Me, Myself and Me

My ears are so cold they ache, the muscles in my legs are pulled tight and I am teetering on the edge of exhaustion.
I feel great!
I just came back from a long walk with my friend Jan. She came over for dinner and we leashed up Indy and went for a walk along Lake Street, which overlooks a long stretch of beach and a great view of Lake Superior.
Indy was wild with joy, wilder still when we encountered one dog after another. Did I mention that my leash arm is sore?
Jan is a fellow writer, so we spent most of the time talking shop. Talking to a fellow writer is simultaneously exciting and comforting.
"I have the worst time settling down and just writing."
"Me too!"
"My best ideas seem to come when I don't have any way to write them down."
"Me too!"
Ah, there's nothing like sharing lofty thoughts with someone who understands.
That's about the most human impulse there is, don't you think: trying to find another person who "gets it."
That's one of the blessings of recovery. You find people from all walks of life, all ages, all races, both sexes, who "get it." It meaning you.
I used to believe I was a freak. Not in the fun, dye your hair magenta, dance in the streets sense. I thought I was too weird to connect with other people.
Then I got sober. And I found my people. Those feelings, thoughts, fears and ideas I thought were so weird were simply human. There was nothing about me, from the deepest inner core of me to the very tip of my nose, that was so singular it hadn't been felt, thought about, or dealt with my someone else. It was good enough just to be me. It was better than good enough. And once I accepted that I was ready to work on becoming a finer version of genuine me. And the project continues.
I am a work in progress. I am me. And at this moment, me is a pretty good thing to be.