As the program states, “The willingness to grow is the essence of all spiritual development.” (AS BILL SEES IT, p. 171)

It is just after 1 am. I am up with Pippin. I don't know whether this will be quick or slow, but I know where this will eventually lead. My heart is broken from all of this. I listen to him breathe. The other two Shih Tzus snore beside him.

My relationship with my three Shih Tzus is one of family. I’m their mom. If I had to do it all over again, even with all of the heartbreak of Pippin’s cancer, I would. I would still choose to be laying here on this couch, at 1:27 am now, with one hand petting Pippin. Listening to him breathe.

Because it was meant to be. Me and these three.

It was. I did grow from it. My inner core is stronger. My spiritual beliefs more centered in knowing what will be, will be.

On day 352.

“If more gifts are to be received, our awakening has to go on.” (AS BILL SEES IT, p. 8)

I stopped drinking so many times. When I was in law school. When I was trying to get pregnant. But it never stuck and that's because I wasn't working on the root cause.

I drank to excess, especially toward the end, because I needed to decompress and escape. I needed to turn off my brain. I needed to feel some peace.

Yet the problem was, drinking worked until it didn't. It surely doesn't work for me anymore.

The program is a spiritual journey. We work the steps. Again and again. Every day.

I am on step twelve about giving back and that's not hard for me. What’s hardest is taking care of myself and setting good boundaries. What's hardest is that I cannot control outcomes. Much as I may want to. Desperately.

I just need to quiet my mind and be. Accepting and surrendering.

I know it’s almost time to let Pippin go. That’s why I’m up at 2:55 a.m.. I came downstairs to check on him. His breathing is labored. I held him. I told him he could go. I told him I loved him. I know he loves me.

In my head, I imagine that he would tell me, if he could speak, “Hey mom, love you dude (his voice might sound like Bart Simpson a bit), but I’m so tired. Thank you for taking care of me. Take care of Merry and Princess Leia and daddy and most of all yourself.”

I’m crying so I have to go.

On day 351.

So it’s no wonder, as a memoirist, that I am drawn to it. I've come to love my group. It’s online, but pretty much a small, connected group of people who try to meet every day to share their stuff.

Yesterday, my serenity was interrupted. I did not sleep well. I was off kilter after the interaction at issue, but then said to myself, I have the power to not do the drama. I can back away. Not engage. So I'm trying not to get pulled into it. I just need to try harder.

I will do what I need to do and that’s it. I cannot live in negativity. Or in the past. I want a new life.

The truth is, I've been so much happier sober. Even on my worst day, I know I have control of me and only me and that gives me peace. It's helping me to see that Pippin was a gift and he’s here only as long as he's meant to be. It is helping me see that my writing and performing is a gift, not a burden. I love it so. I just need balance.

Before when I was drinking, most days, I felt as if I was walking on a balance beam. I couldn't stay on it. Always teetering. Off center. No more. No more of that.

I will live my life standing up straight knowing that I only have this. So I must treasure it and walk tall. Sharing my life in the rooms and out.

On day 350.

As the daily reflection for today states, “At one time . . . every A.A. group had many membership rules. Everybody was scared witless that something or somebody would capsize the boat. . . .The total list was a mile long. If all those rules had been in effect everywhere, nobody could have possibly joined A.A. at all, . . .” (TWELVE STEPS AND TWELVE TRADITIONS, pp. 139-40)

I am a rebel. A rule breaker. A creative. Rules are yokes. They tend to exclude. They are a means, like laws in many ways which are a form of rules, to control.

Recovery is about not controlling others so it makes sense that the program would abstain from rules.

Plus, selective enforcement is something I've written about with regard to the criminal system.

Rules are a way to discriminate at times. To stigmatize. To ostracize.

The best part of this program for me, is its openness.

So today, I ask myself, do I desire to stay sober? Yes. It's beautiful. Lovely. Sustaining. True.

Yesterday, I did an interview event at the public library in Highgrove. I didn’t need to worry that I would be hungover. I didn’t rush out to get to my nighttime libations.

Instead, I went home and crashed, exhausted from being “on” for almost three hours. Sober, I have to watch how much I do and give because it takes a lot out of me, but it was well worth it.

I went to bed at 8 pm and awoke a little before 4 am. And I did my own personal rule upon awakening.

I put pen to paper.

On day 349.

Just kidding. I’ll start year 2!

The reading for today in the daily reflection is about anonymity. I am not anonymous. Nor do I want to be. I have to write my way through. I must.

People break anonymity all the time. That’s why there are drinking memoirs that I adore. See Lit by Mary Karr. And Drinking, A Love Story, by Caroline Knapp.

So that is one I cannot do. I have to do me. My way. Not “my way or the highway”. Just what works for me. That's this. Writing. Living. Breathing. Writing some more.

But the humility part, now that I can do. I can try to see people more. Listen. Just be.

Today, I have an event at the Highgrove Library in Riverside. I’m interviewing Tomas Baiza, the author of the epic book Mexican Teeth, which won the Eliud Martinez book prize by the Inlandia Institute. I was the judge and read so many manuscripts. This was one of the last and I knew it was “the one” the minute I picked it up.

It was all voice. Hybrid. Innovative. Real. Stunning. It fucking blew me away.

And that’s why I cannot be anonymous. I contain multitudes. Writer, lawyer, performer, emcee, and MFA student graduating soon. Add in, one who lives a sober life and writes about recovery.

On day 348.

I don't know if it's age, or menopause, but I rarely feel that light anymore. Even at the beach, I am weighed down by what time to leave. The next day at work. My dogs waiting for me. The traffic. My back hurts.

I want to find that joy of youth, but maybe it doesn't exist anymore. Maybe it never did. I certainly cannot find it in a bottle of beer. I have so much nostalgia for my youth but I know, it was not all roses and sunshine. There was a lot of chaos.

So today, I plan on just being. Breathing. Meditating. Slowing down.

On day 347.

Maybe, I just have too much going on. Pippin had an appointment this week, and that always throws me. The news is not good, yet not horrible. The lymphoma is back, and his liver is too elevated for oral chemo, but he's still here with a good quality of life.

The thing that’s hardest with dogs is knowing when to let them go. My Frodo years back, was easy. His (undiagnosed) brain tumor went crazy one day and I made the decision to let him go in minutes. But his brother Chewbacca was different. He hung on for years despite his heart condition and we got a lot of good time together. But the last six months was so awful. I would sleep next to him and listen to him wheeze.

By the time I knew I had to let Chewbacca go, he was really struggling. I kissed him. He wagged his tail. They started the sedative and he was gone in seconds. It was so quick and once I told him he could go, he went.

I just hope I can be brave with Pippin. He’s the leader of my little pack. So sweet. A tiny little tramp of a Shih Tzu with brown and white markings and soulful chocolate colored eyes.

I don't know what this has to say about sobriety, but I know that it has a lot to say about me.

On day 346.

Lately, however, I've been overextended and overwhelmed so I am not taking on anything else right now. Let me get through this semester and my book deadline. I know my limits and am able to set boundaries. If you don't like it, shrug.

My main goal is to remain sober. I can’t listen to people who want me to do this program their way.

I’ll do it my way as Sid once sang.

This whole concept that sobriety makes you a good person is bullshit. There's plenty of people who are sober yet are also horrible people doing horrific things.

And there are plenty of drinkers with hearts of gold. I think it's about working on yourself, and while sobriety can make you better, I think we are who we are.

If you're selfish, and a taker, you are not likely to change without divine intervention although you can improve. If you're a giver and an over extender, you will continue to be that, just with better boundaries in recovery.

So maybe it's blasphemy, but I believe that I was a good person while a drinker.

I’m just a better me sober.

On day 345. (Written the night prior)

I quickly realized, however, that I have no strength. Whether it's menopause, my weight loss medication or the estrogen I am taking, I saw that I couldn't stay upright when a wave hit. I was a mess at boogie boarding. It used to be my thing. I basically ate sand.

I felt a wave of loss come over me on the beach after I gave up on the body surfing and boogie boarding. I will start strength training at least a little. I have to. Sobriety means nothing if I can’t be active. I can barely move this morning. That's how sore I am.

The reading for today in the daily reflection talks about bonding with others. I feel like I am at least trying to be more present and available emotionally. I try to listen and hear.

It was nice to hang out with my sister Roberta for the last few days. She’s such a good person. As is her husband Chuck. They've been married for 50 years. Now that’s a bond.

On day 344.

My head is full of deadlines, obligations, and to do lists. I would just love to be able to be in the moment more, and meditate more often and just slow down.

Yet, I have a full time job as a deputy public defender, three Shih Tzus (whose feeding schedule and Pippin’s medication schedule fills up my head) and a husband and mother in law who I live with.

My husband is evolved and tolerates my over scheduling (did I also mention I’m taking my final class toward my MFA and I have a looming book deadline) and my need to write all weekend.

And I have an event this weekend at the library that I am the emcee for. Thankfully, I took a few days off this week to center myself and to spend time with my sister who is down from Missouri.

Writing is my medicine and it keeps me grounded. I might have an anxiety attack otherwise. You see, writing lets me marinate. It’s my main meditative practice every morning. It’s the main “why” I am here. Other than love.

Love really makes everything okay. Yesterday, my husband and I had a nice day driving my sister to my twin’s house in Palm Springs. On the way back, we went grocery shopping and it was fun. He reminded me to get a big box of single serving low salt Lays chips for my beach day. I grabbed licorice too, he smiled. We munched on a bag of the chips on the way home.

After thirty plus years, he knows me so well and I him. He tolerates all of my nonsense and busy bee ness.

That’s life. That’s spiritual. That’s love baby.

On day 343.

This one is difficult at times. Patterns are ingrained. Like a stain that’s been set in for years, things are hard to change. People disappoint you. They are who they are. Even when people work on themselves, they still have their predilections and peccadillos.

I have just decided to not do controversy anymore. People’s problems, stressors, issues are not mine. I have enough to do with the Shih Tzus. Sometimes, less and I mean caring less, is the key. You can’t react to other people or their propensity for theater. I will just do me and ignore the drama.

That said, I had a lot of joy yesterday. My sister Roberta is down from Missouri with her husband Chuck and we threw them a little get together for their fifteenth wedding anniversary and for my niece and goddaughter Sophie’s 21st birthday.

Chuck is a contractor and can’t sit still so he had to start to primer our patio in the morning. He also fixed the toilet from running and helped me put up a few decorations.

Adrian cooked barbecue pulled pork and chicken legs. He made some homemade slaw. Annie brought beautiful cakes. My mom bought a wonderful appetizer tray. And we swam and ate and listened to music.

I love having fun. Yesterday, “Time Warp” came on and me and my sisters Roberta and Annie were dancing and Sophie said, “She’s stone cold sober and dancing.” Like a fool I might add! Sophie's son Isiah was so cute. He brought a lot of joy.

Truth is, I have a full life. Plenty of work, school, home. Plenty of support love and happiness. I am so grateful today.

On day 342.

For me, my higher power is the universe. Let the universe control the outcomes. I can’t control anyone or anything but me. Not everyone can live up to my expectations. I certainly cannot make others happy or control them.

We went to dinner last night and traffic back up the pass was awful. I was driving us back home and usually, I would freak out. But I just tried to stay calm. I tried to laugh. I tried to not take it all so seriously.

Then, I woke up at 3 am cracking up to myself realizing that my brother in law, who’s typically gregarious, was so quiet during the car ride home because he was essentially terrified of me driving us up the Cajon Pass.

At one point, he asked me if I was driving with both feet. I said, “No, one foot. And thank god for this new prescription because otherwise, it is all a blur.”

I admit, I am not the best driver at night.

I have come to realize that laughter is my best medicine. I love to laugh. I need to laugh more. I need to smile. To chill out. To be happy.

I don't want life to be a blur. I want to see clearly now.

On day 341.

At work, it’s easy. My clients are some of the most impaired in the system. They are incompetent to stand trial. They need me desperately. I am there to protect them from what is, at times, a harsh system of injustice. Sometimes, I am just there to lead them through it with grace.

But in my personal life, I was often resentful. I would wonder why I did so much, yet was never acknowledged. I held resentments and I still do, but I'm getting much better.

To give without expectation is a true gift, and it's one I am learning is crucial to my peace of mind. I don't want to be that girl. The one who's always grumpy and grumbling.

I try to see the world and others as my Shih Tzus. I feed them, I watch them, I love them, I care for them. All without complaint.

My twin sister told me to be like a goldfish the other day which is a Ted Lasso saying. It means don't hold on to stuff. They have a seconds long memory. So I'm trying, I'm trying to just be in the moment. I’m trying to be happy.

Decompression without alcohol is getting easier. My sister is here from Kansas City, and we hung out yesterday. I was still a little anxious, but I am working on being in the moment. Being present, and content, and ultimately, happy.

The thing that was trying to break my serenity, ironically enough, were the Shih Tzus. They were mad to not have my attention and barked and barked at my sister and her husband, I had to put them in the bedroom. Eventually, they settled down, well not Princess Leia, she's pissed to have anyone in her castle. Her name speaks for itself.

Before I went to bed, I snuggled my dogs. Urged them to do better tomorrow. Just like I urge myself. On day 340.

But as I get older, my tastes are turning toward serenity. Toward bands that relax me, like Wilco and the Shins. Toward peacefulness. Toward the acoustic. Toward feeling centered and being inspired.

I want to learn to play bass so I can write all of these songs in my head. I feel like they're sitting in there just waiting to come out.

Right now, the song “Square One” by Tom Petty is playing in the background.

He sings, “It took a world of trouble. It took a world of tears. It took a long time to get back here.”

Ain’t that the truth. I feel like it’s taken forever. But I'm here. Sober. Reflective. Content.

On day 339 (written 4.5 hours early).

Now it is different.

AWP rejects my proposals. Shrug. Someone snaps at me. Shrug. The calendar day at work doesn't go smooth, shrug. Someone in my MFA program doesn't like a story I wrote that I love, shrug.

This new JEM is me. But she’s the new me. The evolved me.

If my husband gets annoyed, I shrug. If my friend doesn't call me, I shrug.

(Except for the Shih Tzus, I still need them to like and love me, but as long as I feed them and hug them, they love me unconditionally.)

It’s so much easier. So much cleaner and cool. I may actually be turning into the cool punk rock girl I always wanted to be.

I realize that it's still a practice. I'm not perfect. But like it or not, I'm me.

On day 338.

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I always thought that I loved myself when I was drinking. But my actions showed otherwise. I cared way too much what others thought. I would start perseverating on the tiniest of things. My mind would never calm down. I was always going, going, going. Never stopping. Barely breathing.

If you truly love yourself, you don't need constant external validation.

It didn't matter how much I did, how much I achieved and accomplished, and how much I tried, it was never enough. I was an empty cup that needed to be filled. So I filled it up with beer.

Now I fill it up with working on myself.

Even when I have a bad day, like yesterday at work, I try to move on. I still thought about it all night, but I'm okay now. I had my cup of coffee and thought, you cannot control everything. It is practice not perfection. Your job is hard. Let it go.

So I did. And I will. Moving on.

On day 337.

Often, like Snow White, it would just put me to sleep. My husband was flummoxed by it all. I remember passing out in my concert chair at the Gypsy Kings in our box seats and him shaking me awake. Then, having to drink cup after cup of coffee to stay up for the second half of the show.

At that point, I couldn't help thinking that I had turned into my father snoring on his Lazy Boy recliner. Floor littered with empties.

It wasn’t fun anymore is my point. It wasn't pretty. Or glamorous. In the future, I knew it would get ugly or even uglier. I would change into a snoring and slumbering mess of a person. A walking zombie.

Am I being dramatic? Perhaps? Perhaps not.

The reality is that I was on a road to nowhere. Now that I don't drink, not even a sip, I never have to wonder, what if? What if I have too many and get lost at the casino wandering around? What if I lose my wallet, or my phone, or my credit card, or my jacket? (I left jacket after jacket on the backs of stools and I still miss my faux leather jacket with appliqué studded flowers.)

Truth is that I could barely keep my mind from being lost toward the end.

This is no fairy tale. If it was, I was the witch in the story. I held out the apple. I urged myself to take a drink. So I did. Again and again.

Until I didn’t.

I had enough you see. And while I might have just said this is no fairy tale, there is a happy ending to be had, one achieved through working the steps to be a better person. I have been working on this for eleven months. It’s working.

My anxiety is lessening, and I'm more centered. I feel so much better. I do.

Finally, I can see the light at the end of the long tunnel, marking my first year sober. It is a lovely sunrise that I'm walking toward. Big cup of coffee in hand.

Day by day and step by step. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. Thank you for being here for the adventure.

On day 336.

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