It takes all kinds...

I was sitting in the Sunday morning Sober Sunday meeting, thinking. This is a no-nonsense, closed AA meeting, for alcoholics only, no window shoppers or academics trying to dissect us or the disease. They even frown on repeating the usual phrases, like the last tradition, which begs us to consider "principles before personalities". It seems to me if you are this picky about your meeting, you probably should be saying this out loud at least once a day, but, hell, who am I to say what should happen there? Like I have all the answers. Anyhoo, I was not alone there. Sitting around me was the most astonishing array of the human condition one could hope to run into in this lifetime. Some of us were dolled up, heading to places like church or the relatives house for Sunday dinner. Some of us were in our grubs, looking forward to an afternoon of raking leaves or cleaning gutters. Some were young and full of juice. Others were old and shriveled. Diamonds sparkled on a few hands. We were smiley, frowny, and just plain confused-looking. And we were all there, hoping for the kind of transformation that turns lowly caterpillars into butterflies. It was a moment of grace for me, sitting as I did squarely in the middle, not young, not discernably old (yet), not dressed up or down, just me, happy to be there, happy to be sober, happy to have my meeting behind me so I can do all those other things I get to do because I got to a meeting. I am changed now, ready to rake leaves and render a huge drawing and paint a Cezanne hommage and run the dishwasher and fold the laundry. Life on life's terms. With wings.