Cold and despondent, nothing comforts me like the bear of early sobriety. Bought on a day I thought I would shake apart, this fuzzy old guy has been a display item for many years now, tucked to the corner with the lace edged pillows and folded shawls. Jittery and sleepless, it’s so easy to panic. I turn and see the amber eyes waiting for my embrace. His body is clothed in a hand knit child’s sweater made by a friend; the warmth of this snuggle is more than comfort. It is also the acceptance of loss. Quelling the dramatic highs and lows of the beginning costs many things and the depth of this is not lost in the moment. Alone in my bed, I see the passageway to the future appearing before me. I must rest and then walk on. I can not stall or simper. Plain work is before me and simple old bears a consolation.
Journal your optimism.