By this time of year we are feeling bloated physically and almost spiritually by all our excess. To watch the kids on Christmas morning tearing into their packages is like witnessing the human Id in its purest form. That desire in us—to have precisely what we want—dies hard. But with piles of uneaten crackers and cheese stacked in the garage, cookies and chocolates, you can see why January is a popular month for resolutions and gym memberships. I love the clearing out of the new year and making way for spring. Though it’s a long haul (you have to get through winter first).

We went back to Whidbey Island and our favorite getaway town by the water. To the French restaurant and shops, to the shallow beach and bell they’ve got for whale sightings (ring if you see one). A remote-controlled fireplace and good views of the water on the edge of an 80-foot bluff (do not climb over the fence, the sign said in our rental). “Not” underlined twice.

And for as good as it felt to get away it felt even better coming home to our pets and beds. I tried to extend my bedtime but couldn’t get past 10:30. The kids were up until 2 in the sunken room doing karaoke. Our first day back and I was awake at 5 thinking about swapping out Christmas lights on the chicken coop.

Made it three weeks now on a new daily yoga practice, even in the rental in the upstairs TV room. With skylights it had a good morning vibe and felt clean and quiet. Unlike cardio workouts or weightlifting there is a deep personal reckoning I feel in yoga, doing balancing poses or bends, twists, strength-building poses like plank. It is just me and my mind and body. And I feel like I can see through me if that makes sense, like all I’ve got in me is on a shelf and I can reach to the back. And oddly there’s not as much there as I thought, and that’s okay. The world is full and I am content when I take it in and try to let go of myself.

I called a recovery hotline before Christmas trying to find a local AA meeting to see what that was like. I remembered something my sponsor said a while back about why we go to meetings, not for ourselves as much as for someone else who needs it. Like you pay in to it so you can make a withdrawal yourself someday if needed. There was an app with a list of meetings and there must have been 20 a day every day within the Seattle area. Some of the groups had colorful names and my favorite was the Seattle branch, “Scum Also Rises.”

That would be a good way to end my last post: that and the leftovers we had planned for New Year’s dinner: ham, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, green beans and cranberry sauce. Just me and Dawn, the dawn of a new year.

Categories: Addiction, Creative Nonfiction, Memoir

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, journal writing, Memoir, pacific northwest