It’s that time again. Time to out my bad old self.
When I was new to recovery, I didn’t really get the connection between resentments and addictive drinking. Resentments? What resentments? I did not realize how many of them I had until I stopped drowning them in fermented fluids.
Now I get it. For some reason, the hermit’s existence I have been leading as a demographically vulnerable person ducking COVID-19 has made me cranky and crabby beyond belief. I have become a hoarder of pet peeves.
Thank goodness I have my beloved sober slogans to shore me up. Especially when they manifest themselves in my life.
For example:
My Higher Power will do for me what I cannot do for myself.
Every so often, when my spirits are most in need of lightening and brightening, HP relieves me of my resentments. I am so grateful for it.
Today was such a day.
As readers of my posts know all too well, I am not always at my best when strolling in my neighborhood. In spite of the awe-inspiring beauty of early spring–magnolia and cherry buds budding, birds trilling, patterned bark on crape myrtle trees evoking the fauvist beauty of a Cezanne–I wickedly ignore the sweetness and softness that surround me. Instead, I focus on the flaws in the scenery.
Today I was obsessing about the fact that some of my wealthier neighbors have hired landscapers to plant fancy gardens on the few public strips of grass where my dog can relieve himself. Not only have my well-heeled homies shamelessly annexed public property, and planted it pretentiously, but also posted signs reminding dog-owning commoners like myself to scoop the poop.
One set of neighbors made a big show of their appropriation of public land recently by bringing in a large noisy crew of gardeners to freshen up their purloined turf with a flurry of blowing, clipping and spreading expensive mulch around the elaborate plantings.
Each day, as I amble grumpily past this particular family’s stolen piece of paradise, I sometimes fantasize about allowing my little dog to leave a large “present” at the center of the perfect plantings and painstakingly laid hardwood chips. And today seemed like the ideal opportunity to do so.
As luck would have it, my dog decided to choose for his commode-du-jour my fancy neighbor’s pampas grass. And I thought to myself, “Should I just leave it today instead of picking it up? It would serve them right for stealing public property and showing off about it.”
But I didn’t. I could not ignore that my Higher Power was faintly but audibly imparting to me the sober wisdom to be kind and patient to everyone, especially those who test my kindness and try my patience.
So I cleaned up after my canine. And then received another and totally unexpected gift from my HP.
As my pooch and I resumed our stroll, I noticed that someone was unrolling the window of a shiny new van parked beside the pampas grass. Inside the car was a pleasant looking woman who smiled sweetly and said:
“Thank you so much for cleaning up after your dog. I am so grateful when people clean up after their dogs in front of my house. Not everyone does.”
Ashamed, I mumbled a sheepish, “You are welcome,” as I realized that this lovely soft-spoken lady was the very one whose designer grass I was dreaming of sullying with the help of my pup. I was so thankful that I had not surrendered to my resentments.
And grateful for the graceful way in which my Higher Power always plants (and when necessary replants) me and my attitude exactly where we need to be to thrive and grow.