Post-holiday reality ...

watering hole
Originally uploaded by mugley

Over the past 2 days, there is definitely something in the "air" and it is no longer Christmas-y. Being out and about over this weekend, I've noticed that the former pre-Yuletide cheer of strangers and unexpected cordialness has fizzled, like a bright balloon that is slowing deflating. I must also acknowledge that this is about the lens I am looking out of and that I personally am feeling the contrast of the child-like wonder and excitement that I held in anticipation of re-claiming Christmas.

This post-holiday shift in outlook and mood was ever present in tonight's AA meeting. The speaker is someone who is a regular at this meeting and who is known to be a bit scattered in her manner, openly sharing that she suffers from Bipolar disorder as well. Her sharing of her story set the "tone" in the room. People were restless, as evidenced by a lot of shifting of chairs, bodies, frequent trips to get coffee, tea, use the bathroom. It was hard to concentrate. Her story ran over the allotted time, which left about 20 minutes for members' shares. 2 members monopolized this time with lengthy, long-winded shares. I felt my irritation at an all-time high and actually said to myself, aloud in my head: "You are irritated. This is what is keeping you from being engaged in the meeting. You have a choice about how you want to be here." At this moment, a member from the back yelled audibly, interrupting the member going on and on "Let someone else have a chance !" While I was relieved on one hand (as many were) that he spoke up, I recognized too that his impatience took him away from being "in" the meeting, just as I had recognized for myself. Two other members were able to get in quick shares, yet these were rushed, and then time was up. Most folks left immediately; there was not the usual lingering afterwards to talk and connect further.

Part of reality is that things in life don't go as we wish. Don't occur the way we had envisioned them. Aren't in "our plan". Reality is. It is just the way things are. When questioning reality surfaces for me, it is a signal about selfishness. A call for attention to the Steps. A reminder to turn my will over to G-d.

As I arose these past 2 days, I thought to myself, "Ok, the holiday is over and the energy given to celebrating it has been spent, so what now?" I can feel the gap. It is quieter and stiller in my apartment than I have felt in awhile. This is not a bad thing or even the fearful thing that it once was, it is just "different". The Christmas music is no longer in the background on my ipod. The tree, while it is still up, is quite dried out, so I put on the lights sparingly. All of the gifts have left my counter and have been dispensed. It is back to the reality of my life, here in the company of my dog. It strikes me that I live a pretty simplistic, ordinary life for the most part. The highlights of my day are my prayers, my morning coffee, taking a couple good walks with my dog, getting to the gym if I am motivated, teaching an enjoyable class or having a great session with a client, going to an AA meeting, reading, and sitting here to write. This is peppered with sporadic social plans and/or phone conversations. The reality of my life is not accompanied by a choir singing in the background or by decorations or by wrapped gifts; it is a background hum of the refrigerator, the same set of painted walls and window views, and a similar group of revolving items drying on the dishrack.

I would imagine that this post-Holiday phenomena that I am describing here is what others may feel after a huge event, like a wedding or a graduation or a barmitzvah. Life gets organized around a "thing" and when there is no longer the "thing" , then where and what do we connect to ? In Kabbalistic terms, this feels like a Yesod dilemma. I am aware in this moment of the answer: I need to connect to me. To my Godself. Not OUT there, but IN here.

This is what will ultimately close the gap and allow me to more fully be in reality and in my life.