FREE STUFF!

Who can resist free stuff?  It seems foolish to pass it up, right?  Who couldn’t use another rubber jar opener or keychain or tote bag? 

Me.

A year ago you wouldn’t have heard me say that.  I’ve always loved the little freebies.  As this year has rolled on, I’ve done some work related traveling that took me to different consumer shows – travel shows, travel industry events, shows sponsored by magazines and newspapers – and at all of these, people flock to the tables with the free stuff.  Everyone grabs something.  I would stroll by them, glace at the table and the grinning salesperson (I assumed), and try to graciously snag whatever item was up for grabs.  After one show, I can home with a large, heavy tote bag, loaded with brochures and catalogs of places I want to visit someday and  . . . . wait for it . . . more tote bags!! Flash drives, bottle holders, lots and lots of pens, magnets, clips, small notepads, and water bottles.

The lure of free stuff extends beyond the giveaways at trade shows.  That’s marketing.  It’s meant for you to take and use and maybe remember the business when you need a limo to the airport. 

But the free stuff isn’t really free.  It comes with a cost.  For that travel show where I got all the stuff, the cost was an aching back and shoulder from carrying it around, the loss of time and space trying to figure out where and how to store this “reference” material, and just another square foot of my home filled.  Is this what I’m paying the mortgage for?

George Carlin used to say that our homes are just a place for our stuff.  My stuff happens to fill up a two story Cape style home with a basement and garage.  We pay the mortgage to house this stuff and what of it do we actually need? 

These thoughts come to mind a lot lately.  I’ve been reading books about minimalism and seriously considering what surrounds me and the associated costs.  I’m not talking the monetary costs, although that is a part of it, but the costs to psyche from the added stress of maintaining the stuff, storing the stuff, and shopping for more stuff. 

There are a whole bunch of people out there who write about the joys of less stuff.  Who would have thought?

Some of the books I’ve read recently include:

Miss Minimalist – Inspiration to downsize, declutter, and simplify by Francine Jay

This is the one that started it.  I was in my hotel room in New York with my Kindle and somehow searching for “simplify my life” brought me to her book.  It inspired me in that she kept reminding me that less stuff means more travel, and I like travel.  I did find her a bit extreme, though, and couldn’t imagine living in a space without art on the walls.  Here’s her website:  http://www.missminimalist.com/

Simplify – 7 guiding principles to help anyone decluttertheir home and life by Joshua Becker.  Joshua and his wife were doing what many homeowners in suburbia do, clean out the garage, when it occurred to him that if he got rid of some of the stuff, he’d be able to spend more quality time with said wife and their children.  He wasn’t as extreme, and I think my goal would be along these lines.  Here is his website:  www.becomingminimalist.com

Minimalism - Live a meaningful life  by Joshua Fields Millburn & Ryan Nicodemus.  Two young guys, friends for years, plodding down the road into adulthood, doing what we’re all told to do, go out and get a job and be successful, but after a few years of “success” – making big money, buying lots of big stuff, carrying big debt – all the while feeling like something’s missing – big time.  They shed their stuff, downsize, get rid of their crap, and now write and lecture about the minimalist lifestyle.  Here’s their website:  www.theminimalists.com.  If you go to Amazon today and tomorrow (June 22^nd & 23^rd, 2012) you can download Millburn’s new book, After the Crash for free. 

How to start a freedom business  by Colin Wright  I love his idea of traveling full time and living wherever the urge takes him.  I’m not sure that I could do that but I’d be willing to try traveling for a while.  I think it’s the idea of not having any roots whatsoever that throws me.  Here’s his website:  http://exilelifestyle.com/

And I liked this post on Julien Smith’s blog:  http://inoveryourhead.net/the-short-16-step-guide-to-getting-rid-of-your-crap/

Especially # 6 . . . I have a spare room like that.  It’s only a place for stuff.  No one has lived in it. 

So this ought to get you started down the road.  Seems odd to suggest you buy more stuff to learn how to get rid of old stuff.  My Kindle is bearing the weight of my purchases.  At least I don’t have 4 (or more!) actual paper books to add to my already cluttered bookshelves. 

Now I’ve got to start getting rid of my crap.  And stop bringing in more crap.  I read this earlier today – sorry but I’m not sure where to attribute it –

It went something like:

Step 1: Rent a dumpster.
Step 2: Put your stuff in it.

The more you let go, the easier it is to let go, and the freer you become.

If you want to be happy, be.

This quote was in a newsletter I got yesterday.  It was attributed to Leo Tolstoy.  A short little sentence it is, but oh the power it assumes.  As I read it and thought about it, I could almost feel the happiness roll over me. 

If you want to be happy, you can be happy.  Why is it that we tend to give away to others the power of our own happiness?  By that I mean the self defeating statements that I know I’m guilty of enunciating like “I’ll be happy when  . . . we can buy a bigger house . . . this winter is over . . . fill in the blank.”  It could be anything on which you hinge happiness. 

 So, stop waiting ... 
Until your car or home is paid off. 
Until you get a new car or home. 
Until your kids leave the house. 
Until you go back to school. 
Until you finish school. 
Until you lose 10 lbs. 
Until you gain 10 lbs. 
Until you get married. 
Until you get a divorce. 
Until you have kids. 
Until you retire. 
Until summer.. 
Until spring. 
Until winter. 
Until fall. 
Until you die. There is no better time than right now to be happy. Happiness is a journey, not a destination. So work like you don't need money, love like you've never been hurt, 
and, dance like no one's watching. 

If not now, when? Your life will always be filled with challenges.  It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with ... and remember that time waits for no one. 

I recall a story that was emailed to me a few years back.  A man’s wife had just died and he was preparing the outfit in which she would be buried.  In her closet he comes across several brand new outfits, lovely ones, still with tags on them.  She had been saving them for something, some special time, not thinking that the day may never come.  Feel good and be happy now.  Why had she not enjoyed the new clothes and the way they felt against her skin or the way the color set off her eyes?  Why wait?

Okay so as we roll into another year, I’m going to post this little quote on the top of my day planner.  I will write it in random places in my calendar to remind me that I don’t need a reason or have to wait to be happy.  My life is good today. 

Merry Christmas all!

Five small years

 

Indulge me if you will.

Humor me while I pat myself on the back. 

Today is a day of celebration.

It’s a day that for a long time I couldn’t even imagine.  Couldn’t fathom.  

Today marks five – count em’ – five years of sobriety for me. 

Yayyy me!

So today, I’m going to put my camera down, wander away from editing, and stop for a moment and thank people and think about the past five years.

I first have to thank my husband.  He wasn’t my husband when we started this journey, so many many years ago as friends.  We had partied together, with our respective former spouses, and always maintained a connection through the years and through divorces.  When I called him, what was it, seven years ago, and told him that I was now single, I had been drinking that night.  It was a classic drunk dial.  But I did remember him telling me that he had quit drinking and had celebrated two years sober just a few months before that.  I couldn’t believe it.  I wanted to know why.  But not why, like what happened to bring you to this decision, it was more like why the hell would you want to do that?

Fast forward.  This man put up with a lot of the usual alcoholic behavior from me.  Lying, manipulation, deceit, heartache.  But he was there that day that I woke up and said that enough was enough.  And he cheered me on at every turn.  And though it’s been a long time since the thought of a drink had me firmly in its clutched fist, we still talk about it.  We even joke about it.  Despite his argument to the contrary, I don’t think I’d be sober without him.  He’ll probably never read this blog.  He doesn’t care much for sentimentality.  He just knows.  He gets it.  He gets me. 

My parents have been cheerleaders, too.  When they let me move back in with them so that I could start down the path to recovery, I doubt they knew what they were in for.  I detoxed and put together a few days, then a few weeks of sobriety, making an effort to go to AA meetings, and appear sincere, and then I’d relapse.  Some trigger or another had me off to the store.  It was a horrible, desperate time for me and for them.  How to win the battle?  I know they were relieved when in a final frightening weekend, my now husband asked me to move in with him.

It was supposed to be for ninety days, or for whatever it took for me to get sober.  I had to commit to rehabilitation, which I did.  Finally it felt like I was doing this for me and not to please others.  I couldn’t keep living the life I had been.  Those ninety days were hard days.  I went to meetings daily, to intensive outpatient treatment and tried to help others, giving rides and making phone calls.  My husband says that he know when I moved in that he was going to marry me.  He was right. 

So, because I got sober so many things have happened that I must be grateful for. 

Set aside the love story, which intertwines throughout.  I was able to repair the damaged relationship with my parents.  I worked on the financial disaster I was in and took responsibility for myself.  I learned to stop blaming others for my actions.  I have this absolutely wonderful daughter who is growing into a very cool teen.  I love that she is here with me in this house we bought and that we have a home and a life together. 

I renewed my passion for photography and picked up my camera instead of a drink.  In the past five years, I’ve grown this little business and have learned so much more about my craft and about the business of photography. 

I’ve traveled to places I would have never dreamed.  Of course you think of places like Orlando when you’re a kid, but I didn’t have a clue about Mexico.  I’ve snorkeled in the Caribbean and rode the tallest and fastest roller coaster on the continent. 

I make a mean guacamole and ran a 10 k.  I saw the Lion King on Broadway and Blue Man Group at the Charles Theatre in Boston.  Cozumel.  Phillipsburg.  Hollywood.  Virginia Beach.  Tampa Bay.  Bar Harbor.  My own backyard.  Planted gardens and flowers. 

All in the last five years. 

I sit on the couch at night and watch TV with my family and it’s all perfectly normal. 

This morning I took photos of frosted leaves and snow in my driveway before going to work.  Simple little things like that are things I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to experience had I continued drinking.  Hell, I don’t even know whether I’d be alive.  I’m certain that my daughter would not be living with me and my husband wouldn’t be my husband.  That much I know.  Where I would be no one knows.  It’s surprising and wonderful the paths we take and where they lead us.

So today, today is yet another day that I won’t drink, and I will love and be loved, trust and be trusted, give and be given to.  Today is another reason to celebrate.

Recovery Topic: For Sale – The wreckage of my past

That’s an expression they use; the wreckage of my past. It’s the trail of bodies you leave behind you when you move into recovery. Quitting drinking is just the beginning. Next the hard part begins. This is when you clean up the mess you’ve made. It takes a lot of work to become responsible for your behavior and begin to pay your debts, financial as well as social, emotional, and physical. For me, it seemed like I would never dig out of the bills I had neglected for so long. I felt like I was constantly being reminded of the negative affects of my drinking. Sometimes I felt like throwing up my hands and giving up. In hindsight, I’ve accomplished a lot in taking care of those things. Along the way, much has changed for me. From a feng shui perspective, I feel better not being reminded of the negatives. Psychologically, there is benefit in living in a positive nurturing environment, free of the “wreckage of my past.”




But there are things that I’ve clung to.

We’ve sold my thirteen year old Nissan Pathfinder. I love that car. I will miss it. See that? That’s where I rear ended someone and got an OUI some six years ago now. And over there, that dent? A year and a half has gone by now since that happened and each time I think about it, I try to get a little more “life is short” into me. It was frigid cold, but sunny winter day in January 2009. I had just dropped Nola off and was late for work, taking a road that I hate taking, getting stuck behind people going really slow and driving up my aggravation. I passed a car, then another. The road crowns to allow for runoff and the ice had become pitted and grooved. The sun was melting that top layer and it became really slick. I crested a hill and before I knew what was really happening, I was spinning and traveling down the hill, in the opposite lane, backwards. Whoosh! A relatively soft rear end landing in a snow bank, but when I managed to get out of the car, I found that not only had I taken out a mailbox, I had come within inches of hitting a woman who was shoveling the end of her driveway while waiting for the bus to come for her grandson, who stood just a few feet behind her. She showed me her footprint in the snow where she had stood. Two or three inches away: my tire tracks. I could have killed her. I could have crippled her. Thankfully, I only dented the fenders and plowed down her mailbox. My insurance covered the cost of the mailbox and post, and we did the best we could to have the fender repaired enough to get it through inspection for another year. Each time I think about that accident, I think about how close it was and I shiver with that feeling of “what if . . “

When I became the owner of that car, my life was incredibly different. I was married to a man who I believe had been having an affair, if not of a physical nature, surely an emotional one. Not that I had been entirely faithful during our marriage, but when we bought that car together, trading in another one, it was a renewed commitment to each other as well. We became the owners of it in early 1998, buying it new off the lot from the dealer, with an odometer reading of 1. That year, 1998, would prove pivotal for us, first discovering we were expecting a baby, then losing that baby. He rushed me to the hospital for emergency surgery to remove the life trapped in my right fallopian tube. The seats reclined to offer comfort on the way home to recover. Back and forth to the health center we drove in that car as we learned about and pursued fertility treatment, then the trip to have eggs removed and another trip to transplant the embryos. Again we had the reclining seat on the way home, as it was advised to be as still as possible for the days afterwards. I recall staring through the windshield of that car at the sign that my husband and father had posted on the garage door for me, my sisters, and mother when we returned from our annual shopping trip to Freeport the day after thanksgiving: Welcome home Mommy. The hospital had called with the pregnancy test results and that day I found out I was pregnant. I was driven in that car to the hospital near midnight on August 1st, 1999. Our daughter had her first car ride in that car, home from the hospital. I sat in the back seat with her. Many rides she would have in that car. Many drinks spilled and snacks dropped. We had six dogs in that car when we moved to Maine. Their wirey hair still sticks to the back of the seats. We were so optimistic then, moving back to Maine with our infant daughter, close to my parents and family, starting up a new business in a new town. I took many long drives by the ocean in attempts to get away as the business strained our marriage. I parked at the beaches and looked out over the waves. I started driving around with a tumbler full of wine or vodka and lemonade. I did a lot of drunk driving in that car. I have to admit that. I was fortunate that I had only one OUI, after rear ending someone. See the front fender and grill? That’s where I hit the other car. I never got it fixed, didn’t report it to the insurance company. At that point in my life, things were spiraling out of control and continued to get worse. A few months after that accident, I lost my license for a year. The car sat parked for the whole time. It was neglected while I neglected myself. When I started driving that car again, I was stuck in a pattern of sobriety and relapse. I drove that car to pick up my daughter on the day I hit my bottom. I drove drunk to pick up my daughter at school and wasn’t allowed to take her, thankfully. The car stayed at her school until I was released from the hospital. I took a cab to pick it up, late in the night. I drove to the hotel I was staying at and called Joe. I called to surrender. I called to say I couldn’t do it alone and needed help. The next day, he drove the two and a half hours to come get me. We drove to Bangor and I moved in with him. That car has been parked next to his ever since.



Over the past 4 ½ years since then, that car has been cleaned and cared for. It got serviced when it was supposed to and fixed when it needed to. It carried groceries home, my daughter to school, and yard debris to the dump. It carried a lot of our belongings from the apartment we rented to the house we bought. It was my guardian on snowy days, trying to get home from work, biting down in four wheel drive and keeping me on the road.

In many ways, the life of that vehicle parallels my own. The good times and the bad times. The memories of my life in the past thirteen years show that car parked in the background, often waiting to take me to the next place. Short trips, long trips, big moves and small ones. Selling it is like selling some of my history. My recovery needs to move forward and change is a good thing. The dents and burns and dings reminded me on a daily basis of mistakes I made. Sometimes it is good to be reminded and other times it casts a negative shadow over your accomplishments.



So, as I drove it last night, to meet the couple who bought it, these thoughts passed through my consciousness. The last time I grip the wheel, the last time I close the window and turn off the radio, the last time of so many that I close the rear gate and lock the door. Now this young family can take the car. We heard them squeal with excitement. Their baby slept in the car seat as they signed the bill of sale and handed me a check. I hope that they treat my car well and vice versa. I hope they have good experiences and create happy memories on the road. Let it move them and take them places they’ve never been. Let them wash and wax and care for it. Let their son spill his juice on the back seat and lose goldfish under the mats.



Give them all new life. Drive on. Don’t forget the past but look to the future.

Recovery Reading

On my bookshelf, interspersed with my dreamy tropical travelogues, literary fiction, and just plain fun reading is a collection of recovery reading that has enlightened, encouraged, and comforted me over the past few months. I would like to take the opportunity to share these books with you and suggest that if you haven’t read them, you consider doing so. Each speaks from a different voice. Each has a distinct story to tell. I have enjoyed them all.

The first book I ever read that related at all to recovery, one which I recently re-read just because I loved it so and am a huge fan of the author is Augusten Burrough’s Dry. After I read the AA big book, early on in my recovery, this was recommended to me. You might be a bit familiar with the author’s memoir of his demented and dysfunctional childhood, which was made into a movie of the same name, Running with Scissors. In Dry, Burroughs tells of the depths of his alcoholism, reluctant recovery, and continued sobriety. His humor and sarcasm throughout is what really drew me into this book. I felt a relief in reading this book although it was uncomfortable in places, in finding that I could still laugh. I’ve read every other book Augusten Burroughs has read and just love him so this was an easy pick for me in listing recovery reading. I met him at a lecture when I was 5 months sober. I was nearly star struck as he signed the pile of books I brought in. He commented on my recovery, saying “it makes a big difference doesn’t it?” How little I knew then about how different my life would be. Here’s a link to Mr. Burrough’s website http://www.augusten.com/site/dry.

Drinking: A Love Story, by Caroline Knapp was an amazing discovery for me this year. Stumbling across it in one of those Amazon recommended lists, I devoured it in a few days, completely ignoring my family, actually spending time laying on the couch to read while I have plenty of other things to do. I couldn’t stop. It seemed that finally I had found a woman who would write about the obsession and misunderstanding. I could relate to how she brought alcohol with her to visit people because there would never be enough. How she would eye the bottle of wine at dinner, thinking about how it would have to be split with the others at the table. How her glass always seemed to be the first one emptied. Her writing style is literary perfection. Sentences and details strung together into paragraphs that once completed, I reread just for their beauty. I wanted to dash off a letter to her, claiming my love and devotion, and found that Caroline Knapp passed away in 2002, at age 42, due to complications of lung cancer. If you’re a woman in or out or on the verge of recovery, read this book!

Mommy Doesn’t Drink Here Anymore: Getting through the first year of sobriety by Rachael Brownwell was a powerful story of motherhood and alcoholism, how they affect and unravel one another, and how to hang on until they again merge and make sense. She writes about some of the same feelings I recall as a young mother and an active alcoholic. Visiting the park for the 5th consecutive day with a toddler IS more fun with a tumbler of vodka and lemonade in hand. Watching kids play outside in the yard day after day, with little adult interaction, except from the husband that you’re not so sure you even like anymore seemed so much more tolerable knowing I had jugs and jugs of wine in the house that I could dash in for and make the sun shine a bit brighter. Rachael Brownwell’s book brought it all back for me, but in a way that was extremely relatable. She also touches on the feelings associated with the loss of freedom that comes with motherhood, loss of self, of creativity, of youth, of individuality. I passed it on to my counselor as suggested reading for any woman battling addiction and parenthood simultaneously. A combination that is rarely discussed, alcoholic mothers are the bane of society, so it seems when you’re one of them. Moms are supposed to be the sane ones, holding the whole thing together, right. Read Rachael Brownwell’s book if you know anyone in their first year of sobriety. The stories about the meetings she attended early on are quite funny and tell what it really is like at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. A side note: AA itself was anonymous in the book. The author chose to detail the meetings and her experiences in them, but did not disclose specifically that they were AA meetings, in accordance with the anonymity of the program. Recommend this book to every Mom you see in the park with a tumbler in her hand. Here’s a link to Rachael’s website: http://rachaelbrownell.com//

Lit by Mary Karr is currently on my nightstand. Don’t tell me how it ends, but if you haven’t read it, I encourage you to pick it up and get started. It was a little slow for me at the onset, but I have since been sucked in. She’s funny and sarcastic, paragraphs to consume and enjoy, little details coming through to make huge statements. When she wrote about sitting outside on the fire escape, drink in hand, while her son slept inside, I knew I liked her. Her honesty in her skepticism about recovery and her struggles facing success sober is heartbreakingly vivid. She picks fights. She promises no more, but then just one, then she’s searching the house for any remnants of a bottle. This book is very funny about a very serious subject. I’m loving it and don’t want it to end.






My reading pattern is a roller coaster of serious recovery reading, then on to something a little lighter, like a good novel, toss in a bit of travel writing, a little self-help motivation or meditation and just for the fun of it, something in the direction of feng shui or past life regression. I have read many good and not so good books over the years and appreciate a book that takes me somewhere. All of the above mentioned books do that, but on the topic of recovery, and in different ways. All are worth your search at the bookstore or online.

Recovery topic: Missing out?

“Do you feel like you’ve missed out?” The question was raised at a meeting last week. When directed at me, I replied as honestly as I could and said that no, I feel like sobriety has given me more than I feel that I’ve missed. I’ve been thinking about the question, and its resulting conversation and my response since then. Does the fact that I cannot safely drink alcohol mean that I miss out on the things in life that I would otherwise enjoy?

Tomorrow is my 45th birthday.  I spent my 40th birthday in rehab. I had just reached 30 days sobriety. Joe had been sending me cards and letters, but we were not yet a couple. One of the girls and I had spent the afternoon in the house kitchen making me a birthday cake, orange chiffon. They all made me a huge birthday card and wrote the requisite congratulations and birthday wishes. Not long after that birthday, I “graduated” from the program. The months after are filled with good things like falling in love with my friend, Joe and some bad things like relapse and disappointment. I was on the edge of life, wanting so desperately to be “normal” and be able to drink and party like I had been. The other side of that edge was I life I could barely see, but was at its beginnings. It gleamed on the horizon. If I squinted hard enough I could see a life of calm, an end to chaos and fear, days filled with what the “real” world considers “normal,” like taking my kid to school and making dinner for my family and being loved more than I could imagine and actually believing that I was worthy of that life and love.

Here I sit five years later with no question in my mind that I am worthy and deserve what I have. Do I think I’ve missed out on anything because I couldn’t drink through the last five years? Would my life have been better if I could have had beers at the barbeques that I have been to? Or pina coladas in the Caribbean? Or champagne at my own wedding? I honestly doubt that it would have enhanced any of the experiences I’ve had. In fact, when I really examine how it had been, the reality of it is that it’s unlikely I would have been invited to the barbeques. Nor would I have gone to the Caribbean. Getting married would not have happened either. If I had continued to drink as I had been, there’s a question as to whether I would have even made it to this day alive. I feel quite certain that Nola would not be living with me. I know for a fact that Joe would not. My parents were nearing the point that they couldn’t deal with me. The friends I had at the time, the few that were left, had grown tired of my antics and drama.

As to the question of whether or not I’ve missed out, I add – Missed out on what?



Okay – yeah I missed out. I missed out on going to court and losing custody of my daughter because it would have been unsafe for her to be left in my care. I missed out on getting caught driving while intoxicated because “I was fine”. I missed out on who knows how many fights with my ex-husband about who knows what because active alcoholism requires drama and self loathing and being a victim. I missed out on the loneliness and desperation. I missed out on a lot of crying. I missed out on having to apologize to people after having drunk dialed them, and then remembered it in the morning. I missed out on all the cringing and wondering exactly what I had done and said. I missed out on crashing my car and hurting myself or another person. I missed out on missing Joe after he had had enough of me. I missed out on staying in that crappy apartment and struggling to get through every day. Yes, I guess I missed out on a lot.

So as I round the corner into forty five years on this planet my worries and concerns face forward. I am not mired in regret. What did happen happened and not one tear is going to change anything. What did happen is that I got sober. That triggered a series of events that have made my life as wonderful as it is now. The amazing gift of balance and serenity has seeped into all other areas of my life. My wonderful daughter has the mom she needs, who can support her and love her and laugh with her. My husband has a wife who can truly be a partner as well as a friend and lover and a fun date. My parent’s daughter emails and calls them just about daily about the little good things. Being sober allows me to be all of this and more. I’m a co-worker that others can depend on, not gossip about. No one shakes their heads and wonders when I’m out sick. I’m a photographer with a clear focus not only on the business I’m building, but on the images I create and the image I cultivate. I’ve got gifts I couldn’t have imagined that day in rehab five years ago. I’ve done things I hadn’t even dreamed about. I have possibilities and determination, and no reason to believe that I can’t achieve whatever it is that I want.

The fear of “missing out” on the good stuff has a counterpart in “missing out” on the bad stuff. Talk about balance.

Recovery topic: Finding Balance

A busy weekend behind me, I look forward into the week spread before me. My date book tells me that I’ve got an appointment with my chiropractor on Wednesday and I’ve got to take my daughter to her guitar and singing lessons. Not much scheduled. Pretty easy week.




My to-do list, however, tells a different story.



Rarely do I find resolution or closure there. It never ends. There is always more to do. You might note that my Friday blog entry, where I have been writing about travel in the state of Maine, and look forward to doing so, never got written. It was on the list. The pies I wanted to make on Saturday didn’t get made. The photos I need to take for some cards didn’t get taken. The laundry’s not folded and I haven’t finished writing the story I want to submit to a writing contest, deadline last Saturday.

I wonder daily how to do what needs to get done in the small hours I have each day.



When I got into recovery, I thought that it would solve all of my problems. Bit by bit, many of my troubles disappeared. Now, a few years into sobriety, most of the bad stuff has gone away, either resolved by my perseverance or time itself. When it comes down to it, things are pretty good.



But how to find balance? This is a question I hear from many women, in recovery or not. How do you find the time to do what is required of you, whether that requirement is self imposed or demanded by others? How do you live life on life’s terms?



Maybe there’s something in those AA expressions. Take it easy. Live and let live. Easy does it. Let go Let God. Maybe those who have gone before me have found that if I allow myself to become discouraged and disillusioned, I will be more easily led to a drink. Maybe balance is more easily achieved with less on each spinning plate.

Perhaps I should think about what I did accomplish on the to-do list. Blogged 4 out of 5 days. Took Nola shopping for her friend’s birthday party gift. Shot photos for the 365 project I’m doing. Coordinated the prints and cards order I needed. Planted spinach, lettuce, and broccoli, daylilies and tiger lilies.



In looking back over how I spent the last week, there are things that never make the list. As far as accomplishments go, they are some of the most important. Spent some time with my husband. Enjoyed steaks and laughs with some friends. Snuggled on the couch watching American Idol with my daughter.

These things just don’t get scheduled into my life but they make my life complete. They are the reasons I smile everyday. They are the LIFE in life’s terms.



What makes you smile everyday and makes all the other stuff worthwhile? What balances your life?

Life in Maine: Take the slow lane

Life in the slow lane. The way life should be. Maine. You see it all over the place. Those tourism slogans make it onto Tshirts, coffee mugs and road signs. Life in Maine can be wonderful. I will not argue that.




Many people dream of living here. There are website dedicated to moving here and a whole campaign by the state to encourage growth.

I was born here in Maine and for many years, I didn’t know anything about living elsewhere. When I was a child, we visited other states; had cousins in Connecticut, visited my sister and Army bound brother in law at Fort Campbell KY, and did numerous road trips to Boston, into New Hampshire’s White Mountains, and to Canada. It’s not like I didn’t get out of Maine. On the trips, my father would point out billboards, and always tell us “that’s something you don’t see back home.” Maine does not allow billboard advertising. Clutters up the view. He would encourage us to eat things that were not on the menu in Maine, like grits in Virginia.



When I was twenty one, I got married and moved to New Britain Connecticut. I likened the experience, at the time, to culture shock. The buzz of the streets. The noise at night. The crime on the news. There were things I had to adjust to like traffic. I enjoyed the choices I had there. The malls were nearby. There were so many restaurants and bars. Where I come from is in southern Maine, where the state’s population is mostly congregated, but still, Maine’s population dances around one million people, spread over the entire state. Maine itself is as big as the other five New England states put together. The greater Hartford area supports a million people. It took some getting used to.

In the first year living there, ATM machines were becoming more prevalent. The office I worked in had a fax machine, a novel new concept then. I felt smug and superior to the folks back home, thinking that technology couldn’t possibly be moving in THAT direction. When I visited Maine, it was to see my family and the changes that were taking place here went unnoticed. I lived in Connecticut for twelve years. During that time, I did what most young married people do: rented apartments, got pets, held a job in the city, bought cars, bought a house, had a baby . . . . whoa . . . that did it. The baby. I wanted to move home to raise my kid. When my daughter was born, I wanted to be near my family and that meant moving to Maine.



One of the first things I noticed, after having relocated to Kennebunk, was a gesture used between drivers that was nearly unknown in Connecticut: the wave, as in waving you into traffic so you don’t have to wait, and the wave, as in “thanks” for letting you through. People are NICE in Maine. People share a common courtesy amongst each other. It’s not so much a conscious thing. You don’t really start the day saying “how am I going to be nice to another human being today?” It’s not like that. It just is how we are. Treat people with respect. Let someone who is standing in line with a baby and an armload of groceries go ahead of you. Open the door for someone. Perhaps the “pay it forward” concept is in play here.

On my recent visit to southern Maine, we were driving – leisurely – around the beaches of Kennebunk and Kennebunkport. Just checking things out. Nice day. At a point just past the Bush compound in Kennebunkport, we found ourselves behind a few cars, being held up by some bicyclists. The roads were curvy and it’s difficult to see around the next bend, so passing them must be done with care. We were not in a hurry that day, but apparently the convertible from Massachusetts in front of us didn’t feel the same way. He accelerated and braked, his partner waving her hands and shouting, gesturing with exasperating. Clearly they couldn’t wait to get around the corner. We laughed at them, at their impatience on such a fine day. What’s the hurry?

And there is crime here, don’t get me wrong. But things that don’t even make the news in Hartford are front page here. Murders and robberies happen. People do hurt each other. We’re not immune from the bad things, but it seems that somehow, the daily little good things keep the balance.



So if you have a desire to move here don’t plan to bring along your grudges and impatience. Keep your anger and “me first” attitude packed, or better yet, don’t bring it with you. Prepare to have your own “culture shock” if you come here to live. Plan on checking in on your neighbor and having a chat in the super market, because though we all have emails to check and places to get to, it makes the day better for everyone if you do get into that slow lane for a bit.

If you're craving a bit of Maine, visit my photography website and check out my selection of Maine cards and prints.  http://www.celestecota.com/

Feel free to email me to order any of the images you see on this blog on on the website.  celeste@celestecota.com

Having Fun: Then and Now

If you would have told me six years ago that I would go to the Caribbean and not have a margarita or pina colada, I would have laughed out loud at the thought. My vision of a day on an island would have most certainly included tropical drinks and a mid afternoon nap in a hammock to sleep it off. Mimosas and Bloody Marys to start the day. Fruity cocktails to keep it going. My days would have revolved around tiki huts and beach bars. When I thought of the Caribbean, that’s what came to mind.




In all honesty, drinking was on the agenda no matter where I was.



My first trip to the Caribbean was to St. Maarten and it was very early in my sobriety. Perhaps 90 days sober when we went, those welcome cocktails at the reception desk and the tray full of passion punch on the catamaran snorkel tour we booked were hard to look at, knowing that I had to decline them. I was really tested on that trip.

Since then, though, we had been to many places and events where alcohol was not only served but encouraged. In Mexico, at our resort, a tequila cart wheeled around at dinnertime, and Kahlua was set right next to the serve yourself coffee. Booking an all inclusive resort, we worried that since we didn’t drink, we wouldn’t get our money’s worth, and even commented, at dinner one evening as that tequila cart was offered to us, that the resort would be losing money if we were drinking. Our in room refrigerator was stocked with beers and champagne and a bottle of tequila had been left as a gift. I had requested that the management remove alcohol from our room, hoping that we would be stocked with more bottled water and sodas. Our neighbors in the villa benefited from the gifts.

I’m a parrothead. That hasn’t changed either. I’m a sober parrothead, though and for me that’s a big change. For the uninitiated, a Parrot head is akin to a Deadhead, back in the days of the Grateful Dead, only in this case, a Parrothead is a fan of Jimmy Buffett. You know Buffett, of Margaritaville fame. If you’ve ever been to a Buffett concert, you know what it’s like. It’s a parking lot full of grass skirts, coconut bras, and blenders whirring. I have now been to two shows sober. And I had just as much fun. Being sober at a Buffett concert didn’t mean that we didn’t participate in the frivolity. We wore the grass skirts and brought a cooler full of food and a jug of frozen concoctions. We walked around the venue and surveyed the activities; the swimming pools and the barbeques, the huge margarita glasses and the drinking games. What’s different about my experience? I can make it through the show. I’m not lost and wandering around the parking lot. I didn’t throw up. We saw plenty of that there. We had VIP Parking so were near the entrance to the venue and watched many a drunk guy or girl make their way through the gates, pouring out the last of their cocktails near the door. Some were held up by others. Some were singing. Some were crying. Some didn’t make it into the show at all. I watched, bemused and grateful for my clarity.

At times it is difficult to live a sober life in a society drenched in alcohol. I am writing today to tell you that you can have fun without drinking. There was a time that I would have baulked at the thought. I believed that everything that was to be enjoyed was to be enjoyed with drinks. All of my favorite things to do back then included drinking, whether it was a picnic, getting together with friends, working in my garden, or just hanging out at home. There was always alcohol. Now having been sober for a few years, I can honestly say that I don’t miss drinking. Those favorite things to do are still some of my favorite things to do and are just as fun doing them sober. More fun in most cases because I remember them. I don’t end up bruised and wondering what happened. I don’t get into arguments and find myself crying. And I’ve discovered new things. Things I love to do now would have not been on the radar back then for one reason: I couldn’t drink while doing them or they would cut into my drinking time. I’m talking about snorkeling, riding zip lines and roller coasters, long hikes and nature walks with my husband, daughter, and friends. I run now. I cook with out burning stuff (most of the time). I can see a project through to the end. Before getting sober, I would have been too anxious doing these things. I would be preoccupied with the whens and hows of my next drink. Sobriety has given me a freedom that I didn’t know before. I am no longer obsessed with alcohol, acquiring it, consuming it, coveting it. The compulsion to drink has left me.

Yes, I made changes to accommodate my new life. In some ways, I changed everything. In reality, yes, my attitude changed, and along with it, so many other things. Today my life is better than I could have imagined. It’s peaceful and happy. Gone is the drama and anxiety that active alcoholic behavior had me entwined in. But I didn’t have to give myself up. I didn’t change my taste in music or my sense of humor. I didn’t alter my style of dress or my love of cooking. My daughter, my husband, my writing and my photography are still my passions, and if anything, the ability to nurture them is increased. A tropical drink is still delicious even without the rum. It took a while for me to be comfortable in situations that had been notoriously intoxicating. I am thankful I had such great support from my then boyfriend now husband, who had been through it and knew about triggers. If you’re new in sobriety, or if your old playgrounds are unsafe for you, don’t go there. Don’t tempt yourself unnecessarily. Don’t put yourself in situations that will make it difficult to stay sober. I’m telling my story so that others might see something useful in my experiences and recognize that life is very far from over when you get sober.

But for the grace of God, go I

It is in the most ordinary of places that I am reminded of the importance of my sobriety. I was in the convenience store on Friday, in the late afternoon. I was in to buy lottery tickets to feed my hope that someday I’ll win big and be able to travel the world with my family. In front of me in line was a man in his late thirties purchasing a single Mike’s hard lemonade. A roadie. That was my first thought. A drink for the ride home. When I finished my purchase and was walking back to my car, I saw him, sitting in his, twisting the top off the bottle between his legs. This man is going to drink and drive.




Did I make this assumption because he looked like he had worked a hard, sweaty, contractor kind of day? Could my assumption be driven by the many contractors I’ve known? Of course it is. But the truth is that my own past behavior is the biggest contributing factor. I hate to admit this, but I drank and drove more times than I can count. More times than I can remember. Even before I was drinking alcoholically in the dark last years, I would go out to bars with my friends, swill a few beers (or more) and drive home. I would do like so many others and convince myself I’m fine. More often than not, it didn’t cross my mind. Of course I’m driving home. How many people drinking today are on the road regularly? Not just the folks leaving the bars at night. That’s obvious. I know I’m not the only person out there who would go out to lunch, have a couple of glasses of wine with the meal, and then return to work, driving myself there. I know I’m not the only one who went out after more wine when it ran out at home. I know people, in and out of recovery, to whom the purchase of a beer or two for the ride home is part of their daily routine. I knew guys who would stand around in the parking lot of their place of work at the end of the day, pulling icy cold beers out of the coolers in the back of their trucks, drinking, laughing and joking, “relaxing” before the drive home to their wives and families. We would count the distance of a road trip as a six pack drive or a two beer trip. Multi state ventures required a full cooler and many stops. This is just what we did. Does this mean that everyone out there on the road with a beer between his legs is an alcoholic? Absolutely not. But that guy IS drinking and driving and putting himself and others in danger. And it could be someone you don’t suspect, like me, a mom driving an SUV.

Today, seeing a police car behind me still makes me nervous. Why? I’ve been in recovery for over 5 years and do not drive (or do anything) drunk. I don’t worry about having to stash the sippy cup of wine in my cup holder or whether any cop would find the weed in my purse. That is not part of my life now. But it was, and it was for a long time, and old fears and responses are hard to shake.

Seeing that man the other day reminded me of how arrogant and selfish I was when I was drinking. I wouldn’t get caught. I wasn’t that bad. Truthfully, that was my main concern, when I did think about it, that I would get caught. I didn’t think about others and that I was a menace on the road. I didn’t think about killing others. It wasn’t my intention to hurt anyone. When I was stopped and charged with operating under the influence, I had rear ended another car, and thankfully, no one was hurt. That is not to justify my behavior whatsoever.



Recently, a suspect was arrested in a manslaughter case here in Orono, Maine. Last winter, a 20 year old student was killed as she walked on a side street near her home. It was late at night. She was found in the snow in the early morning. The police defined the accident as a hit and run. She was a childhood education major and she’s dead. The man who is in custody and charge with the crime is a young man from Berwick, in the southern part of the state, who was visiting his cousin. They had been partying, drinking, and he chose to drive. He hit the girl and drove away, onto the interstate and heading south. He went off the road twenty or so miles down the highway and was arrested for OUI. His car was impounded and he never returned to claim it, knowing that the police were looking for that type of car in connection with the accident in Orono.

When I heard the story, I recall thinking “but for the grace of God, go I”, a phrase that comes to mind often when I hear about drunk drivers killing themselves or others. I’m not a religious person, but the statement fits situations like this. It could have been me driving drunk on a snowy side street at night. What would I have done? Would I have fled, like the man from Berwick? What would you do? To say that you would do the right thing and turn yourself in immediately is noble, but difficult to believe. It’s easy for me to say that I wouldn’t put myself in that kind of situation, now that I’m sober. How many of us alcoholics are really just fortunate that nothing worse happened when we were behind the wheel intoxicated? I consider myself just that. Fortunate. Not better than anyone else. It just didn’t happen to me, but it very well could have. But for the grace of God.