By Teri KO4WFP As I finish 2024, it is time to look forward to and set ham radio goals for 2025. Why even set goals? We all need challenges not only to maintain our skills but also progress with them. Challenges motivate us, “gamifying” our pursuits. Also, they are fun, the ultimate goal with ham … Continue reading The POTA Babe Looks Ahead to 2025 →

I’m grateful for a lovely Christmas with my parents. I’m grateful to be home. I’m grateful for a cold, pretty sunrise. I’m grateful for a Friday and what’s ahead. I’m grateful for the amazing opportunities that happen by. I’m grateful for new glasses and my same old coffee. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

Just fyi, this is not officially the song of the year (yet). However, since Spotify brought this version to my attention, I’ve had kind of a hard time listening to anything else. I kind of thought that’s where I was going to be headed today. I had this thing worked out in my head where I was going to tell the story of my year by just putting in links to a bunch of songs. Then I lost focus for a bit, mostly on account of Christmas, but also because of a pirate-y discovery.

Q: What do pirates love most? 
A: Booty.

Oh, come on, not that kind of booty. Eyes up here! The treasure chest kind of booty. I was in Iowa City with my Mom (85) and Dad (86), and my Mom casually asked at some point whether I’d be interested in my grandfather’s “notes?”

Ummmmm. Yes. I am now in possession of said notes, it’s actually about a hundred pages of typed and handwritten manuscript: He was writing the book of his life. It’s divided into sections that are neatly numbered and it’s amazing. I started reading it in the Cedar Rapids airport on the way home and was alarming my fellow passengers by laughing out loud at some of the passages.

My grandfather was born in 1911 and lived on a farm about a 40 minute drive from Madison,Wisconsin. The narrative picks up in about 1916. There are stories about riding a horse-drawn sleigh to church at Christmas and a neighbor named “Fatty” Bernander, who of course played Santa in the Christmas program. There are stories of my grandfather prompting a semi-frantic search as a 3 year old, when he was discovered missing from his room late at night. His mother rousted everyone to help find the missing boy, including the Norwegian-speaking hired hands.1 My grandfather was discovered walking back up the drive to the farm, a freshly-picked watermelon triumphantly under one arm and his trusty bulldog trailing behind.

When you want watermelon, you want watermelon.

There are stories of bicycles purchased from the Sears, Roebuck catalog, of “Pa,” (my great grandfather) reading to the boys (he had two brothers) “after the milking was done,” by the light of a gasoline lamp. There is a long account of a clandestine ski jump that was built on a hill on the farm, which drew crowds of spectators and resulted in a fairly spectacular crash by my grandfather that was unfortunately observed by his father. “Pa” cooly dealt with this risky abomination Viking-style (we are Norwegians, after all), chopping it down with an axe.

And then this story:

We got married on a very hot day in August. We had decided to go to Yellowstone Park on our honeymoon. I had a 1932 four cylinder 2 door sedan. I had hung up some curtains that could be pulled closed so we could sleep in the car if we had to. When we got to Yellowstone, there was not a cabin to rent. We parked the car crosswise to a picnic table. That evening we thought we would get dressed up and go the dance at the dance hall. It was kind of hard getting dressed up in car, but we made it.

Later, we went back to the car and went to bed. We had the curtains pulled and went to sleep. Along in the night, Bernice (my grandmother), woke up and pulled the curtain open and there stood a bear on the picnic table, only a couple of feet from the car window, looking right at us. Bernice would like to have died, so she cuddled up real close to me.

I was hoping the bear would stay longer.

I laughed out loud when I read that, and then a wave of emotion washed over me, I almost felt like I was going to start crying there in the airport.2 It was so real, I could almost hear the story in his raspy voice. To be honest, as I read it, it sounded like the way I would tell the story. Also, it was hard not to note that my grandfather was writing this for an audience. And one thing I very much remember about my grandfather was that he never let the actual details of what happened get in the way of a good story.

Every time I go back to Iowa City, or read my own journals, I feel like I uncover more evidence about what happened to me. I’ve always been drawn to spy and detective fiction and movies, and I feel like I’m trying to solve a bit of a mystery sometimes. Here’s a summary of the open questions in the case I’m trying to solve:

How did I become an alcoholic? Why was it so nearly impossible for me to stop? How on earth did I stop? Why did it finally work? What changed?

I’m not looking to do any finger pointing or justifying, I really just want to understand myself and the journey I took myself on. The Big Book repeatedly warns that “self-knowledge” is not sufficient to cause sobriety, that a “spiritual awakening” is also necessary. Make no mistake, I think self-knowledge and self-awareness are critical elements of recovery, but in my own story, the years of therapy and treatment were not enough for me to stop drinking. To bring it down to Boy Scout terms, self-awareness is like gathering kindling and pine boughs and dry wood and carefully building what will hopefully become a fire.3 Sure, that thing with the sticks rubbing together can produce a spark after about 5 hours of frantic effort. So long as it’s not raining.

Think of the Big Book’s spiritual awakening like pulling a contraband Bic lighter out of one’s backpack and touching it to the carefully stacked self-awareness and self-knowledge (hopefully with lots of really dry pine needles and branches in there).

The more I see myself, particularly the more I see my younger self, the more I come to understand and accept what happened: The more I can accept myself. When I read my grandfather’s “notes,” I get a strong sense for how some aspects of my personality developed, how I think about things. I’m not sure how this happens or works, but I think as we bounce and vibrate our way through life, we encounter other people who bounce and vibrate in a complementary way. The combination with these people can be kind of musical and definitely magical, as we unconsciously create new notes, maybe even change keys.

These people tend not to stay, unfortunately. I think these special people are meant to help us from Point A to Point B, whatever that is. I think they help us become who we are meant to be, companions sent by the Universe to walk with us on parts of the trail we might not have found on our own.

I’m lucky to have had people like that in my life. It took me a while to understand the loss and emptiness I felt when they inevitably left. Maybe I was even angry sometimes. But my eyes have been opened and I see the world differently. I see those magical people, and my grandfather is the leader of that particular pack, as the people who helped me find the person I was meant to be. The way they did this?

They were themselves and they accepted and loved me for who I was.

I know now, I wasn’t ever meant to spend my life with these people, we were meant to accompany each other for only a part of the journey. We were meant to learn from each other and what happened. But that doesn’t mean it was temporary or that those connections ever really end. As I was reading my grandfather’s notes in the airport, I knew he was still with me, that I still carry what I learned from him, what I gained by being around him, everything that rubbed off on me in that garage or that magical basement.4 I realized that I carry those other people with me, too.

The feelings of loss and sadness when those people leave are just reminders of how deeply I felt them; How far they helped me go and what they helped me see.

I have a pretty good sense where all of my pirate-y ideas come from. I was recounting some of the hi-jinks of my youth over the last few days. I felt like the statute of limitations has probably run on most of it. My mom commented that it seemed like I had been more of trouble-maker than they had suspected and could have probably used more effective supervision. I think I was doing just what I was supposed to (not from a rules perspective), taking in the lessons I was being taught by an actual pirate. It turns out these pirate-y lessons were what I would need to take me through life.

My grandfather taught me that it was ok to imagine and dream. Maybe we were never going on an actual safari in Africa, but we could shoot a shit-ton of imaginary wildlife in that basement from the tall metal stools at his workbench—using actual guns (always unloaded). He taught me that it was ok to think about things differently, that it was ok to take charge of amusing myself, not to take myself too seriously, definitely don’t take other people too seriously, how to maybe get away with minor indiscretions with funny stories and a little charm and really important things like:

Never draw to an inside straight.

When I did my first Fourth and Fifth Step, with a janky-toothed monk at a monastery in Dubuque, Iowa, he listened quietly and patiently to my litany of misdeeds and wrongs. The things I was most ashamed of and regretted the most. The terrible ways I had hurt the people who loved me. As I finished, and sat sobbing in the big chair across from him, he looked at me with incredibly kind eyes and asked me only one question:

Do you think there is anyone in the world who could hear all that, know all that about you and still love you?

I knew that answer immediately.

We went to the 10pm service on Christmas Eve in the church that I grew up in. Things are remarkably the same and having spent a lot of time in that church, there were a lot of memories dancing in my head as we plowed through all of the Christmas carols. Our Lutheran church, like many in the midwest, was divided between Germans and Norwegians, and this was recognized by first singing “We are So Glad Each Christmas Eve,” in Norwegian. Then, the lights are turned off, the congregation lights the little candles that were passed out and we sing Silent Night, the first stanza auf Deutsch.

As a kid, I always tried to maneuver so that I was sitting next to my grandfather on Christmas Eve at church. There were discreet thumb wars to be fought, butterscotch candies in his pocket, the twinkling eyes as we played our necessarily secret games, the knowing glares from my grandmother and my grandfather’s shoulder shrugs. But the absolute best part was when we sang Silent Night. His raspy voice and feeling his carpenter rough hands on my little boy head as we sang about the miracle of Christmas in the dark. I knew it was special to him, too, because you could see the tears in the corner of his eyes glinting in the candlelight—just like I had on Christmas Eve this year in that very same church and I think probably the very same pew.

I’m pretty confident that my grandfather didn’t listen to a lot of Stevie Wonder, and this version probably wouldn’t be his chosen musical style. But I think this kind of a pirate anthem and he would have completely agreed with me on this part:

I’ve done a lot of foolish things, 
that I didn’t really mean, 
I could be a broken man, 
but here I am, 
with the future in my hands

Complete with the “Hell, yeah” at the end.

Happy Friday.

If you’ve been listening to the Ham Radio Workbench podcast, you might have heard Vince (VE6LK) mention that he and VE6TD planned to order parts to produce a batch of pre-built VK3IL pressure paddles. Well, I just heard from Vince that they have completed a limited run. Here are the details from the ordering page: … Continue reading Pre-Built VK3IL Pressure Paddles via VE6LK →

I’m grateful for randomly rewatching “Noelle”, a truly fantastic Christmas movie. I’m grateful for taking it easy during my run and enjoying a different mountain view from a park I don’t frequent. I’m grateful for how much effort my partner put into making some delicious pistachio cake. I’m grateful for slowly learning how to wrap presents a bit better. I’m grateful for the Snoopy Holiday-themed screensaver that make me smile. I’m grateful for taking the time to stick to my healthy routines despite the welcome upheaval that has been introduced into my schedule the past few days. I’m grateful Harper eventually got used to the sweet German Shepard after an initial bit of anxiety. I’m grateful for a lovely Christmas Eve dinner with lots of chatter and delicious food.

In Appendix II of the Big Book, “Spiritual Experience”, it reads towards the end of the chapter:

“Willingness, honesty, and open-mindedness are the essentials of recovery. But these are indispensable.” (Page 568)

I love this part and hear it often repeated at meetings – the “H.O.W” of the program. As long as I am Honest, Open-Minded, and Willing then I have the opportunity to remain emotionally sober. I have found myself over time applying this tenet to other areas of my life. Since it’s Christmas today it felt fitting to reflect on the way I’ve leveraged H.O.W. in relation to the Holiday.

To start off, I didn’t really celebrate the season much growing up. We were a first-generation South Asian immigrant family so the whole time period isn’t quite part of our culture or my childhood. When I joined my partner’s large Italian/Polish family who are very into the Holiday – less religious and more festive – I was initially a bit aloof to all the joy. Why? No good reason except I wrongly figured myself to be “too cool” or whatever for any sincere merriment. Since I’m in this Program I thankfully worked to put my warped thinking through the H.O.W. filter.

Honesty

When authentically reflecting on why I initially felt cringy around my partner’s Christmas events, I was a bit jealous of how communal and communicative their large family is. Mine was like that at one point, especially during my childhood, but for a host of tragic reasons fissures developed. I also quite consciously separated myself from them for my own self-protection. Seeing my partner’s extended family (mostly) getting along I felt slightly envious, sad, and nostalgic.

An additional, more meta, layer is that I miss my South Asian culture. I miss the traditions we used to practice as a kid. Being alone in Denver I don’t quite do them anymore except with myself so I kind of feel like I’m losing that part of my identity. Engaging in my partner’s Christmas traditions makes me yearn for my own.

These complex concepts are not something I could’ve identified without learning how to be honest with myself. Drinking allowed me to continually inhabit the delusional space. Now that I don’t do that anymore, I can truthfully pinpoint what it is I’m feeling and thinking. From those realizations came the next step in my Holiday evolution.

Open-Mindedness

Unless I wanted to remain miserable, I couldn’t simply wallow in my awareness. I had to become open-minded around what was available to me in order to change. When my partner’s parents or his aunt or his cousin shared a tradition or task they regularly did for Holidays I needed to be receptive to that messaging. Being receptive in those early days meant listening in as non-judgmental a fashion as possible. Certainly not interjecting with how I felt about what was happening or how it should be happening. Simply listening and putting myself in their shoes to understand why what they were doing brought them joy.

Just like I don’t always relate to the specifics of a fellow’s share at meetings, but I almost always relate to the emotion behind their story, this fell into a similar bucket. I didn’t have ornaments growing up, but I had other keepsakes our family gave one another. I could use that memory and the feelings I got from it as a way to connect with why decorating a Christmas tree would be special. All I had to continue doing is remain open to whatever was coming my way.

Willingness

Finally willingness for me in this context involves actively engaging in the Holiday with my partner’s family. Listening is great, but at a certain point I have to be activated. I needed to get gifts, help with the cooking, decorate the tree, drive folks to various destinations, volunteer my home to those from out-of-town, be cheerful and talky in larger groups, etc.

Even if I initially felt a little outside my element, I leaned on what I learnt during the “Honesty” and “Open-Minded” phases to help energize myself into action around participating. With regular practice in exercising willingness the grinch-like elements of my mind started subsiding.

After a few years of engaging with H.O.W. I’ve discovered something surprising. I have shifted from being the sullen, jealous, somber person when it comes to the Holidays and instead found real joy in the season. By slowly setting aside my preconceptions, my prejudices, my own personal baggage, and genuinely opening myself up to new ways of doing and thinking I understand the the joy of what my partner’s family feels during this time of year. I like getting gifts for people. It helps me get out of self and pushes me to research what somebody else would find happiness in receiving. I like catching up with an aunt about how her life has evolved over the past year and hear how she used to celebrate as a child.

H.O.W. has empowered me to embrace a whole new way of interacting with others during the Holidays. I have even been able to find my individual joy in the experience by engaging in brand new actions that I hope over time can become my own Holiday traditions. I’m incredibly grateful for applying the wisdom of AA to problems well beyond drinking. I would go as far as saying that broadening my application of AA to other aspects of life is not only an invaluable gift that I have received, but also a true Christmas miracle.

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This afternoon, instead of venturing out to a local park, I decided to do a little POTA hunting from home—QRP portable style. It was a fun experience and felt a bit like an at-home activation, except, of course, there was no actual activation since I wasn’t at a POTA site. Fair warning: the video is … Continue reading Slow TV: Portable POTA Hunting at Home →

I am so grateful for my sobriety. I am grateful for a tiny change in perspective. I’m grateful for my family, my friends, the holidays and getting to spend some time out of the city. I’m grateful for Christmas lights and music, for hot coffee and a warm apartment. I’m grateful for my relationship, my puppy, my higher power, my home group and my great big sober life.

Good morning my friends (: I hope everyone enjoyed the weekend but above all else I hope everyone is able to spend some time with their loved ones this week for the holidays. 

The holidays are hard whether you are new or have been around for 40 years and this morning id like to remind everyone that you don’t have to drink. For anyone here in NYC the 79th street workshop is having an alcathon on Christmas and on New Year’s Day, there are zoom meetings ALL THE TIME and nothing – not even Santa shoving his ass down your chimney, is worth drinking over this fine holiday season. 

I had my office Christmas party last week and if yall read my post last week you already know I was not in the greatest frame of mind to spend 3-4 hours with my colleagues. Last Christmas I was SO nervous to go to the holiday party and look like a weirdo with my seltzer but this year a seasoned seltzer veteran I held my seltzer with pride and when a colleague was insisting I take a tequila shot I said no. 

I actually said ‘I can’t.’ After a few more oh come onnnnsssss I think it hit them what ‘I can’t’ actually meant and I have to say guys — that tequila shot looked pretty fucking appetizing. Last week was pretty fucking shitty and I absolutely wanted to drink because I absolutely did not want to deal (and quite frankly I still don’t) with the volume of uncomfortable emotions I am feeling.

But when faced with a tequila shot I still said I can’t. I can’t even though I want to because I have this big beautiful life that I haven’t really practiced gratitude for in a while. I can’t because losing my time over you people (aka work people) just simply isn’t an option. I can’t because despite how good that shot looked I’m an alcoholic, I have an allergy and I just cannot have alcohol very much like someone who is allergic to peanuts that cannot have a peanut butter cookie despite how good that cookie looks. 

And so I’m pretty proud of myself. Proud that I’m just a few days I will be 3 years sober. Proud that this year has been shitty but I have learned a TON about myself, about what I want, about who I am. Proud that I still love AA with every fiber of my being. 

I am so scared in the face of so much uncertainty. But I have an army of people who are there to help me even if helping me is just sitting with me and talking to me about nothing. And I am a part of an army who is always willing to help someone else. Whether that help is just reminding someone that they don’t have to drink today. 

So friends, Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Here’s to the New Year. I hope everyone’s holiday is filled with love and light and laughter and good health and if you are sitting with uncomfortable emotions you can be both – happy and sad, jolly and scared. But don’t let the uncomfortable steal some of your joy and definitely don’t let it steal your sobriety. 

Just say you’re allergic to potatoes or something (; 

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Happy Holidays. 

Xo 

Jane

Last Sunday, my family set out on a trip across North Carolina, from the mountains to the coast. Our destination was Beaufort, a charming coastal town I hadn’t visited in 17 years. This quick pre-Christmas getaway was a surprise for my daughters—and for Hazel, our dog, who loves adventure just as much as we do. … Continue reading Cape Lookout Activation: A Family Adventure and Saltwater Experiment →

I’m grateful for a day spent getting ready for xmas. I’m grateful for recharging batteries and hot chocolate. I’m grateful for walks in the cold and snowy mornings. I’m grateful for new starts and the chance to make things happen.

LAST WEEK ON TFLMS:

song of the week:

TFLMS Weekend: Where Sobriety Isn’t Just a Consequence…

(last weekend)

I’m grateful for a cloudy Friday morning to write. I’m grateful for wrapping things up (literally). I’m grateful for little adventures and seeing things differently. I’m grateful for pretty excellent coffee and iPhone memories. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

I think all of us dodged a bullet this morning. I was listening to music earlier in the week and trying to get my shit in a can.1 I was listening to the Doobie Brothers’ masterful “Living on the Fault Line” album. I wore that album out in my youth and it is the height of the Emo-Doobies featuring Michael McDonald, with whom I have a complicated relationship. I was listening to this song, which I’ve always loved:

I was deciphering the lyrics, as I like to do. And this is a very complicated story about a very complicated relationship. It starts out talking about how miraculously “she” came into his life, how badly he needed a drink of water, how he would gladly drown in her, how she was just what he needed, how through all the disappointment, love still remains, you’re a just lonely man living in an empty land. I know you’re made that way.

But then you get to the crux: “Say it please, Say you will, come back and be in my life, girl, if you just put in your heart in….” It’s another song emphasizing the importance of ex-girlfriends to the creative process.

I was thinking through Michael McDonald’s side of the relationship and it doesn’t make a ton of sense and then my blood ran cold and I had one of those realizations that feel like an icy knife in the gut:

What if Michael McDonald and I have the same attachment style in relationships?

That was what I was going to write, had I selected “You’re Made That Way,” as the song of the week. Fortunately, I spared us all of that by selecting, “I’m Your Boogieman,” instead.2 This is my favorite K.C. and the Sunshine Band song and you can see from the frenetic on-stage performance what the “C” in K.C. probably stood for. There’s another video (from the Midnight Special) where K.C. is dancing so hard he’s a good two measures late getting back to the piano for his solo.

I didn’t have a drivers license when K.C. and the Sunshine Band hit the airwaves. I was still spending a fair amount of time being driven in my mom’s Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser station wagon (with the swanky moon roof and wood panel decal on the side). The first big hit, “Get Down Tonight,” provoked a lot of uncomfortable Oldsmobile moments:” The line, “Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight,” had my mom wondering if I liked the song (and I clearly did) because it was about sex and me wondering if my mom was listening to the lyrics.

It’s the Friday before Xmas, so why spend it Michael McDonald-style, gazing at the sad, complicated navel of our lives, when you could be wearing super cool Elvis-inspired outfits and dancing like someone who will one day claim a folding chair at a CA meeting?3 This song is on the “Basketball” playlist and I think pretty accurately soundtracks my playing style. This is a Friday song, so go get all Friday with it.

But then that leaves us with this uncomfortable void, the awkward silence that comes when maybe you’ve run out of things to say.4 But never fear, that’s a very unlikely result here. I’m winding down a pretty improbable year, and, to be honest, when I start to do the year-end look-back, that is kind of obligatory, I’m amazed at what’s happened.

You might ask, “What happened?” Well, what didn’t? I still live in the same lovely place and have the same views and settings that propel my day. I’m spoiled to live where I live, and I know it—it’s my cocoon, a safe place, a real home—and I’m very attached to it because I don’t think I ever had one that I could call my own before. My life feels so different now—sure there are anxieties and fears and sadness and all of the normal stuff that attends life. In the olden days, it was necessary for me to drink to handle all of the normal stuff that attends life. I’ve always been very independent, very self-reliant—that was largely out of necessity and it always propelled the fear that I couldn’t manage this on my own. By “this,” I mean living a productive, happy, sustainable life. Well, it turns out, I can.

The greatest gift of recovery has been developing the sense that I can do just that—live a happy, productive and meaningful life without needing the help of my friend, Kim Crawford.

I started co-chairing an AA meeting on Monday mornings near Madison Square Park here in NYC. It’s actually at an IOP—that’s “Intensive Outpatient Program,” for those who aren’t familiar. It’s a therapeutic setting, wherein you go to group sessions, AA meetings, individual counseling sessions on an intensive basis for 60 days—often accompanied by prescriptions for Antabuse, to help recreate the sober environment one finds in sleep-away rehab.

This is a beginner’s meeting and it’s really fascinating, a lot of the people are just sorting out some of the very early questions, like “Am I really an alcoholic?” “How long do I have to call myself and alcoholic?” I see it as a huge opportunity to introduce people to the Big Book before the “Recover like me or die” crowd gets their hooks into them. I tell them that the Big Book isn’t about getting religion or worshipping anything—it’s simply about recognizing where you really stand in the Universe and answering some very personal questions about how you got here, where you’d like to go and the things that would need to change, to make that possible.

We read Bill’s Story together last week and I got to give my usual preface to establish what an insanely brilliant con-man/salesman Bill W was. That being able to lay claim to the elements of Bill’s story as my own, was what jump-started my recovery. When you read the story aloud, there are lots of details that jump out—Bill W renting a plane once to “complete a jag,” or setting out to find fortune and fame with his wife, Lois, riding in a motorcycle side-car, the time spent “working on a farm,” which really meant he and Lois were living as legit hobos for a while.

Anyway, its really rewarding to get to spend time with people at the very beginning of their journey. I mentioned at one meeting how familiar the setting was to me, how I’d done time in several different IOPs and how I’d been kicked out of several IOPs. One young man, got wide-eyed and asked, “How do you get kicked out of an IOP?”

It’s pretty simple, actually—you just keep drinking.

Let’s just say I got pretty familiar with the half-life of Antabuse. I had graduated from the 60-day intensive program and was in the after-care program, which involved regular counseling sessions and a once-weekly group session. The nights of the group sessions were great for drinking, because I knew that I had roughly seven days until the next possible test—and they tested randomly, so it wasn’t for sure that I would even get tested. To me, that meant I was free to drink.

I developed an insane regimen that involved multiple Bikram yoga sessions, steam room time at the gym and pretty intense, sweat-inducing workouts. That’s how I was going to beat the IOP testing protocols and keep drinking. The insanity of the plan was revealed by the fact that it’s not possible to “sweat away” the evidence. The test that is commonly used, doesn’t try to detect alcohol in the blood, it simply looks for a protein that is produced when one metabolizes alcohol. My plan was doomed from the start, and crazily, I knew that.

Right there, I can see how different my thinking was. The crazy places I was sent by the deformed, wrong messages my addicted brain generated. I like to think I’m occasionally clever, and have definitely gotten away with things over the years. This is mostly the consequence of careful planning and a little Ferris Bueller-style luck here and there. This was a fundamental difference. When drinking, my alcoholic brain produced plans that had no chance of success, that were as doomed as a WWI-style trench assault.

When I see that now, remember those days and the way I thought about the world, all I can do is exhale and shake my head. I just can’t believe I walked through the world that way, and for so long.

I don’t have a lot of words of inspiration as the year ends. I’m pretty tired and my re-appearance at a law firm for the first time in nearly three decades is a big reason why. But I’m exhausted in the good way: I’ve been given a chance in my sixth decade to build something brand new and a pretty swanky perch to do it from. Is there a fair amount of fear and anxiety that attends this enterprise? Yes. Does it require a nearly daily effort at self-invention and excruciating levels of “showing up?” Yes. Do I feel more alive and vital than nearly anytime in my life? Yes.

Finding myself, which I think is the ultimate goal of recovery, opened doors that I couldn’t have imagined and has led me to a new approach to life that produces profound satisfaction and excitement. I learned that all that is necessary to unlock this wondrous treasure is to accept life moment to moment, and as the Big Book says, approach those moments with willingness, honesty and humility.

On some personal notes, I am heading to Iowa for Xmas and will be compiling something for next week—and it may very well include some selections for song of the year and some of my favorite essays. If you have thoughts on this, you know I would be delighted to incorporate them. I do want to say that this is maybe the most improbable part of my life. I have wanted to write for pretty much my entire life. My hard drives and notebooks are littered with failed attempts at profundity and notoriety.

It turns out, I was writing the wrong things. Starting this newsletter and getting to write about how I recover and how I live—and share it with all of you. Well, I can’t tell you exactly how much that means to me and how important it’s been to my recovery. It’s been writing this, and getting to share it with you, that has helped me find myself. So thank you for that—you don’t know how much it means to me.

Last thing. You may know that my son is in the Navy and his ship deployed earlier this Fall.

I learned over the weekend that his carrier strike force (he’s on the USS Gettysburg) transited the Suez Canal and is now on station in the Red Sea. That’s where a certain young Lieutenant, the apple of my eye, will be spending the holidays. I don’t think it’s possible to send too many positive thoughts or prayers and that’s how I’m approaching it.

My wish for everyone, and especially that brave, young Lieutenant, is that this holiday be full of peace and calm and good tidings among us all.

Happy Friday. Merry Christmas.

A Triple-State POTA activation! by Bryce Bookwalter (KD9YEY) and Joe Ladwig (W9NVY) It’s finally winter here in Southern Indiana, which, for many, brings a time of cozy indoor activities and quiet radio time in the comfort of a warm shack. For Joe and me, however, this means it’s winter POTA time! I have always preferred … Continue reading Bryce and Joe’s Triple-State POTA Activation →