I’m really really interested in what sobriety does to one’s spirituality and faith. So, I’m asking anyone who wanders by this blog to take a moment and describe their sober relationship with H.P. and the changes that have come from it. And in the spirit of openness, I’ll go first.

I had no faith at all in H.P. when I got sober. I came to an acknowledgment of God retroactively–by tracing my sober life backwards, seeing all the good changes that had happened in my life (and my head) with God riding shotgun that I’d never been able to pull off on my own. With God as my partner, I’ve been able to keep my temper for the most part, cut off the loop tape of sorrow that used to run almost non-stop in my head, like and trust most people most of the time, not take myself so seriously.

Okay, that’s it for me. So what’s different in your sober life and head from a spiritual point of view?

I suppose there’s no greater gift that sobriety has given me than my regular Sunday morning yack with my daughter who lives in Colorado.

I give myself about an overall  D+ as a mother (I had my good moments, but stability wasn’t my forte when she was growing up), but over the last couple of decades of my sobriety we’ve re-discovered each other as people. I made amends, she forgave, and then we both put the past behind us and got on with enjoying each other as parent and child.

I believe we best express our relationship with H.P. through our relationships with other people. And first and foremost in expressiveness is our relationship with our family. I never hang up the phone on Sunday after my daughterly gab-fest without saying hallelujah,  it so good to be sober!

Before I became a broadcast journalist, I co-owned a couple of restaurants –one of which, for a brief time, was the Blue Moon Diner in Charlottesville, Virginia. My partner was a glorious woman named Maggie Cox; friend supreme, chef supreme, character supreme. We had a blast, serving a combination of traditional diner food and whatever we could dream up in the decrepit kitchen. I baked fresh apple pies and biscuits every day and if there was any apple pie left over from the day before, we gave it away at breakfast.

The place was too small to support two family units, and, besides, I can see in retrospect that I was beginning my precipitous slide. Between then and now is my bottom, my bounce, and the long, upward climb–made in partnership with H.P.–into today’s welcome sobriety.

The Blue Moon diner just re-opened, yet again, under new management. I have business in Charlottesville today and have made plans to meet two ladies there for lunch. This has, of course, got me thinking about my own diner days; and, you know, just because I was on my way down when I was there doesn’t diminish the good times I had there with Maggie Cox.

As the promises put it so well: We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. Sobriety is about self-acceptance, not self-hatred.

I’m really looking forward to lunch.

I enjoy all elections, but I’m particularly enjoying this one ! Yesterday was my state’s (Virginia’s) primary, and I was on the road all day–driving almost 300 miles, visiting out-of-the-way polling places, phoning in hourly reports to my station. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people waiting in line as cheerfully as the voters I talked to within the collection of elementary schools, Ruritan Halls, and Rescue Squads I visited. We were all so engaged with our country’s political process–as though, somehow, we were at the beginning a grand housekeeping of our country’s ethos. I felt like high-fiving the world!

Come to think of it, a sober life, for me, is full of fully-engaged days like yesterday. A lot that I do really interests me–days are no longer just a string of tasks I do because I have to or I think I should. Looking back, I can see that, when I was drinking and using, a good day was the one I’d gotten through, not the one ahead of me.

It’s difficult for me to express how grateful I feel to be going through life the way I am now–as opposed to the way I was slogging through it a couple of decades ago. I know, down in my gut, that my engaged life is a small miracle that has been granted to me–that is granted to every alcoholic and/or addict who lives  another day without using, without doing anyone harm, maybe getting a little something accomplished–and, hopefully,  enjoying  the heck out of being alive and sober.