the way it is

Patrycja Chociej

When I wrote my newsletter last Friday, I couldn’t have foretold the events that would unfold over the weekend. I couldn’t have anticipated the intensity of my grief and rage and hopelessness over the death of Alex Pretti, the second peaceful protester to be murdered by ICE officers in Minnesota in less than two weeks, and I didn’t intend to write about how a single branch of the US government seems hellbent on imposing maximum harm and putting their own financial interests ahead of the most vulnerable members of the population. I still don’t, but I can’t turn away either.

The one thing I am sure of is that our bodies are not designed to absorb and process this much violence, loss, and grief,¹ and when you’re sober, you feel everything.

This past week, in the midst of the ongoing unimaginable, I walked up to an anniversary marking the beginning of my own becoming. Fifteen years ago, I became willing to take a hard look at my drinking and to recognize that although I drank socially, I was never a social drinker. When I drank alcohol, I drank to get drunk; I drank for the effect; I drank to change how I was feeling, or sometimes to feel nothing at all. I used alcohol to take care of me—until it took me down.

Fifteen years ago, I surrendered.

To be a person in recovery is to learn how to sit with and process one’s emotions, to then identify what the feelings are, and what lies beneath. It’s not always comfortable work, but the alternative is untenable, and as one of my teachers reminds me, “Is it for the pleasurable, or for the better?” One thing’s for sure—sober is better than drunk.²

In the past, the days prior to my anniversary have often involved reliving the transgressions that brought me to my knees, but not this year. Perhaps that’s because the world is already so dark, and to live in the past would be simply selfish in a time when it doesn’t really matter, or maybe it’s that I’ve let go of the story and am on the other side of the storm.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned about alcoholism and recovery; the parallels I perceive between (stay with me) alcohol and the divide in this country, and what it means to live a sober life. Especially now.

What I do know is how active addiction thrives upon keeping the user angry and alone. Just like the current government.

The principles of 12 Step recovery rely upon one person working with another. To share resources in community out of care and concern. To be a good steward, to extend one’s hand to anyone who is still sick and suffering.

The United States is sick and suffering.

I can’t tell you what to do or how to do it, but I know we can’t do it alone, for as Clare Michaud wrote in a recent newsletter:

Community is the danger that these fascists want to destroy: community is harder to control than the lone individual.

When I went to pick up my chip on Monday, it was only after I sat down that I noticed I had inadvertently been handed a twenty-five year coin.

In the years of my drinking, had a similar event occurred, I might have pocketed the coin, just to see what I could get away with. At the time I wasn’t aware how the disease of alcoholism made me so deceitful, but isn’t that the acronym of denial— didn’t even k(no)w I was a liar. I am not that person anymore.

Not only would it have been dishonest to keep the chip, but more importantly, I don’t want to be ten years in the future. I want to experience every extraordinary moment until then, be they filled with tenderness or tears—I got sober to feel everything.

I shared with my yoga students the personal significance of the day, but equally, why I got sober is not the same reason I stay sober. Just like yoga itself, it’s what I know how to do, it’s what I practice. It’s often imperfect, but I do it anyway. I keep coming back to this poem by William Stafford:

The Way it is

There's a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you can do can stop time's unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.

Our threads are each our own. They may pull, or even fray, but I still believe that together we can weave a tapestry that is structurally designed to be stronger. So hold fast to your thread. Hold fast. Especially now.

Stay safe out there, and as always, thanks for reading ~ xosew

india is calling … . ..

Yoga in the Temples of South India
with Vishali Varga, Vanessa Airey & Sarah Webb

June 25 – July 8th, 2026

Join me for this incredible opportunity to deeply immerse ourselves in the five elements and in the study of yatra, the yogic practice of pilgrimage to the most sacred spaces in India and within ourselves.

and every week… . ..

gathering (in grace) notes • writing circle

Every Monday from 7:30 to 8:30 a.m. ET, start your week in creativity and community. Whether you already have a project whispering to you or are simply seeking a little inspiration, let’s write together!

We begin by greeting one another in the sleepy moments of the morning, then sit for a moment in silence before we write. Not sure where to start? Don’t worry ~ I always offer a poem and a prompt (or two) as a portal into possibility and discovery.

This is a free offering for all; however, if you find you are attending regularly and wish to make a donation in support, you can always buy me a book. Register once, and the link is yours forever ✍🏻

lingering line… . ..

only in the darkness can you see the stars

MLK

1. Min Jin Lee

2. Thanks, Buddy M, for drilling that into my oh-so-stubborn mind.