I didn’t do anything majorly interesting yesterday – it was a quiet one. The sun was out in full force here in Manchester, and as any true Mancunian knows, when the sun shows up, you make the most of it. Luckily for us, our company MD gave everyone the afternoon off to celebrate a record-breaking week, so I seized the opportunity to potter about in the garden before setting up my hammock. Life, in that moment, felt pretty perfect.
After spending some time in what I call my alternative meditation practice – writing – I lay back in the hammock and just let myself think. Now, that might sound dangerous for someone like me who has a history of overthinking everything. But it’s different these days. Since I began meditating, I’ve learned to observe my thoughts without spiralling into anxiety. I can catch myself if I start to drift too far and gently steer myself back to the present.
Lying there, I reflected on what I’d written and how much my life has shifted – not just externally, but in how I think, how I respond to things, and how I try to live. One of the biggest changes is that I’ve stopped trying to force things. I aim to go with the flow of life. Sure, I have a plan for the day – but it’s a loose one, especially when it comes to my personal time. Of course, if I’ve made commitments to others, I honour those. But when it’s just me, I try to stay flexible and trust the rhythm of life.
A piece of writing I came across a while back really stuck with me – it was about the Tao, often described as “the Way” or the fundamental principle of the universe. It used the metaphor of a pendulum swinging between extremes: one side representing the intensity of pleasure and the other the depths of pain. Life is always in motion between these two points, never staying in one place for too long. But there’s a moment, right in the centre of the swing, where everything is still. That point of stillness is the Tao – not joy, not suffering, but the balance that lies beneath it all.
This idea really resonated with me, especially in recovery. Seeking that centre – that Tao – isn’t about chasing highs or running from lows. It’s about being present, recognising the ebb and flow, and learning to rest in that middle space. Not as a place of numbness, but of peace. It’s helped me realise that both pain and pleasure are temporary, and my serenity doesn’t have to be tied to either.
That line of thought took me to the Yin Yang symbol – something that had always intrigued me. At first, I saw it as a vertical divide: dark and light, yin and yang, constantly interacting but separate. But then I imagined it rotated 90 degrees, the dividing line now horizontal, like a wave. The peaks and troughs became the highs and lows of life, and that horizontal line – the calm water – became the Tao. No matter how high the wave crests, or how deep it crashes, the centre remains. That image helped me visualise how even in chaos, there’s always a return to calm, always a centre.
And that brings me back to yesterday. There I was – sober, content, thinking clearly in the hammock. And the truth is, none of that would’ve been possible without the tools I’ve been given through AA and my ongoing journey of seeking a connection with a higher power. Without the principles I’ve learned – acceptance, surrender, honesty, humility, and willingness – I wouldn’t have been sat in the sun soaking up the day. I wouldn’t have been able to calm my mind, explore my thoughts, or even reflect on the Tao.
I’d have been drunk.
If I hadn’t found AA, if I hadn’t kept coming back, if I hadn’t started honestly working the steps and taking my spiritual growth seriously – I wouldn’t have had the serenity or self-awareness to even attempt something like mindful reflection. That kind of peace would’ve seemed laughable. Let’s face it, I’d have already polished off a few drinks in the sun and passed out in that hammock, not laid there in any kind of quiet appreciation. More than likely, I’d have woken up disoriented, dehydrated, and riddled with shame – again.
But today, things are different. Not perfect. Not always easy. But different.
And each day now, I just try to lie on the raft of life and live like water. Water’s powerful. When it hits a boulder, it doesn’t stop – it flows around it. Patiently. Relentlessly. Over time, it shapes new paths, not through force, but through persistence. That’s how I try to live these days. Not crashing through life in chaos, but gently navigating it with purpose, guided by the principles I’ve been taught, and the quiet strength of something greater than me.
The Pendulum
The quiet day unfolded,
a stillness not of lack,
but of the unhurried breath.
Manchester sun, a rare guest,
invited a turning outward,
a leaving of the inner storm.
The gift of afternoon, unearned,
a space carved for simple being,
the garden's green embrace.
Hammock strung, a cradle of air,
not escape, but a gentle holding,
of the self, unburdened.
Writing, a silent river flowing,
thoughts like leaves upon its surface,
observed, not clutched.
The shift within, unseen yet vast,
no longer a striving against,
but a yielding to what is.
Plans, like loosely held reeds,
bending with the wind's whim,
commitments honoured, the self unbound.
The pendulum's arc, a truth revealed,
pleasure's peak, sorrow's valley,
neither a dwelling place.
The still point, the heart of the swing,
not joy, not pain, but the balance,
the Tao, where all returns.
Recovery's path, a seeking of centre,
not the chase of fleeting highs,
nor the flight from shadows.
Presence, the anchor in the flow,
ebb and tide acknowledged,
rest found in the middle space.
Yin and Yang, not division, but dance,
a horizontal wave now seen,
peaks and troughs, the surface churn.
The calm beneath, the Tao's deep water,
unmoved by the surface drama,
a constant return to stillness.
Yesterday's grace, a quiet knowing,
sober mind, contented spirit,
gifts of a journey walked.
Acceptance, surrender, the guiding stars,
honesty, humility, willingness the steps,
leading to this sun-drenched peace.
The ghost of what was, a shadow receding,
the frantic grasping, the numbing escape,
replaced by mindful breath.
Today, the raft upon the river,
to live as water flows,
around the unyielding stone.
Not force, but gentle persistence,
shaping new paths in time,
guided by a strength beyond self.
