A daze describes that first hour in OA, not so very long ago. I attended an early morning meeting wedged into busy days by people who want it that much. I arrived breathless from the effort to get there on time, finding an address to a place I hadn't been before. Before I knew it the hour was up, participants offered me phone numbers, helped clean up the meeting place, hugged all around, and left.
Outside, I looked around to see what I had missed on arrival. The building, the sky, the neighborhood - all seemed hazy there in the parking lot, fuzzy and disorienting, like I had been ushered into secret caves and tunnels and then thrust out again into the world.
Blinking my eyes against a too-bright sun, I found my car, the only familiar thing I could recognize. Yet it looked different. Everything looked different.
That's how my day began, the first day of recovery - that first day when there was no sign of recovery yet in me anywhere.
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