recovery walk: today!
So -- I will be signing books at the Recovery Walk in Kirkland today. My post is at the Carillon Point end of things, the mid-point, where there will be a band or two, some inspirational speakers, hot dogs, t-shirts, mingling, etc. After a week of our stereotypical rainy gray 50-degree Seattle Gloom, we have a 75-degree day, complete with THE SUN!
The Recovery Walk is sort of like the Gay Pride Parade, but for recovering addicts and their friends and family. To remind the public that we aren't all skanky crack whores and skid row bums. That we are well-behaved citizens. That we are Bellevue soccer moms, doctors, artists, teachers, tech nerds, sisters, daughters, friends, neighbors. That we are healthy, young, old, everywhere-in-between, attractive, successful, smart, together people--who also have a disease. For which there is the hope of recovery. So here we go parading down the street, from the Marina to Carillon Point, along the waterfront, in the sunshine...I can see the strollers and golden retrievers now. Like Greenlake, only with this current running underneath all the cute workout gear, this feeling of unity and gratitude and celebration. The mayor will be there. News vans. I can't wait.
Especially since this morning over breakfast I learned that one of our ex-patients felt the need to leap from an overpass about a month ago.
Not everyone gets it.
If you have it, hang on to it--that window of opportunity doesn't always open and close as freely as one might think. Sometimes it only opens long enough to let you in (or out, depending on how you want to think about it) and then slams shut.
That's what I'll be thinking about as I sit in a chair in the sun watching this gorgeous bunch of people who should for all intents and purposes be dead or at least very intoxicated and alone and miserable. I'll think about the ones who jumped, who are huddled indoors, who are passed out, friendless, crazy, sad, afraid. I'll think about the ones who want to come back but are scared, whose ego won't let them, who are prying and picking at that window with their fingernails and it won't budge. And while I'm thinking about them, I'll be talking with old patients, laughing with co-workers, visiting with family, signing books, enjoying my blissful life, and not for a second forgetting that I am like, WAY lucky.
The Recovery Walk is sort of like the Gay Pride Parade, but for recovering addicts and their friends and family. To remind the public that we aren't all skanky crack whores and skid row bums. That we are well-behaved citizens. That we are Bellevue soccer moms, doctors, artists, teachers, tech nerds, sisters, daughters, friends, neighbors. That we are healthy, young, old, everywhere-in-between, attractive, successful, smart, together people--who also have a disease. For which there is the hope of recovery. So here we go parading down the street, from the Marina to Carillon Point, along the waterfront, in the sunshine...I can see the strollers and golden retrievers now. Like Greenlake, only with this current running underneath all the cute workout gear, this feeling of unity and gratitude and celebration. The mayor will be there. News vans. I can't wait.
Especially since this morning over breakfast I learned that one of our ex-patients felt the need to leap from an overpass about a month ago.
Not everyone gets it.
If you have it, hang on to it--that window of opportunity doesn't always open and close as freely as one might think. Sometimes it only opens long enough to let you in (or out, depending on how you want to think about it) and then slams shut.
That's what I'll be thinking about as I sit in a chair in the sun watching this gorgeous bunch of people who should for all intents and purposes be dead or at least very intoxicated and alone and miserable. I'll think about the ones who jumped, who are huddled indoors, who are passed out, friendless, crazy, sad, afraid. I'll think about the ones who want to come back but are scared, whose ego won't let them, who are prying and picking at that window with their fingernails and it won't budge. And while I'm thinking about them, I'll be talking with old patients, laughing with co-workers, visiting with family, signing books, enjoying my blissful life, and not for a second forgetting that I am like, WAY lucky.
posted by wendy at 9:18 AM
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