From the book 51: Playing Around with Innocence by
, in her poem Be the Temple Master, comes this line:“I can’t see around the corners — and I don’t need to. The moment is its own fullness.”
So much of my life has been about craning my neck, trying to see what’s next. The next diet. The next sponsor. The next relapse. The next miracle. Always scanning the horizon like it held the answer, like if I could just peek far enough ahead, I’d finally feel safe.
But here’s the truth: I never saw what was right in front of me. The bite on my plate. The lie I told myself. The isolation I chose. The hand reaching out that I refused to grab.
I wanted the full map, not the next step. I wanted recovery without surrender. I wanted the results without the action. I wanted to graduate without ever doing the homework.
And that’s what got me stuck. The corners became cliffs, because I refused to trust the road until I could see the end of it.
Recovery has been teaching me a different kind of grit. A hard-edged, humbling kind of grit. The kind that admits: I can’t see around the corners. And I don’t need to.
One meal, one call, one prayer — that’s the road I can see. And if I do those things honestly, the next corner bends itself.
Still craning my neck. Still learning to stop. Still facing the corner with open hands.
With much gratitude and love -
DeeBo