Last year in October I was living in Philadelphia.
And I went back to Brooklyn.
I went back to meet my Sponsee for the first time in-the-real.
I am excited to meet her. Sponsee is smart, spirited and sassy. And although she very likely could cultivate overt superiority, she is choosing a different path.
A path of humility. A day at a time. Most of the time.
I know you are reading this. I know you are laughing Sponsee.
She is renting an Airbnb in Brooklyn to gather with friends. And her own Sponsees. Which would be my Grand Sponsees. If you believe in that kind of thing.
When it is time to go to Brooklyn I am not sure if I can go.
I say to Philly, “Should I go? I mean we have all this house stuff to do.”
Philly says, “Go. It is your Sponsee. The house stuff will be here waiting when you get back.”
I know he is right.
But secretly I think he is trying to get rid of me.
And so I go. Since I am me the whole organizing situation is very complicated.
I need help.
I ask Philly, “I am overwhelmed by the amount of vitamins I need to take with me. I need help.”
Reader, I realize this may sound ridiculous. However, it is very involved being me.
You would have to see our very special Lazy Susan Double High vitamin carousel to truly understand this dilemma.
We have three of them.
So far.
Thankfully, Philly agrees. He agrees to make up little vitamin bags with labels and everything. This frees me up to deal with the protein powders, ground flax seeds, salt for the Neti pot and maybe a little baking soda.
You know, just in case I get indigestion.
As long as I am in the baking soda area, I throw in some Halls cough drops.
I might get a cough.
The cough drops lead to the saline nose spray – because it might be dry in the Airbnb. Also eye wetting drops. If it is dry I will probably get a headache so I grab some Advil and stuff them into a little baggie with the Halls.
I yell down to Philly, “Where are the little airplane Travel Packs with the little plastic bottles in them?”
Silence.
“I think we need to get some.” I say into the air. “Sponsee and I are splitting on the bringing of the toiletries. Can you go to the Rite Aid?”
“When?” he yells back.
“Now would be good.” I say. “Oh and also can you pick up some unscented Oatmeal Moisturizer? This one smells like some kind of flower.”
And off he goes to the Rite Aid.
He is such a good husband.
While Philly is at the Rite Aid I forage around the house, looking for the Travel Packs I KNOW we have. Somewhere.
Philly starts texting me pictures from the Rite Aid:
This one? Or how about this one?
Since I do not answer fast enough I get the inevitable well known and equally as annoying text:
???
I know you have received this text.
I am trying to look at the pictures he is sending me.
But as I am looking, one by one I find the Travel Packs.
Four of them.
And two make up bags.
Plus a few loose bottles.
However, during my quest to find the Travel Packs of the past Philly has chosen a new one from the store.
He texts: Got it. On way back.
We do not really need the travel pack since I have retrieved the old ones from the travel pack cemetery. I decide not to mention this.
I text back: Ok!
I grab all the Travel Packs I have located and head into the bathroom. I look around for a good spot and I lay them all out on the floor: One rectangle shaped clear plastic pack, one half circle, two rectangle packs, flat, with a zipper. I also find a half circle floral makeup case and a big rectangular floral make up bag.
Philly arrives with another clear rectangle pack. I bring him into the bathroom to show him my winnings. He is standing there, looking.
“Wow”, he says. “Who knew?”
I say, “Ya. Maybe we can just save that new one for later, you know after we misplace all of these packs.”
Philly laughs. He laughs because he knows it is true. Somehow, slowly, the packs will begin to separate. They will move into secret places all over the house. And when it comes time to travel I will dig through every known place.
One by one I will find them.
This little maneuver will take me at least two hours.
Reader, this is why I must begin the packing a full day before.
At least.
Finally this part of the pre-game is complete.
I prepare for the rolling of the clothes, complete with a list I have typed up, just so I do not forget anything.
This list also serves as a chaperone in hope of preventing the inevitable no-matter-what-I-have-said OVERPACK.
I yell down to Philly, “This time I will NOT overpack!”
“Ok.” he says.
I can tell he does not believe me.
I start out doing well. I discover along the way I can use old plastic ziplock bags to separate items. I bring only one pair of sneakers, because I don’t care. I bring pretty much no real clothes. My wardrobe now consists of yoga attire and sweatpants I can pass off as actual pants.
Son and daughter say, “Mom. Can you not wear yoga clothes everywhere?”
Still, I do not care.
If it has buttons, zippers or belt loops it is extremely unlikely I will wear it.
Anyway, Sponsee has said she will dress me if need be.
I know you are expecting me to say I overpacked. Aren’t you? Huh?
Well, I did not! I did not overpack! And…I am not bringing my laptop!
Amazing right?
Next day comes and it is almost time to go.
Sponsee texts: I am on the plane!
I text: I am heading to the train!
OMG this is so exciting!
Not too long and I have arrived in NYC. Used to be you would have to navigate the subway system all by yourself, just hoping for the best. But now they have APPS. APPS will tell you exactly what route to take. APPS also tell you when the next train is coming, and if there are any service changes. AND now in the stations there are little light up signs that tell you when the next train is coming.
Me and my new rolly luggage klonk along to the A train platform. This klonking of a new suitcase is very annoying. However, like so many items once belonging to me, old worn-in suitcase now resides at daughter’s apartment.
I wait for the A train with my rolly luggage. I take the A Downtown to Utica Avenue. Then I get off the train and ask Police Person which direction to walk to my Airbnb. Police Person tells me, “That is a long walk. You might want to catch the B46.”
Police Person points across the street.
Of course the bus is pulling in right that very minute.
Jesus.
My and my rolly suitcase go running across the road, klonking away and barely make the bus. Right away the bus starts moving. Now I am swaying side to side and banging into person after person. Of course I get the STINK EYE. I give up and just start apologizing non-stop until I find a spot to stand. I take maybe 10 whole seconds to regroup and when I look up the bus doors are closing at my stop.
I HATE taking new routes to new places. Even without a rolly suitcase.
I pull the yellow cord in a desperate plea to the bus driver to reopen the doors of the bus.
I know this will not work.
But I try it anyway.
It does not work.
I say the bus prayer: Please let the next stop be only two blocks away.
And…my prayer is answered! Two blocks and I exit the bus.
Sponsee and I are staying in Bed-Stuy but ok, it is REALLY Bushwick. Conveniently this particular area is very, very close to daughter’s apartment AND son’s apartment.
I roll down the street looking for our location. When I get outside the Airbnb, I text Sponsee: I am here! Sponsee texts: I am coming down!
Zoom has given many people this amazing opportunity of working with people from all over the world. And so this is the first Pandemic Sponsee I am meeting-in-the-real.
I wait. I have worked with her for over a year. We met on Zoom and have only known each other over Zoom. Getting to work with people in 12-step programs and to pass along the recovery I was so freely given by my Sponsor is a beautiful gift of the program.
Finally, Sponsee comes out the door. I see her and right away tears come. It is like I have known her for lifetimes.
For that moment we are held in recovery suspended animation. I have my arms around this young woman who has grown so much, who has cried and laughed with me, who has transformed right in front of me.
It is a magic wordless moment standing there.
“Ok!” Let’s go in!” I say. And we turn to walk up the stairs and into what has now become the familiar quick-building-flip look and feel. The apartment has been gutted and cut up into three bedrooms with a smallish living room open right to the kitchen.
It is very new and shiny.
“Nice!” I say.
Sponsee smiles. She has rented this place for three days to meet with her Sponsee in person. Along the way she invited me to come and stay with her.
“I would love it if you would come stay here!” she says.
I think about this. Going to NYC. Even though it seems the obvious thing to do. Sponsee, son and daughter are all going to be there. Still my mom’s health, my own health and the general amount of items on the list that need tending here in Philly give me pause.
“Just go.” Philly says. “It will be good for you!”
He is good like that. With the encouragement.
And so here I am in the really Bushwick-advertised as Bed-Stuy apartment. Sponsee shows me to my room. It has a Queen size bed with a fluffy white comforter. And a bathroom!
“Does your room have a bathroom?” I ask.
“No.” she says.
I think: Sweet Jesus! Sponsee has given me the room with the bathroom!
I have learned sayings like: Sweet Jesus! And even “Sweet Baby Jesus!” from my Southern Sponsees.
And a few other sayings that shall not be mentioned here.
I will tell you right now Sponsee is very generous. She rented this place and invited me. She makes the coffee for me every morning. The coffee maker here is a French Press. I think I have used one of these contraptions maybe three times in my life.
I wonder if she thinks she is just mothering me.
Or maybe exerting control.
Because she is very good at these things.
I do not think this is the case. I do not think this is what is happening.
The mothering/control thing.
I believe Sponsee is offering out emotional generosity. And kindness and love.
Because she has a big heart. Maybe she is starting to know this.
Anyway, after the apartment tour we sit down to chat a bit. About the schedule and the happenings and all the things. While we are sitting there I realize I am thirsty. I walk over to the cabinet to get a glass.
The cabinet I open is empty. I mean completely empty. I slide on down to the next cabinet. This cabinet is also empty. Sponsee gets up to check to cabinet #3. And…yep. Empty.
No plates. No glasses. No cups. No utensils. No bowls.
We look at each other like WTF?!
Now we are opening up drawers and bottom cabinets and under sink cabinets.
We find:
Three pans.
Random serving spoons.
And a few cleaning items.
Oh yes, and the French Press.
As we are foraging around looking for whatever we can find, we notice the lack of a side table next to one of the beds. Upon further investigation we discover NO side tables at the side of ANY beds.
Later when I go into the bathroom I find no area to put toiletries. Or towels. No room around the sink. No towel bar. No soap dish.
I pile all of my personal items on the kitchen counter instead. Except maybe for my toothbrush. This I can manage to squeeze into the bathroom.
Sponsee says, “I guess it is time to go shopping.” And so we head out. I do not know how she knows where everything is located. But she does in fact know where everything is located.
“Turn left.” she says at the corner.
“Ok.” I say. I decide at that moment I will just agree to whatever direction she says since I really have no idea where I am.
I think she is using her phone. But I am not sure.
We get to the store and begin choosing items for our stay. I hate doing this. Especially with Philly. Philly and I ALWAYS buy way too much food on vacation.
However, Sponsee and I do a much, much better job at this compared to Philly and I.
Left to our own devices Philly and I will have to give most of what we buy away when we are departing our vacation location. Sponsee and I leave the store with a very reasonable amount of groceries. The most important of which are: half and half, sugar and bananas. Luckily I have brought my own coffee.
We return to the temporary domicile with our loot. Eat? Did we eat? I cannot remember. Surely we must have eaten something?! All I can remember is chips and guacamole.
After so many meetings together on ZOOM, it is kind of weird to see Sponsee in the third dimension. I wish I could always see her in the third dimension. I wish I could see all my Sponsees in-the-real.
The evening goes by quickly. We chat. We test out the couch. We chat. We snack. Suddenly it is midnight. I meander into my beautiful white comforter furniture-less room. I did not know I would be so happy to be here, back in Brooklyn with plans to see all my favorite people. Which includes, of course, my hair stylist.
I snuggle in under the white fluffiness, listening to the familiar sounds of the city and fall asleep.
Next day I wake up and Sponsee has made me the French Press coffee.
“Wow!” I say. “This is amazing!”
She smiles at me with her special: Yeah-I-know-look.
“Well, I have to get going.” she says.
Sponsee has things to do today.
And I have my haircut AND dinner with son later this evening.
Since my haircut is not until 4pm, I take my time and lollygag around the Airbnb. I want to go for a run but I do not know of any parks in the area.
I text daughter: I want to go for a run. Are there any parks around here?
Daughter thinks for a moment. She texts: Maria Hernandez Park.
I have heard of this park. I whip out my phone and plug it into my GPS. It is only 1.5 miles away. This is perfect for my run which I do not want to be more than five miles total.
I pull on the running gear and head out. I follow the GPS. So far it is going well. And then as the GPS likes to do in the city, it gets confused and reroutes itself.
Ok. Since I really do not know this area I accept the re-route and move ahead. I run a couple of blocks and think: This does not seem like the correct direction to Maria Hernandez Park.
I look at the GPS.
Guess what Reader? Yes. Yes! It has changed direction again. I am reminded of the time son and I were in the rental car beginning our college road trip. The rental car had one of the dashboard GPS so popular at the time.
ALL we were trying to do was get out of Brooklyn. That thing must have taken us around in circles three times. Maybe more.
Jesus! By now I have run three miles. I decide to try to use this device to get me home.
And… it works. Why? Why does it work to get me home, but not to get me to the park?
I do not understand the GPS.
No, I do not.
When I get home I have some time to myself in the Airbnb before I need to leave to get my haircut. I do a little writing, mostly about son, who I will meet tonight to share a dinner.
When I am done with my son moment, I head out to my haircut appointment with my all-time favorite haircutter in Brooklyn. I met him when he was working down the street from me. And then he opened his own shop even CLOSER down the street from me.
I love him. I will not give him up. I will come to Brooklyn JUST to get my haircut.
I have heard of people who will not give up their haircutters. I thought this silly.
Now I do not.
Evening comes and I head into the city to meet son for dinner. I take the R train. The subway has gotten much fancier in the last number of years. Now you can use your device or a card to do this OMNY Tap and Go situation, right through the turnstile. No contact. AND there are Help Kiosks and Wireless and Countdown Clocks that tell you when trains are coming. You can even understand the announcements!
This is SO much better than the old hope-this-train-is-coming-soon system. Complete with mish-mash garbly messages that leave passengers bewildered, asking one another, “What did they say? Did you understand what they said?”
As well as:
Is this train running express now?
Did they say the train is going to run on the C line?
Wait. Why is 23rd Street the last stop? Is that what they said?
And the inevitable shutting of the (insert train here) doors JUST as one understands they now need to exit this train at THIS VERY STOP. Because this train will now run express right through the next eight stops. One of which is yours. Of course.
I get off the train to meet up with son.
I think: Whoa. Even right here is fancy now. Tables in the streets and all that. I used to hang out at the park around here. It did NOT look like the park I am standing in front of right now.
It is actually confusing. I text son: Where are you?
Son texts: I am in front of the restaurant on 5th avenue.
I text: I am standing right here.
Son texts: I was standing there and I did not see you. Are you at the Broadway entrance? There are two entrances. One on Broadway and one on 5th avenue.
I did not know this.
I text: There is a whole street blocked off with tables.
Son texts: I am walking over.
Son asks me if I want to eat inside or outside. This is a tough decision because it is just chilly enough to want to be inside, but just loud enough inside to want to be outside.
I do not feel like screaming to speak with son as we share dinner.
I say, “Let us eat outside.”
And so we are seated. Right on Broadway all blocked off with tables.
I think: This is REALLY weird. Broadway blocked off with tables.
It is nice to be sitting across from son. I miss seeing him in-the-real. I miss his jokes and his sometimes baffling sentence structure. And yes, I miss just looking at him. Which may sound weird. Or if you are a parent you may know exactly what I am talking about, the looking. I look and I see this young man as he is now. And all the memories are there, but he is grown. And we speak to one another as adults. I learn more and more about who he is now, and who he is becoming. I feel like I could burst into tears right there because I love him so much.
He would totally hate that.
So ok, I do not.
We talk. I tell him some things I have been meaning to tell him.
I have written them down. I write them down so I do not forget.
Because I do forget.
Son says, “I didn’t know you were going to come with all this.”
I say, “It is really not that much.”
He says, “Well, you have a list.”
Maybe making a list formalizes these things.
I do not know.
It is a very nice dinner. When it is time to go son helps direct me back to the Airbnb.Which as previously mentioned is in a neighborhood unfamiliar with a train line equally as unfamiliar.
Son says, “You can take the R train to Canal Street and transfer to the J train.”
Or at least I THINK this is what he says.
“Ok.” I say and I trot on over to the R Train.
I am not sure what happens but somehow I wind up at Broad Street, which is the end of the J train line. It is possible I have spaced.
I text Son: They made me get off at Broad Street.
Son texts: Ok.
I text: I need to know where I am going. I think I just have to switch sides.
Son texts: The J stops at Broad Street so yes, exactly.
I still do not know what has happened exactly. I go to the opposite-side-train-direction anyway.
Eventually I make it back to Airbnb.
Sponsee is there. We begin the gab. I know I should go to bed. I am meeting daughter at yoga class tomorrow morning. But this is the first time Sponsee and I have actually been in one another’s presence. I cannot help myself. I keep on gabbing anyway. Finally I have no gab left in me. If you know me, you understand how amazing this actually is.
I go to bed.
When I wake up it is Saturday morning.
I text Daughter: Do you want to go to the later yoga class?
Daughter texts: No mom. We registered for this one. And this is my Favorite Teacher.
I am pretty sure I let out a small groan. I REALLY want to attend yoga class with Daughter. She is such a natural Yogi. And I have not been to this studio with her. But I am tired.
Whatever. I get out of bed.
Sadly, daughter’s favorite teacher is absent this day.
Still, we get to practice together. Substitute Yoga Teacher is very nice. Daughter comes into King Pigeon pose with ease. I do not know how she does this. I do not believe this particular pose will enter my practice, really ever.
After yoga we go to Brunch. I cannot recall the name of the Brunch Establishment, but it is in Soho. It is very crowded. I do not know why this fact has not entered my mind. I used to work in Soho. I used to live in Soho. I remember the weekends in Soho.
But now it is way, way worse.
However, the Brunch Establishment has very delicious food, complete with mini Sticky Buns, so I guess I really do not mind the Soho weekend deal.
We exit and I get a compliment on my new fabulous haircut. “Thank you!” I say.
This is why I come to Brooklyn to get my haircut.
We begin the weave through street vendors who all have pretty much the same items, arranged differently. Mostly jewelry. I just look.
Daughter wants to go to Zara to look for a coat.
“Shopping?” I say. “In a store?”
I hate shopping. Shopping provides me with too much sensory input. Plus there are lines.
But ok, I do it anyway because I am here and because it is daughter.
We go into the store and start looking at coats. Of course the coats are NOT all in the same place. If the coats were all in the same place then one would not have to walk all over the store foraging around for coats while walking through a maze of everything else in the store that is NOT a coat, but the store is hoping you buy anyway.
We look at this coat. We look at that coat. We look at many coats. We find a lovely sand-color felt coat. With a hood!
“Oh!” I say. “This one is good!”
Daughter puts it on and looks beautiful. Of course.
I hope she decides to buy this coat.
And…she does! We waft over to the long line of humans purchasing items. I TRY. I try to stand in this line and make it to the purchasing counter.
Sadly, I fail. I now am way beyond overstimulated.
I must exit.
I tell daughter, “I have to get out of here.”
I think I get a tiny little eye roll. But she knows. She knows my long standing issue with LINES.
“Ok.” she says. “What train are you taking?”
“I am walking to Canal Street.” I say.
She points me in the correct direction.
Which is funny in a way since I used to live in this neighborhood.
But ok, I accept this Young Adult Daughter direction.
When I get home I lie down on the fluffy white bed. All the girls are supposed to meet up tonight for dinner. These women are mostly 30. I however am 57.
It is quite possible I have expended all of the energy I have for this day.
Ok, yes. I have definitely expended all the energy I have for this day.
This means it is highly unlikely I will be venturing out in the night to haul myself on the subway to meet up for dinner.
I feel old.
Too old and tired to go out with girls.
I also have nothing to wear. Although Sponsee did promise to dress me.
Since alI wear is yoga clothes.
Which is a joke I tire of.
With everyone.
Instead I talk with Sponsee as she gets ready to go out. We choose earrings for her evening. I realize I no longer wear earrings for fear of getting long-hanging-old lady earlobes. This is just one of the many ways I pretend to have control over the aging process.
As we sit around chatting while Sponsee is getting ready I think: it will actually be nice to enjoy some quiet time alone in the Airbnb.
Alone at night.
Peaceful.
Soon Sponsee exits for THE DINNER. Once again I have a teeny tiny moment of guilt. My mind says: You should go. My body says: You should stay.
I listen to my body.
I stay in and snuggle down into the white comforter with my journal. I open the journal and stare at the page for a while, waiting for something to come out of the pen. Sometimes this works. Sometimes not so much. Usually if I start writing something it will turn into something unexpected.
So I begin.
I start to write how grateful I am for Sponsee and recovery. As I go along a little sad feeling comes out. I am lonely. I wish I could be around all the people I love at the same time. But they are all in different locations. New York, Florida, Atlanta, California, Maine, Philadelphia, Mexico.
It is hard not to pine away for people and things.
It is hard to re-enter after Covid. Which is over but not over.
I write and sit in this strange uncertainty. Mostly I want to escape. But Recovery ruins everything and now I cannot partake in old ESCAPE behaviors.
Boo.
Soon I am drifting off to sleep. But since I am ME, I must get up out of my comfy place and do all the required actions before actually going to sleep. It was not always like this. Gone are the days of just falling asleep anywhere, anytime, without having to complete five different tasks.
Back in the day, when I enjoyed the portable life of living out of a black leather bag. Daughter hijacked that backpack. And my other small backpack. The expensive one with the little monkey hanging off the side. I think it was Kipling. Anyway, one is now residing in Brooklyn. And the black leather one lies with a broken arm in daughter’s former Philadelphia closet.
I am drifting and I know Sponsee is leaving early in the morning. I probably will not see her before she goes.
And now it is the next day. I wake to a quiet Airbnb. She is on her way back home many miles away. I am grateful. Zoom has gifted us with this precious connection, through clouds, over mountains and standing at the shore.
I pad out to the empty kitchen. On the table is a little folded piece of paper. I open it up and it is a note from Sponsee. Just writing these words now, just remembering that note, the tears come. I have witnessed this woman and she has come to trust me.
And that is a miracle. This trust built between two women, addicts, recovering. I lie down on the floor of the Airbnb and leave Sponsee a sniffy little video in response to her note.
I gather myself and close up the Airbnb. I make my way to the train home to Philadelphia. When I get on the train I race for a window seat. (Which I am very good at getting after years of practice).
I lean against the window as the buildings turn into trees, whooshing by in streams of rainbow candy.
I think about the past three days. About empty cabinets, fluffy white comforters and coffee waiting for me when I woke.
And about quiet connection, earned through shared honesty. Grown on curiosity and trust because we have become trustworthy. Finding that maybe, just maybe, we are not always right, and instead remain teachable.
She has been humbled.
She has found strength in vulnerability.
She has discovered wisdom.
She has stopped hiding behind control.
Humility cannot be bought.
It cannot be absorbed from a book or a movie.
Humility is a precious gift we give one another: You are seen, you are heard and you are accepted and celebrated. It is humility that allows our protective walls to come down. To see the world as a possible friend, instead of a possible threat.
You are a miracle Southern Sponsee. And I am so grateful to have you in my life.
In the words of Mahatma Gandhi, “I claim to be a simple individual liable to err like any other fellow mortal. I own, however, that I have humility enough to confess my errors and to retrace my steps.”
Rock on recovery. Rock on.
This October blog began a year ago, residing on my computer unseen until today. Today my dear friend and yoga student reminded me of how much she used to love reading my blog. It is with her inspiration I am publishing this today.
Summerhead 