In recovery, we have 12 Traditions to ensure that no one tells anyone else what or how they “should” believe. Instead, we share our personal experience, strength, and hope. Therefore, the following anecdote is an example of what I believe. When I was eighteen, I ran away from home and joined the Army. My platoon had three Drill Sergeants, one of whom we’ll call DS Jackson. For those who are unfamiliar with Basic Training, the DS is the biggest badass who takes scrawny teenagers and molds them into hardened soldiers. One component, which must be passed in training, is marksmanship, which I couldn’t pass for the life of me. I have terrible aim. The term “sin” literally means – to miss the mark. I spent all week at the range missing the targets, certain that I would never pass the final test. After firing my last rounds, I approached DS Jackson in tears. Amazingly, he allowed this snotty, sobbing teenager to hug him as he told me that I passed. He was Jesus to me in this moment, love with skin on. God showed up for me that day in a big way. I know God directed the bullets for me because passing that test was beyond my capacity and graduating from Basic Training was a pivotal point in my life. Reflecting upon this one example helps me to trust God to do for me what I cannot do for myself. My responsibility is to hold my weapon steady, take aim, and fire.

The pain isn’t coming; it’s already here. Anticipatory anxiety is the pain we feel before a painful event occurs. In fact, the painful event doesn’t even need to happen in order for the body to experience the pain that would have followed the event if the event had occurred. This phenomenon is often experienced in near events: stopping a vehicle moments before impact, bracing yourself for impact from a moving object seen in your periphery, tensing from the movement of shadows when you think you’re alone. However, anticipatory anxiety can be more damaging to the body when the foreseen event is further into the future: a terminal diagnosis, a child leaving for college, a disintegrating marriage. The less time between the realization of impending danger and the actual event, the more acute the body’s reaction will be. The more time between them, the more sustained the reactive responses will be. When my heart jumps out of my chest at a near collision, I know I will be okay. My heart rate will return to normal soon. When I feel as though my life is gradually falling to pieces around me, I’m not so certain. I know I’ll survive, but will my heart rate ever return to normal again? Will I be able to find my way back to normal? Is normal even the goal? Not for me. If I’m going to suffer through months of anticipatory anxiety, I sure as heck want better than normal once I reach the other side.

I don’t understand why people fear death. Death is easy. It just happens. Sometimes there’s pain involved, but it’s short and fleeting. Plus, our bodies protect us as we die. Adrenaline pumps through us, shock blankets us, confusion and denial carry us along as long as we need them to. Everyone dies, but not everyone lives. Living is the hard part. Living requires us to learn how to peacefully interact with other people. We have to learn healthy coping skills to replace our default survival mechanisms. Life is scary and hard. We need to confront things that need to change and actually do things differently in order to change them instead of merely slipping back into old patterns of behavior. Life is a series of unfortunate events spackled with periodic positive reinforcement. It keeps us guessing, which is what captivates us and makes life such an amazing adventure. And yet, our fear of death often prevents us from enjoying life while we’re here. I don’t want to live each day on autopilot, as a repeat of the day before, just to keep it predictable and safe. I want to live, to really live, even if it makes death a real possibility.

Drink it in. The sky, the pavement, the trees, yes, even the pavement, everything within sight is there to bless you. Things are a blessing. Places are a blessing. People are a blessing. Any time you’re in pain, open your eyes to be reminded of how blessed you are. There’s a natural tendency to close your eyes when you’re in pain, to tense up, to give any attempt at releasing your pain immediate priority. However, whatever you focus on, you magnify. Instead of relieving your pain, you’re reliving your pain. So, focus on something else. Relax. Everything’s going to be okay. Breathe. Pause. Focus on all of the blessings you see and before you know it, before you realize what’s happening, your pain will be fading into the background as you gradually adjust your lens.

There are days when it’s hard to get out of bed. When you get laid off from a job, when you’re sick, when no one else is home, you’re all alone with nothing to do and with no one around to care whether you ever get your butt moving, just getting to the restroom can be a struggle. I’ve spent much of my life in this state. I call it “survival mode.” I’m getting through another day to hold me over until something changes, and something always inevitably changes. Change is the one constant in life we can regularly count on. Change is our friend, even though we typically fear it. It feels safer to hold steady, to remain constant and familiar, but we need change as much as we need the air we breathe. Change comes in all shapes and sizes. It can be as small as shifting our position on the couch or as large as moving to a new continent or anything in between. Right now, the greatest change I need is a shift in perspective. I’m waiting, and I’m tired of waiting. I have plans to travel in a few days, and I have plans to prepare for farther travel a few days after that. All of my plans are for some point in the future, but I only get to live for today. What I decide to do today will determine the quality of my life today. None of us is ever promised tomorrow, so I better find some way to get myself in gear.

I’m not the only one who cries in the shower wondering how the little bit I’m able to do each day can ever make a dent in the bigger picture. There’s still pervasive crime committed as a desperate response to oppression. There’s still hatred masking deep-seated fear. There are still hurting people hurting other people, and my sitting at a desk typing on my laptop isn’t going to change that. I can tip generously, hold doors open for the elderly, all the good scout’s-honor activities I can conjure, and the poor, broken-down, weary travelers of the world will still be with us. So, what’s the point of pouring so much time and energy into fixing the world when it just continues to fall apart around me at an ever-quickening pace? It’s not my job. I’m not in charge of making the world a better place. My responsibility is to have and enjoy my life. That’s it. When I keep my focus on living the life that I love, everything else will fall into place.

Life is cyclical. I’m utterly powerless over the natural forces directing my life. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I keep ending up in exactly the same place. However, as a writer, I am able to use various metaphors to describe my malaise in a vain attempt to feel as though I’ve somehow made progress. I’ve been stuck in an emotional prison, a ball tumbler, a hamster wheel, and a carrousel, caught in a whirlpool, a swirling vortex of death, a literal hell. Different day, different decade, same torture chamber. I’d like to think there’s some cosmic karma at play. I must have been a really bad girl in a past life, but I’ve been around this exact same block enough times to realize the severity of the gravitational pull of the familiar. I don’t want a different life. I keep trying to force myself to be happy but it goes against the grain of my brain; it leaves me raw and bleeding. Fortunately, there is an alternative. I can embrace the suck. I can quit fighting the current and simply enjoy the ride. So what if I’m spinning in circles? Who cares if the horses are all fake? I can be where I am in the moment. I’m nauseatingly acquainted with the song that is stuck on replay. I can plug my ears or sing along.

After a week-long immersion class, I’m full of all kinds of useful wisdom. For starters, if you can’t take the heat, stay out of Southern California during the summer. Those who live there often acclimate, but driving down from Seattle in July ought to be avoided at all costs. Second, if you’re still ashamed of your past and feel like the world’s biggest loser (not referring to weight loss) then hanging out with privileged white folks and oppressed ex-gang member people of color at the same time will make your head spin and wring every ounce of compassion from your chest until you can no longer breathe. And, if you’re not careful, you can easily forget that sanity is possible. When your personal powerlessness slaps you smack in the face, surrender is the only way to survive. I can’t change the past. I’m not able to put an end to homelessness or drug addiction. I would if I could, but even the almighty powerful genie doesn’t act on that type of global scale. What I can do is offer my few talents and a couple of encouraging words and watch in amazement as they are multiplied a hundred-fold as everyone I influence does the same. If we all contribute a few hours per month, a few dollars per paycheck, a few acts of kindness, then we can change the world.

The gap between the haves and the have-nots is smaller than I thought. The standard width of railroad tracks in the United States is four feet, eight and a half inches. So, when someone is from “the wrong side of the tracks,” the physical distance can be covered by a single leap. Therefore, it should be easy enough to leave the poor neighborhood, for a moment anyway. But does your neighborhood of origin ever leave you? Whether rich or poor, or from somewhere in between, our primary experiences set our level of expectation and our tolerances. In my tender years, eating fast food was a rare treat and special occasions called for a trip to the local buffet. We were poor, but somehow, we weren’t as poor as I thought we were at the time. We had a house, clothes, and food, which I naturally took for granted. Now that I’ve grown up and moved on, it’s loving for me to treat myself to a steak dinner once in a while just because I can. And yet, there’s still a part of me that thinks it’s too extravagant. I should on myself and feel unworthy of something so expensive. I think, therefore I am what I think I am, and the circumference of my brain is also a short distance. However, our thoughts are not contained within the confines of the skull. Attempting to traverse my own opinion of myself is a vast undertaking. Regardless of the physical distance between a mansion and a slum, the psychological distance is the struggle to overcome.

Life is meant to be enjoyed not merely endured. However, I keep slipping back into survival mode because I’m chained to negativity. Everyone has a negativity bias. It’s an evolutionary necessity. The automatic reactivity of the brain is meant to keep us safe from physical dangers, most of which no longer exist. Positive engagement requires making a choice: to slow down, to breathe, to respond thoughtfully instead of reactively. Once we become aware of the ways in which our brains have become conditioned to protect us, then we’re able to consciously override and reconfigure those neurological connections. My brain was wired to believe that it’s not safe for me to speak up for myself. My body still responds with panic whenever defending myself is required. I have to be very intentional to make myself speak up if someone has violated one of my boundaries or has breached my personal space. It’s difficult to do, but the more I practice, the easier it gets. Practicing this behavior is one way for me to show love for myself.