left on Tulane, then turn yourself upside down

I was born and raised in the averagely sized Southern town in which I cart our three kids all over tarnation on the daily.  It seems like I should know all the streets, all the shortcuts and all the places.  But because I recently came to a breaking point and began looking for help, I sought out a very obscure little building.  I could have spent the rest of my life in Shreveport without ever knowing that this building ever existed had I not come face to face with the havoc that addiction had ravaged in the life of my family.  But because I did, it's becoming a weekly sanctuary and one for which I am wildly thankful.

When I first visited the Highland Club, a humble little lodge dedicated solely to 12 step meetings,  I plugged the address into Google Maps and paid very close attention.  I didn't know this part of town.  It looked run down, dingy, small, and the opposite of what Ann Lamott says we long for as those in recovery: "cuter abysses or three-day spa wilderness experiences.  Sadly," she notes, "it doesn't work this way."

But the trade off is tipped for the best rather than just plain good.  When it comes to recovery meetings (AA or Alanon alike), cute is exchanged for true, deep-down, hard-fought-for beauty.  Quick jogs are exchanged for epic, lifelong marathons. But the good news is that not one of us ever has to embark on this journey alone.  Wise souls are the cornerstones of these gatherings (some of them in my meeting remind me of the three little fairies from Sleeping Beauty with knitting needles).  The path to wholeness is pasted on the wall and is printed in the books we hold.  The way is well-trod and clear and the whole system is designed so that older wiser pilgrims carry newcomers and their efforts in doing so is actually an escort to their own finish line themselves.

So I accept the trade off. I work on accepting it without looking too far down the road and I commit this new 2.7 mile route to memory.

Now that I've been driving this way to my Alanon meeting every Wednesday morning for a few months now- right on Line Avenue, left on Ockley Drive, etc, etc, I don't have to think about it.  I just go.  One day, Lord willing, that will be what it's like after I've put these lessons I'm learning into practice for years and years.  I won't have to think about it, I'll just do it.  Learning my way to the Highland Club is serving as a metaphor for the actual neuroplasticity of my brain in the recovery process.  It's a renewing of my mind, transformative heart and soul work that God, my Higher Power, will do in me as I surrender my will day by day.

My default mode would never take me there (NEVER), but isn't that exactly how God always works?  He takes us places we never thought we would go, shows us paths we didn't even know existed, does work we never thought possible using the smallest and most humble most anonymous people and places.  And with that in mind, when I turn on Tulane Street and walk through that little side door on Wednesday morning- the one that kind of sticks sometimes- I know I'm exactly where I need to be.