Saturday, April 29, 2017

Not The Post I Thought I'd Write

I had several things planned to do yesterday--meet with my sponsor, meet with my sponsee, lunch with my other sponsee, oversee my ex's coming to get her things out of here, some yard work, Sabrina's game, and then a meeting where my friend was picking up a 20-year medallion. Everything went according to plan, except one. Do you really need two guesses as to which it was?
She did get some of her stuff out. And I'm not quite as uptight about getting the rest of it out as I was earlier in the week. Someone gained a greater appreciation for people who were always dependable and kept their word the hard way. As I listened to the tale of woe unfold, I managed to refrain from saying much of what I was thinking, largely because I had just spent the morning surrounded by recovering people and immersing myself in discussions of spiritual principle. And it had a positive effect. We had a very civil conversation in the afternoon, and she surprised me by initiating one last night. I'm not backsliding, but a few things were discussed, and I ended up saying to her, "If you had done those kind of things while we were together, and been that considerate and compromising, you'd still be here."
But she didn't, and she isn't, and I've been loping along the way to moving on. But one thing that has been bothering me has been my certitude that she is doomed to return to institutions or even to pass on, considering what is happening in this city right now. Regardless of my reaching the point of walking away, I really would like to feel that some day, she might get it together. For the first time yesterday, I saw some reason to hope, some flicker of the lights possibly going on. In the past, I would have used that as a reason to come back for more. That's not the case now. It's more a sigh of relief that it's OK to go on my way, that maybe the disaster doesn't have to and won't happen.
But that belongs to the future, and I'm starting to reorient my life from its former focal points. I have a few chores this morning--going to see my brother, grocery shopping. I made tentative plans to go fishing--yes, you read that right--because I'm 54 years old, a whole bunch of my friends swear that it is a fun and relaxing activity, and I've never fished as an adult (my only experience was my father taking me when I was about 6, and him getting fed up and leaving after less than 30 minutes. I often tell my friends that I am a thoroughly urban child; while most people's fathers around here took them hunting and fishing, mine took me to racetracks and pool halls). And since it is a month with a fifth Saturday, I will be eating Chinese for dinner tonight, and another friend highly recommends a place I haven't been to before--so we're going to check that out.
It's not all better, it's not all fun and games, and it's not necessarily an ideal life. But it is a pretty decent one, and there's too much out there for me to stay stuck in what-might-have-been or to let resentment build up. Especially since this city saw its fourth shooting in a month (and third murder) and twentieth drug overdose death of the year in the last few days. Most of the people I know do not remember the New York City that my parents fled from. But I do. And this place, although much smaller, is starting to resemble it in very uncomfortable fashion.

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