It takes me a while to settle down to write. The whole blogging experience is new and so far it hasn’t gotten any easier. Seems the fear of being judged still shackles my freedom. But I’m learning.
Here lately my desire to push the brand forward consumes my every thought. Like I understand that addiction is a coverup…the coverup for deep hurt and pain, and really everyone has an opinion on how best to treat it. Hell, I’m floored at how many of us addicts and alcoholics weigh in with our views on the best method to treat ourselves. And even now in the infancy stages of Served up Sober, I scratch my head as I conjure up the perfect recipe for sober success. Like, how have I managed to string together 18 plus months without a hitch?
Wrote this a couple of weeks ago:
Sitting here on the passenger side heading west on 105 and beach bound, I wonder.
It takes 90 minutes to travel 20 miles (LA traffic is merciless), but I’ve finally arrived at my destination. It’s a beach party for an elder and she’s celebrating her 81st birthday. I’ll let that visual settle.
When I first received the invite it seemed like the most ridiculous idea ever to have a birthday celebration for an 81-year-old matriarch in the heat of July at a LA beach. Like, who’s brainiac idea was this?
But, I’m here and its the usual scene: tents, blankets, umbrellas, ice-cold drinks, water and popsicles. There’s beach towels, a leather worn football and neon frisbee.
And I think I smell weed, but if you’re in Cali that’s legal. Right?
The traditional Big Guy is manning the grill: hotdogs, links, hamburgers, chicken, ribs and brisket. And to my right is a pile of wood for tonight’s bonfire.
Now to this mix add 35 grown folk and a little village of kids.
In the midst of all this I am most captivated by the woman of the hour. How content and happy she appears surrounded by her seedlings and a gathering that promises to become more raucous as the sun sets down.
I try not to stare but I admit that I’m inspired.
To be this relaxed. This serene. Without a concern for when, what, where, who and why…what a gift. A gift cultivated by years of living I suppose. But something that’s available to anyone at any time…not just in your 81st year of life.
I wish I could snuggle close and ask her for some words to live by. I know she has some. But I don’t want to meddle and cast a serious tone with someone I just met. So I snapped this photo instead. And what do you know? I think the recipe is in the picture:
“Enjoy life where you are. Enjoy every fucking minute of it.”