Back in my drinking days it used to be all about the fireworks—and not just the noisy and colorful pyrotechnics lighting up the skies this weekend. Yes I did enjoy all things bright and loud when flying high on...
Back in my drinking days it used to be all about the fireworks—and not just the noisy and colorful pyrotechnics lighting up the skies this weekend. Yes I did enjoy all things bright and loud when flying high on a bottle of champagne or pleasantly buzzed from three or four beers. But my alcoholic love affair with drama and excitement permeated all corners of my life: Big boozy parties, crazy outfits and glitter makeup, loud singing, dramatic storytelling, intrigue and gossip, weeping and scenes. My definition of happiness was blinding and deafening, soaked in drama and intense unbridled feelings. I nodded in ecstatic agreement and sang along lustily with Bjork’s pulsating dance track, ”Violently Happy.” And blasted it out of my rolled-down car windows on hungover mornings.
How different it is now, eleven years into my sober journey. Tonight, as the smoke from barbecues scented the evening air and people assembled to watch fireworks light up a cool and clear Vermont evening, I gathered with a small group at a recovery meeting to listen to the promises in our literature. The passage we read spoke of a new freedom and happiness and a feeling of serenity and peace. And as I returned to the simple sanctuary of my porch, with its climbing flowers and softly glowing lanterns, took my dog for a stroll amidst blinking fireflies and looked up at the silvery sliver of a crescent moon, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for the new sense of joy I have found in recovery: the serene and softly lit happiness promised in the words of my fellowship and delivered with subtle sweetness on this lovely summer night.
