I'm grateful for a restful sleep after a few rough days. I'm grateful to receive my new Colorado license yesterday to feel more like a local. I'm grateful for a lovely run in Cheeseman Park. I'm grateful to see fellows from NYC on Zoom after a while. I'm grateful for writing being a form of "sober therapy". I'm grateful for the slate of podcasts I get to catch up on after a brief break. I'm grateful for the feelings of comfort and joy I already have when returning to my new home after being away.
This past week we went on a quick, beautiful little trip north to South Dakota to visit Badlands National Park and Mount Rushmore. Both were breathtaking in different ways. One was an other-worldly natural site while the other is a testament to man's creative ambitions.
The drive up, a relatively easy and scenic six hour journey, had us go through Nebraska and Wyoming. The latter state, Wyoming, has come up in my conversations multiple times of late. I've connected with sober fellows at meetings, particularly LGBTQ ones, who are originally from there. Several shared their experiences growing up knowing they were different during a time where Matthew Shepard's murder was national news. Despite that "attention" they felt like the only gay kid in their rural area, isolated from anybody who could relate to them. That tragedy along with the lingering impact of the AIDS epidemic, which made many scared to even seek connection with other gay people, lead them to soliciting the comforts of alcohol.
In South Dakota we stayed overnight in Rapid City. The downtown was rife with charming buildings in the style of the "Old West". What struck me most while there was the number of Native Americans panhandlers, especially at night, who were visibly struggling and inebriated. I could hear the glass clinking in their pockets and the familiar whiffs of alcohol. Earlier that day the reservation lands we drove through were eerily quiet and devoid of development, but you could tell from the stream of strewn bottles on the roadside that alcohol was omnipresent.
I bring up these two groups because in some ways I deeply relate to the path and the pain of my fellow alcoholics despite our circumstances being vastly different. I'm very much a city kid. I grew up in NYC and spent a chunk of my young adulthood in SF, another dense urban center. Subways, not cars, were my mode of transportation. People were constantly up in my business so feeling at least "physically alone" was never a thing.
I'm gay, but I came into my own in geographies where I could more easily see and befriend people embracing their authentic selves. While isolation was a regular companion, I could at least quell that a little more easily by stepping into the plethora of LGBTQ bars around me. Rainbow flags were not uncommon and Fire Island or Palm Springs were utopias where I could escape judgement from the "straight world".
I'm also Indian. Not Native, but South Asian, yet I identify with the cultural minority mindset. While I am simply the latest visitor to this land that Native peoples have occupied for millennia, I feel a sense of kinship with how colonial histories continue to impact my own interactions and conclusions. Growing up with my grandparents and their recommendations on how to navigate spaces with people who weren't always the friendliest back in the day remains a little voice in my head.
I haven't quite synthesized my complex thoughts and feelings around the variety of alcoholics I've interacted with over the past few weeks. But I love how all of them are pushing me to think more deeply about my own journey. I spot the differences not to feel unique, but to expand my understanding of addiction. I spot the similarities to feel a part of and empathize with another addict on as deep a human level I can. This has been one of AA's most profound gifts for me. I am beyond grateful that I am in a mental place where I feel willing and able to learn from the diversity that surrounds me and put another alcoholic's learnings into action in my life. By opening myself up to their stories, I let them show me how our eclectic struggles can be the foundation for my own strength.