We’re back from Austria! The trip and conference were great. Some of the upcoming blogs will probably be related to these past few weeks—reflections on travel, on the recent Newbery speech, and summer in general.
One blog that came to mind while we were away relates to fog.
Fog?
Like mind-numbing fog from the time change?
There was that, but no, not really.
Fog, like not being able to understand the language.
Yes, there was some of that, but that’s not what this blog is about either.
This blog is about fog so thick that we could barely see past the hood of the car. Fog so thick you could feel it pressing up against the windows and making them bend in. Fog so thick that the weight of it slowed the car to a snail’s paced crawl.
We were driving from southwest of Salzburg up to St. Wolfgang. Next to the lake, there is a great hotel that was recommended to us by friends. Now the Inn did provide directions on their website. We did have a travel agent who offered to map out directions, but we are intrepid travelers. We like to strike off into the unknown. And we especially like to take very small roads so that we can get deep into the countryside. And so we turned off the main road onto a small road that on the map snaked as a thin yellow line up through a park and over a mountain.
As we started to climb, the fog began to roll in, but it still wasn’t thick. We reached a toll booth—there was an eight euro charge for the pleasure of this road. The road went through the largest pastureland of Austria. As we drove into the park and the fog thickened, my son joked, “Maybe you have to pay more in order to get the view.”
We crept along the road and in one spot came to a parking area. We only discovered this as posts marking the edge of the area loomed up in front of us as we crept around trying to find a way out. I had the sensation of a wild horse being penned in—searching in every direction, but unable to find an exit. In our story, though, a car suddenly, zoomed out of the fog to our left and showed us the location of the road. We got back on track. My husband inched his seat forward so that he could get as close to the windshield as possible. I don’t know if it gave him any better visibility, but it made him feel better.
Then as we came out of the mountain, the fog dissipated. Suddenly the lake stretched out below us. We zipped down the last bit of the drive and found our hotel.
How does fog relate to this blog? During our drive, I thought about how the fog’s image was similar to recovery. Sometimes you have to keep moving forward even if you can’t see the way. All you might be able to see is a few feet in front of you, but you have to keep moving forward, knowing that you are headed in the right direction. And then suddenly the fog will clear and the view is marvelous.
For recovery, you may not be able to see far into the future. Depending on where you are, it may be one meal at a time. One set of urges. Distracting yourself from one barrage of eating disorder thoughts. But it is in this moment that you have to stick with it. You might need to move slowly, like we did in our car. You may need to lean forward and strain ahead looking for signposts. And you might need to follow others who seem to have a better view of the path—just like we followed that car, which got us back on the right road.
So—
· What image helps you to view recovery? Does the fog image work or is there something else that can help you continue to move forward? A writing friend once told me that writing was like wandering through a forest. We all took different paths, but suddenly we were able to meet up at a clearing. It was then that we all became aware that even though we took different paths to get there, we all arrived in the same place. Recovery is not a sunny day when everything is easy. Recovery is fog, it is slogging through swamp land. It is being lost in a desert, but then an oasis looms up and life is better. Recovery leads to a better place, but it is, sometimes, hard to get there.
· Journal about the tools that you can use to get through recovery. Headlines, windshield wipers, a map—those were all tools that we used. What do you need to aid your recovery?
· Journal about what you’re seeing along the journey. Sometimes slowing down means that we can appreciate this moment in time. Rather than looking so far ahead, enjoy the place that you’re at. We missed the large vistas on that drive, but still have visual memories of that fog. It danced in front of the car. I have a memory of being tucked inside a small space with my family. I have the chance to write this blog. Enjoy, revel in this moment in time rather than what you wish it would be. Celebrate small steps in your recovery. Journal about a beautiful image from today—something that you enjoyed. Focusing on the here and now can help you appreciate the beauty around you. Journal a list—one or two things a day--that remind you about what you have, not what you feel that you’re missing. My list from yesterday would include that I had a chance to read for an hour while I waited for my son during his soccer camp. I took a pleasure book and spent those 60 minutes lost in another world rather than trying to feel like I had to get something done every minute of the day. I enjoyed the ecstatic wiggles of my dogs who were thrilled when I came home. I enjoyed having my daughter paint my fingernails. I enjoyed jokes that were shared together as a family—even if I don’t remember them, I remember the laughter. What can you celebrate from yesterday or today? Journal a list to discover simple pleasures.
Go, Write On!
Martha Peaslee Levine, MD
