3 Years Sober

This day is soft and quiet. The kind that has weight, soundless sound.

I don’t want to leave the warmth of my comforter even though the cats are all staring at me and I have plenty of things to do around the house before I enjoy a dinner out with my parents.

Every day we wake up with choices. Simple ones, like, will I choose to be satisfied today? Will I allow my mind to wander to the dark things in my past? Will I dwell on what I don’t have? Will I be so unspeakably grateful for what I do? Is the sun shining just for me, or is it just there? Why can’t it be both, Cassandra?

If I didn’t jump and roll from the train I was on 3 years ago, my parents could be visiting a headstone today instead of having pasta with me at the Olive Garden. That’s no small thing. That right there is the sun in the sky that I’m thinking of this morning.

I have risen with a soul whole enough to love the imperfection of myself. That’s a beginning and an end. I don’t have to keep looking or trying for more.

I choose happy today.

Happy 3 years, Sobriety Poet.

I love you.

How about that.

I do.