Yesterday I noticed my running pace had bettered by about a minute/mile compared to two months ago. It is still old-lady-slow, but I run without goals and simply for my own enjoyment and sweat, so I felt a sweet shock of progress I hadn’t been expecting but it happened anyway because I literally kept putting one foot in front of the other.
Sometimes I still see a big glass of red wine on the counter and I hate it and even the person who put it there a little for leaving it out in the open like that — as if booze should suddenly become invisible or banished from earth because it’s evil and makes us do evil things. Then I remember this is only true for a relatively small percentage of the population and eventually this glass of wine gets drunk and does become invisible, but by then I’ve forgotten about it anyway.
Most days I never think about picking it up and drinking it. Some days I don’t notice it at all. This is progress, not perfection.
I pay my bills in a more organized fashion because I am not afraid to open the checkbook. My husband and I even set up a budget last month and I feel good about this, though also terrified because every bottle of OPI I buy will be scrutinized. But then again so will his bottles of wine, so I am not suffering alone at least.
I am more patient with my children. I am more present for them. I see that the people I can reach out and touch (without getting strange looks/arrested) are the ones who deserve my charm and patience and, well, love. I don’t go on twitter anymore because the endless stream of it’s 5 o’clock somewhere! jokes make me remember more than I want to and facebook feels two-dimensional, like a boyfriend I met at summer camp and we stopped writing each other because what the hell do we talk about anymore? I even feel funny mentioning social media by name, like I’m using “far out” in a work email.
There is more work to be done. There is always more work to be done. I will never be done and I will never get a gold medal as a wife or mother or employee or runner or even nail polish collector. Some days will suck more than others, but overall the days suck substantially less than they did one year ago (when I was not even 2 months sober!). That doesn’t sound very romantic, but I am very much in love with my life in this beautiful moment, the only one that matters.