Escalators

Day 1
Linsey has a wicked scar on her left knee from a purportedly tragic escalator accident in her youth. You'd think her little blood-filled story, along with the remaining physical evidence, would be enough to inspire my children to politely step forward when they reach the bottom of an escalator, avoiding the otherwise awkward pile-up of strangers. It isn't. They don't.

I also try to keep them from walking up the "down" escalator, which apparently is enough fun to outweigh any threatened punishment. I do appreciate the opportunity for allegory, and when we've apologized (or avoided) the "down" escalator people who’ve uncomfortably squeezed their shopping bags past my totally oblivious offspring, I grab the opportunity and share this bit: Recovery is like walking up the down escalator. You can never stop. You might get ahead once in a while, buying yourself some time, but the AA Big Book is right in warning us to never “rest on our laurels,” instead recognizing that what we have is a "daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition." [p85] This is the terrifying thing to me. I cannot do anything today to guarantee that I won't fuck everything up tomorrow. I can only take today's steps up the escalator, and have faith that tomorrow I will do the same.