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I went to a meeting a few days ago where I like to sit in the far corner of the room. I got to the meeting 10 minutes early, walked in the front door and almost didn’t make it to my seat.

As I walked into the room, one person after another darted over to give me a hug and say hello. At first, my ego told me that I obviously was the mayor of sobriety and that I of course would be shaking hands and giving out hugs because of how awesome I am. The only thing missing was holding babies and doing the pageant wave to my adoring crowd.

But then I noticed that all those same people were running over to lots of people as they came in. It wasn’t just me; it was all of us, propping each other up.

And that got me thinking about the unique warmth of sober people. I don’t quite get it. I think it has something to do with so many of us having reached the absolute depths of hell that we bring back some of that heat when we get sober because we are so grateful to not be at the bottom any more.

But we all have bad days. Some of us have shitty jobs. Some of us are going through divorces. Some of us have ankle bracelets on from previous indiscretions. We don’t have lives that are all unicorns and rose gardens. We’re just regular schmoes.

Yet somehow recovery meetings are the happiest, warmest places I go. And it’s not just the hugs and handshakes. I noticed that with good recovery comes good, warm vibes. There’s a look in sober peoples’ eyes where you really think they’re rooting for you, that they really care.

It’s one of the most beautiful things in my life, to be honest, and I often wonder why I have migrated in recent years toward evening meetings. One reason is sheer laziness—with my sports viewing schedule, rolling out of bed to get to a meeting by 7 am ain’t so appealing. But I think the biggest reason is that it is so nice to end every day with an hour of warmth. And with it getting dark now at, oh, 3:30 in the afternoon, I will take any evening warmth I can get!

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

A NEIGHBOR was sympathizing with the wife of a heavy drinker as she complained that her back was sore from moving furniture.

"Why didn't you wait till your husband got home?" the neighbor asked.

"I could have," said the wife, "but the couch is easier to move if he's not passed out on it."

(Credit: Grapevine, February 2009, by Richard M. of Golden, Colorado)

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