exhaled their last song yesterday, after overcoming my own initial lapse of breath, I thought that his journey really fit the hero schematic. He was birthed in an ordinary world, called to adventure, reluctantly took on the fame that poked holes and left scars. He collected personalities like stories: misfit, alien, nerd, outsider, junkie, superstar,  and made art unabashedly reflecting each faceted front. With every challenge and redirection, he faced the consequences of a new life, which in turn became the world's next favorite David Bowie incarnation. If cancer was his final test, "Lazarus" was his last sacrifice and the circle is complete. He is resurrected now through song and legacy. 

I probably wouldn't be here writing this if I wasn't convinced that even though I felt so many times that I was floating untethered, I was going to be okay. Or the times I was feeling stuck, I just needed to turn and face the strange. Life was always a polarity of the monotony, the grind, the American struggle against the ripped-dress-make-up-from-last-rebel-whore-still-drunk-mess that was me. Yes, I can just lick 'em by smiling. Yes, I do love to be loved. Wam bam thank you ma'am.

Did the weight of responsibility for saving someone's life feel heavy, David Bowie?

In an interview in 1973, Russell Harty asked David Bowie, "Do you indulge in any form of worship?" and he thought for a second and replied, "Life. I love life very much." Joseph Campbell said something similar in telling one of his favorite stories in which a social philosopher conveyed to a Japanese Shinto priest that his ideology and theology was something that he just couldn't wrap his head around. The priest's response, "I don't think we have ideology. We don't have theology. We dance." We can't all be heroes on an epic journey, but we can be for a day. Art does that. It can persuade us regular people that hero status is accessible if we stay curious, not lose our sense of wonder. That message came in clear to my twelve year old when last night he claimed, "People that are sad about dying probably didn't live a good life." So let's dance, little buddy.

I love to paint now, even though I'm not very good at it. What I see in my head doesn't always match what ends up on the paper, and that's okay. When my son came home from school and saw my masterpiece, he said, "Can I hang it in my room when you're done?" Ah, we can be each other's hero today.

The Music Trigger

I can be nostalgic to a fault, and the fault point can be dangerous territory for an alcoholic. They say not to romanticize the drink, but some fun was had and I have some records to prove it. Aside from the fun records, there are also the break-up records, the make-out records, the dance party for one records, the road trip records, the lay on the couch and cry records, the paint all night and indecipherably journal records and every single one of those musical relationships involved booze, in copious amounts. Of course there are all of the other musical montages of dance clubs, dance halls, festivals, dive shows and arena shows---all booze fueled and duh! It's hard to navigate in early sobriety. Sometimes I think I'm longing for a band or a song and I put it on and then, bam, I want to drink. I've had to re-enter with some trepidation and avoid some altogether. Nothing zaps you back to a time and place quite like a song can. 

I have now seen a few shows in sobriety. A few things stand out, some more obvious than others. Buying a ticket, picking out an appropriate outfit, paying for parking, sitters and a tshirt and remembering the entire show is hands-down, pretty amazing. Not losing your phone or purse, pretty cool. Knowing how you are getting home, also not to be scoffed at in the least. The smaller, surprising nuances were having to leave for the bathroom only once and not feeling a cringe over swaying into someone's personal space during my favorite song. I saw Nirvana, the Nevermind tour in 1991 and I remember the very beginning, maybe one song and waiting in line for the bathroom, my entire music concert history X 1000. I've not been to a dance club or a dance party yet. Maybe it will happen, maybe it will never happen, maybe it's already happened and that will just have to do. To be determined.

I've had this relic since my Grateful Dead days, if that is not obvious. They definitely represent a time when some fun was had, I can remember some flashes of fun. I like to pull them out every once in a while and work on them, add a patch or a scrap, repair another hole, add some embroidery. 

Fun tip: Mexican or South American textiles make the best patches. They are already embroidered, the are thick and durable and are found aplenty at most thrift stores (feel free to correct me if that is just specific to Texas thrift). And embroidery is the best way to pass some time, even if you are doing it in front of some Netflix or with some records spinning. I'll do a more embroidery specific post someday, but easy enough to fall down the Google tutorial hole or use a 1970's craft book, my personal fave. 

Some days, it is easier said than done. I have become very good at compartmentalizing and it works. It keeps me from walking into traffic most days. It's those days that I really want to shut that door, slam it even, that the thoughts start spilling under the door like smoke. If I just crack it a little, eventually I'll get used to breathing some smoke. And then I put on some Fleetwood Mac and know that everything is going to be okay. 

Evolve.

Do you pick a word for the coming year? For 2015, I didn't officially pick a word but it picked me and kept showing up in my life over and over. That word was THRIVE. For the first time in a couple of decades (yes, decades), I really feel like I did more than survive, I thrived. I started things that I wanted to start, I did things, actually followed through with action, I joined some amazing communities, in person and on-line and I tried to just raise the tide so others could rise with me. It's really been an amazing year and it's been so long since I've said that. I am marveling at the fact that I can reflect back on an entire year and see every ebb and flow with such clarity. There are no gaps, no missing weeks or entire months gone. I can see it all, big, wide and open. I am in awe and it is nothing short of a miracle. 

In picking a word for 2016, I got a little more intentional, so much so that I thought Intention would be the word. There was also Abundance and that wasn't so much as to manifest abundance but to acknowledge the abundance that already exists in my life. Then there was Supernova! That came to me from Rob Brezsny's astrology forecast for the 2016 Gemini. I could just visualize 2016 blasting the brightest light as my old stories and fears burned out to make way for a new star.  Great imagery, right? And then I went hiking with my family a few days ago at one of my favorite places in Texas. It's called Enchanted Rock and it holds my spirit, this place. We found a butterfly in a grassy enclave in the granite and she chose my word for me. I think she was dying and she was beautiful.

Evolve. Evolve into this new star, this next, new layer of life. Evolve to my better, best self. Evolve this site, the stories I want to share, the community I want to build. 

How will you evolve? Do you have a word for 2016? Comment away!

And if you want some brass tacks, some tactical information, intention and purpose, here it is: I will be adding more consistent content and creative ideas to the blog. I will be featuring more stories in the Meet the Unruffled section, which bytheway, if you know or happen to be someone in recovery who relies on your creative pursuit to guide your journey AND you live in TEXAS (sorry, this is my baby *cough*controlfreak*cough* and for now, I'm the sole photographer) and you want to be featured, please contact me! And I will be adding art/product from featured Unruffled artists in the Marketplace. You will also be able to find more essays from me over on the Since Right Now/Recovery Revolution's amazing site and I'll be on the podcast next week (Ackkk! first of the year, no pressure, right?). Love these guys, love their work, check them out if you haven't. And more, MORE. Big, wide, open, blessed and lucky. Happy 2016! And if you need help recovering, please reach out, you don't have to feel this way ever again. If you extend your hand even one inch, I promise I (or someone) will grab it. Big love.

Collage It Out!

I totally get you guys and your life-changing magic of tidying up. I really do.  But it's not excess if you use the things, right? And how would I while away hours with scissors and glue, snipping cool graphics and type to make ransom note style collage without these?

It's curated! Promise!

You know those affirmations and platitudes that no one person on God's green internet can resist passing around? Make one. Hang it in your bedroom so you can look at that shit everyday. Make it pretty so it sinks in, becomes an action rather than a nice thought. Especially easy if you have your own curated collection of tidy, well-used magazines. Or hit a thrift store.

You can do this. Anyone can do this. It nicely fills up the witchy hour, and it's a big, fat bonus that you can reap the benefits of this project in one night. Just a couple of hours and you are done.

Then you can put yourself to bed at 8pm with your Passionfruit  La Croix and marvel at your work! Just me?

Baby steps, baby cakes.

We step because we can, right? Immediate gratification is a thirst that still exists in me.  In stepping forward, giving it a little water everyday, I satiate it. Satisfied is better than hurried or stuffed or grap-all-you-can. I like this intentional life and being able to stop and reflect, making sure that my actions are aligned with my intentions feels good. All of this to say, it's coming together! This site, that is, in it's sweet, precious time, is forming beyond my intentions, head and heart. Thank god, because feeling overwhelmed is a useless emotion, amIright?

This is the beautiful Sandra. There will be more of her in photos and words at the site launch. She is one of the steps that is nudging this baby along to help it come together. It's a great time to talk about creativity and going for it, with Elizabeth Gilbert's book, Big Magic and Brenè Brown's Rising Strong, there is a hum in the air. I've been in tune to that particular hum most of my adult life, but in sobriety, it is louder than loud. So soon, there will be lots of stories of beautiful, creative women in recovery, beautiful photos, inspiring ideas and oh!...a marketplace. Because we have time for this and we're moving forward.

So with this post, another baby step but soon there will be a JUMP. Because I can.

Model the Solution

Moms that are also alcoholics carry around an extra piece of baggage in the overhead compartment. We are bombarded with media, social and alike, telling us that we need booze to cope. The memes, the Facebook groups, the Mommy and wine playdates, the wines directly marketed to Moms all validate any reason to drink. And then if you have a night off from the kids? No problem. Book clubs with wine, painting with twists (spoiler: twist = wine), movie dates with bars are all encouraged because obviously Moms need to drink. And there is no inherent problem with any of these things, unless of course, you're an alcoholic.

So here's the rub. What happens to the Mom that wakes up one day with a nasty little addiction? What happens to the Mom that has crossed lines, any line, that society and your integrity determined should never be crossed? I know that my decision making skills became poor to downright terrible after the first glass, even when my kids were present. There is no shame, either internal or societal, that is comparable to the shame showered on an alcoholic Mother who has crossed the line. None. So what do we do? Enjoy all the wine, Mommies, but not too much. It's very confusing and no wonder I see so many Moms everyday that have no idea how they got to where they are or how to back out.

The good news is, there is a solution. But in spite of all of the recovery, including putting down the drink, that shame can still linger. The best thing I ever heard around the topic of all the shame and regret that we Moms feel over what damage we may have done to our children, what precious time has been lost, was this: model the solution. Show our kids how to cope with stress, how to relax, how to wind down, how to decompress, how to show up without booze. We can show them how we are okay, just the way we are, without having to change our physical, mental and emotional states with booze. We're good and we're enough. I don't know about you, but it never occurred to me that I was modeling the opposite of that to my kids. And even though I really want to make up for lost time, I believe it happened the way it was supposed to and now I just keep moving into the right way everyday.

So this is what we now do with downtime.

Besides, how cute is a boy that sews?

Want to give less ducks?

I am no scientist, but I do know that in early sobriety, running saved my ass. A quick Google validates that sentiment. Exercise produces neurochemicals in the brain, like endorphins, whose job it is to reduce the perception of pain and act as a sedative, similar to morphine (so dope dope, yes!). The other one it elevates is dopamine and since alcohol used to do that, I'd say a good run is a healthy replacement. And yes, my exercise of choice was and is the run. Gyms just don't appeal to me, aside from the umphfshhumphfshhumphfshh of the house music that makes me want to shove hot spikes under my nails, the introvert in me much prefers the solitude of a run. 

A solitary exercise with one caveat though: thousands of podcaster friends yakking in my ear saved my ass as well. I won't go into the lists of all the podcasts I love, but I've been listening to them since 2009, so I've racked up a gamut of favorites. In the beginning, my go-tos were definitely in the inspirational/spiritual genre. And I definitely loaded up on comedy because you can't forget to laugh, especially in early sobriety, it's a great antithesis to crying. It took me three months to find a recovery community, much less recovery podcasts (maybe a story for another post), so I'm not kidding when I say this kept me from drinking. It got me out of my house and out of my head and inspired some insightful journal entries as well.

Now that I do have some time and a recovery community behind me, running is now a form of moving meditation. Ellen Langer, who authored Mindfulness in the 80's, describes mindfulness as just actively noticing things and any kind of meditation can be a sort of means to that end. Once, I counted dead frogs on my run. There were 22, by the way. I stopped to take pictures of my favorite springtime blooms in my hood, saw empty robin's egg shells, butterfly wings, once noticed a discarded, whole pecan pie (serious crimes against humanity). The point is, I started noticing all of these very small, beautiful things that before went unnoticed and were certainly insignificant. It felt like a whole new world had opened up, and that's not just a metaphor. It has made the experience that much more rich.

So perhaps running doesn't make me give less ducks about things that are important, and that's a good thing. But the unimportant things that used to consume me, things that were out of my control, things that used to baffle me,  I have a lot less ducks to give and I have to credit a lot of that to running. The witching hour voices got a lot quieter the farther I was from my kitchen...so did my precious childrens', come to think of it, so bonus. You don't have to be training for a marathon, just don those kicks and take off! 

The Written Bloom.

I have always been a writer, as I have always written words down on paper. The thirteen year old angst-filled, self-deprecating words that were kept under lock and key morphed slightly to insightfully earnest, psychedelic-induced journaling (read: babble) of the college years. Both painful to read now, especially due to my insistence on perpetual uniqueness, but I guess that isn't really a unique experience either. But I wrote things down. And even though I was my only audience, it definitely informed any ability I have today. 

I am an introvert and introverts usually make good writers. I kept with the inconsistent journals and the occasional blogs but unfortunately, I could never take myself too seriously as the impulse to put ass in chair always came after several glasses of wine. Oh how sharp we thought we were. And we are all familiar with the posse of authors that got away with this but, ummm, I was not one of them.

Very insightful. Like Xanadu, right? If only we could read those last few words, I'm sure I was about to say something very important. So writing, just like everything I did, I could only give about 80% of myself, and that was a good day. 

Today, I'm still writing, as you can see. And it's legible! I'm even taking a writing class, although I still don't take myself too seriously. I really make mine akin to storytelling, and if you're brave enough to put your story out there, it can be a "me too" message in a bottle for someone that is isolating and feeling that perpetual uniqueness we've all felt. And still, not even necessary to experience the benefits of writing your story, even it stays under lock and key. Bloom away!

What brings you joy?

Time, or lack there of, was forever blamed for my lack of creative pursuits. And although I thought alcohol made me more creative, it really only made me more creative in TALKING about being creative, never in actually DOING the creative thing. I love the saying that you hear in recovery circles, "Sobriety delivers what alcohol promises". How true is that? Do something in sobriety that you couldn't do when you were drinking. Be the person you pretended to be when you were drunk. And it's like turning on the propeller. It helps to keep you on course. Bonus.

So what is that thing? Well, what brings you joy? What brought you joy as a kid? Start with that. Make something. Give yourself permission and don't feel guilty. We've done enough of the guilt thing already, we're done with that. The fact that you are here, that the Universe chose you to not be taken by this disease makes you worthy. Honor that, show up, give something back and do something. It's not just self-care, it can feed you and you deserve this nourishment. And the simple act of doing can often take us out of our heads so we can experience the simple joys of just being present.

My dream is to have a cozy place here in Austin where we can all sit around a big table and tell stories while we sew and sip on tea. And when we're done with our cute things we made, we can glam it up in front of a glittery backdrop and take pictures of each other in our new skirts and our new skin. Until then, let's meet back here and I'll share with you many, many ideas to jumpstart your creative pursuits and get you through any and all witchy hours. Okay?

To be human is to be connected. ---Pico Iyer

Who are The Unruffled?

So, who are the Unruffled? We are women (sorry for the slant, guys, but you're welcome as well) who have broken the shackles of whatever was holding us down. What do we want? Well, we want to be happy, right? I know, it can be such an elusive state of being, especially when we are fresh at attempting this 'life on life's terms' gig. What if we defined happiness as simply, a joy we feel when we are working towards our potential. Don't be scared by the word 'potential' either, because I believe potential can simply mean productive and we need activities to encourage that feeling. Do you know what you like to do? Okay, that's why I'm here and we're going to jump right in.

Sewing is my thing, as I've mentioned before. If you don't have a sewing machine or if you have one but it's just too scary of an undertaking right now, this is a great book to start with.

This book is from the Alabama Chanin Studios, by Natalie Chanin. She has quite a few books and they all include patterns and are designed for hand-stitching cotton jersey. No sewing machine required and you can even recycle old tshirts from your closet.

This particular pattern is for a corset style top and besides tees, you only need scissors, embroidery thread and an embroidery needle. And coffee maybe.

Natalie says you have to "love your thread". Seriously, what is not to love about that?

Here's a little trick if you are a recovering perfectionist. Make quarter inch slash marks on your thumb with a sharpie to space your stitches. Doesn't that make your little perfectionist heart sing?

This top has eight pieces that you put together like a puzzle. I can't tell you how satisfying this is as it comes together. You must do this.

I wanted to enjoy this as a nightly activity before getting sober, I really did. I'd set out my supplies, make a space on the couch but once the wine was popped, it never happened. Never. Ever. If my potential is making a few cute tops out of my old tshirts, then I must be happy because this activity brings much joy. Simple.

Hi, my name is Sondra and I'm a...

Multi-passionate. That's a word I use now. Perhaps this is the word I should have always used to describe myself but if I were to be honest, for years I was only passionate about one thing and that was my next drink.  The line that separated 'is this fun' from 'is this really not fun at all' had become blurred a long time ago. Am I doing this to decompress and relax or am I addicted? Does everyone drink like me or do they actually not? These were seemingly benign questions I would ponder when maybe there was still a chance of taking it back from the direction it came but that certainly wasn't the last several years. They were the years of everyday was a reason to drink and one was never enough. It was no longer a question of fun but of necessity. I found a journal entry from over a year ago where I described myself as a reckless fate-tempter, luck-pusher indestructible. And that was it, fun nowhere in sight. 

The voice that talks to you on the day you surrender sounds a lot like your own voice, only way more desperate and miserable. If your's sounded like mine, it probably said something like, "This is going to be your life, everyday, for the rest of your life". In an interview, Sarah Hepola (Blackout) said that she wasn't necessarily afraid of dying, she was afraid of never changing. And even though I was slowly killing myself, that was deeply denied. What was apparent, though, was that I would never change. Those things I loved that filled the hole to make me whole, things besides alcohol, would never get the attention and the nurturing they deserved because alcohol had turned my brain into a flophouse. 

On that day last Summer, I titled my life going forward as My Mid-Life Solution. And while there was no drink I hadn't drunk, no party I had not attended, no random guy I had not made out with (okay, that behavior actually hadn't presented itself in a while), I wasn't quite sure where that left me, but I knew I wasn't going to drink that day. And I didn't and did the same thing the next. Once the alcohol obsessed train leaves the station, it frees up some time. I listened to some podcasts, I took some long walks, I read some books, I read some poetry. I read The Summer Day by Mary Oliver, who told me, "I don't know exactly what prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" 

It doesn't have to be big. In fact, the simpler, the better. But let's plan to do something with our one wild and precious life.

Late Bloomer

If you just start typing, the words will appear, right? *Ahem* My name is Sondra and I am 45, er 46 year old wearer of many hats, the biggest being wife and Mom of two. I am also a woman in recovery. That felt strange to type but it is my truth and truths are hard things to type out, much less blab to the world.  But damn, is it freeing once they are identified and brought to the surface. I'm also a seamstress, photographer, writer, story-teller, eternal optimist and dreamer of big dreams. So...with that intro, what if there was one obstacle in your life that if removed, could free you to work towards meeting your potential? Give your life purpose? 

Would you feel like you were given a second chance?

Now, I don't want to put too much pressure on this 'potential' thing. Your potential could be mowing your lawn once a week, taking your kids to the pool every other Summer day, or maybe a more creative pursuit. Do you want to finally make the quilt that has starred in your DIY Pinterest board? Learn how to use the camera you got for Christmas two years ago and take a frame-worthy picture of your family?  Maybe you just want to make yourself feel beautiful and confident everyday, have your outsides match your new insides? Write and tell your NEW story?

For me, that obstacle was alcohol. For the last 25 years, I've felt like I've lived in a well. I was alive but my view and space were so narrowly limited, so very small. As I've climbed out of that well, I see the world as so big. I can see so many opportunities and it's amazing. Maybe your obstacle is another dish on the buffet of addictions: prescription drugs, co-dependency, love, workaholism, food. When these obstacles are addressed, worked on and even removed, there is a void to fill. Let's fill it up!

This is still in the very early stages of construction, but I hope you'll join me on this tiny chunk of space that I'm renting on the Internet as we explore and celebrate those creative pursuits that are filling the void.  Please join my tribe, The Unruffled.