Welcome to Friday, November 1, 2019. This is a rare and precious day that will never come again!
My intention for the past few days has been compassion.
As many of you know, I’m in recovery from an addiction primarily to prescription opiates and benzodiazepines. As I get to know myself better, I see that my addictions – obsessions – run far deeper than the pharmaceuticals.
This last weekend, I had the blessed fortune to attend a sobriety retreat at the inviting Trout Lake Abbey in Washington. I met some caring, kind and compassionate comrades who have all struggled with some form of addiction. I met people who are grandparents, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons and cousins. I met therapists, nurses, engineers, musicians, pilots and retirees. As I communicated and developed relationships with them, not once did I think of them as needle jamming vagrants, homewrecking alcoholics, cocaine addicts, dope fiends, pill poppers or crack heads. Nevertheless, these latter descriptions were in fact a label that in the past could have been applied to any one of them – and me. But no more. We are in recovery. And we are in recovery because somewhere in our addiction, a family member, friend, healthcare provider or maybe even a police officer saw that we were more than these destructive and incomplete labels. We are in recovery because people had compassion for us. Not Pity. Compassion – an intentional act to remove or reduce