The other
day I backed out of my garage and down the driveway, as I have several thousand
times, only to scrape the stone wall that runs alongside. The rear panel of my car looks like a bear
took a swipe, and the length of the scratches indicates I didn’t notice right
away. That’s because my attention was on a cd of a conversation between
two writers, and I was trying to figure out who was speaking. The topic of their conversation: mindfulness.
Ah, the irony.
I get little
nudges and lessons in the most obvious ways.
Or maybe it’s that I finally pay attention when the point is so obvious.
It’s not enough to read about mindfulness.
Apparently, I have to be mindful
every waking minute.
There’s a
line in the Big Book “The spiritual life is not a theory. We have to live it.” It’s so tempting to talk a good game and live
on autopilot, especially with activities I do often and with people I know
well. In terms of my colleagues and my husband, I need to see them anew every day, share
what I appreciate, and be really present
to who they are today.
The lessons
for long-term recovery are also clear. I
can’t just go to meetings, call a sponsor, complete daily spiritual practices
as if checking them off a list. I don’t
have the luxury to become complacent or do sobriety half-way. I have a daily
reprieve “contingent on the maintenance of my spiritual condition,” and that
requires daily nourishment, which I receive only when fully present.
Each day I
have an invitation to wake up another degree. Let’s hope I don’t need to be
scraped to experience that today.
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