The day broke late for Me Thinks and I. We rose in the chilly shelter of frost bitten trees, a slurry of hail still strewn about the ground. The sun was hot and bright outside the cluster of greens that was our home for the night.
We put up some things to dry, packed away others, eating a little from our bags of food. It was a gorgeous day, truly.
We set out late at a good clip, and I realized today I had six years of sobriety. I wondered at the life I have.
The clouds started rolling in at 10:30, thunder promising some great show. We stopped for a very early lunch and to set out our wet things in the ever darkening sky. Halfway through lunch came the rains, and we hustled our gear back into their places before they became wetter.
We walked on, heads down against the nasty weather, talking about sobriety and the Free Masons. We talked about our conceptions of higher powers (mine: the vast, incomprehensible connection between us all, his: love). We talked about the power of storytelling.
I can remember myself six years ago, nervously thinking back on the one unsatisfying beer I had the night before, hiding it from the people who loved me, telling of my failure to the therapist who saved my life (she was the only person who said “you will be okay.”). I was broken down, beat up, unable to live life.
And today I meditated on my reality now, years of work and endless, inspiring friendships later. I am blessed. I am sitting alone beside my dinner, looking out on a fragrant, dewy meadow in the middle of nowhere, able to be with myself.