JUST FOR TODAY: LEARNING TO LOVE THE SIMPLE GIFTS OF LIFE

Sometimes, at recovery functions, I get reflective and sit off to the side,
watching my fellow recovering addicts.

Saturday was one of those days. Warm and sunny, we gathered in a local park
to cook out, fellowship and raise money for an upcoming camp-out. Parents
brought their children, and the playground rang with the sound of laughter.

During times like those, I marvel at the serenity that recovery has given
us. Someone manned the grill, flipping hamburgers and turning hot dogs with
a singleness of purpose. Another recovering addict sold raffle tickets,
badgering those in attendance with good-natured persistence. On the picnic
table, a group of ladies gathered, cutting tomatoes and catching up on each
other's lives. A game of horseshoes took place down the hill, the clang of
shoe to metal post ringing through the park. On the other side of the
playground, a basketball game drew others, laughter just as prevalent as
the swish of ball through net.

As cars zipped by on the road, I felt safe. To say love was ever-present
sounds corny and melodramatic, but it's the only way to describe how a
recovery-oriented social function feels -- it's like a family reunion. I
gave and received dozens of hugs, from familiar faces and new ones. We ate
and we laughed and we talked, sometimes seriously, about our lives and our
programs. We are family, and we do love each other -- mostly because we're
so very grateful to be alive.

Each morning that I wake up without a desire to get high is a gift.
Everything that follows during that day, good and bad, is a blessing. And
those in recovery with me feel the same way. We're blessed with a second
chance, because we've all been to hell and back in our active addiction. We
give each other hope, and keep each other grounded in reality. In essence,
we help each other make it through one more day without getting high.

And that's what it's about -- and why we say the therapeutic value of one
addict helping another is without parallel. We can't live in the shame of
the past or dwell on the worries of the future -- all we have is the day
that we're in, and recovery teaches us to make the most of it.

Saturday, we seized the day. We savored it, letting the sun warm faces and
bodies that most of us hid away in darkness when we were using. We ran and
jumped and played, using muscles that for years saw no exercise other than
that which was required to get more dope. We felt feelings -- happiness,
joy, laughter and even the uncomfortable feelings like worry and sadness --
that we hadn't allowed ourselves to feel for years, and we were grateful to
feel every one. We used our minds, to listen to what others in recovery had
to tell us and figure out how to apply it to our own programs.

And we found gratitude in staying clean, for one more day, secure in the
company of a loving and supportive fellowship.

Steve Wildsmith is a recovering drug addict and the Weekend editor for The
Daily Times. Contact him at steve.wildsmith@thedailytimes.com or at 981-1144.