When I came out of rehab and when my full-time job
was to got to AA meetings and outpatient aftercare, we lived on a 1964 34' houseboat on a busy canal leading into the bay.
All my barfly friends disappeared into the woodwork, and family didn't come around as quickly as I hoped, considering I made such strides in my recovery. They hadn't learned to trust me yet.
I would sit in that houseboat, and watch Searays follow by Proliners and classic Morgan skiffs roll down that river, packed to the gills with laughing, happy people; coolers packed and drink in hand, laughing and yucking it up and just having a good time.
I would watch them and feel absolutely miserable and lonely. I wasn't looking at the drinks they had in their hands; I was looking at them having a great time and not being lonely.
It sucked. I felt so sorry for myself.
One day, one of these boats was rolling by and I heard someone say, "I would love to live on that houseboat and take this in all the time."
I felt like the luckiest person in the world. It really was a beautiful place to live, and what I was missing was the ability to be grateful for what I DID have. It was where I was meant to be at the time.
Gratitude for what I have and the raw potential for what can be has been critical to my new life balance.