By Camilla Richardson 
Eleven years. It’s a strange number. Lucky perhaps? I don’t believe much in luck unless I’m in a superstitious mood. But this year marks a decade, plus. I’ve been sober for a long time. A good time. A lucky amount of time, maybe.
I’ve learned so much. I’ve forgotten more. But some things have stuck. Like you don’t have to relapse to be living numb. The journey never ends. That’s what they say, and now I say it too. One thing about age: you learn most of the cliches are true.
Every season of sobriety has been a battle of a different kind. But living drunk was too, and at least now, I feel the fall and catch myself.
Being human, it seems you’re always learning a lesson, working through something, facing another demon or hardship, turning a page. The thing I’m learning lately—to have fun—is one of my favorites so far. Maybe that’s why, after never throwing a party in my first decade of sobriety, I am this year. On the plus one.
And I’m learning to release embarrassment. To enjoy the risk, to be okay with rejection. These lessons sound simple. For me, they are monumental.
I started a freelance career this year. It’s a huge risk, putting myself out there in ways I rarely have. Yet, it’s not nearly as terrifying as I thought it would be because I’ve done the 10, I can do a plus one.
I’ve had a career. Built lasting relationships. Gotten creative. Survived physical pain I couldn’t have imagined. Life has gone sideways at times, taken me under with more force than a tidal wave.
I’ve grieved the death of good friends. I’ve gone through a medical issue that had me in bed most days for a year. One that’s still not fully fixed. I’ve faced the yawning gap of my past trauma and its lingering effects, spilling a river of disconnection within myself without knowing why. Some disappointments have changed me to my core.
But I started to realize that problems, like the seasons, will always ebb and flow. They are ever-present. Ice in winter. Mud in spring. Heat in summer. Leaves strewn in fall. I decided to stop staring at them. The problems. To simply shift into what I do enjoy. To notice what is good about my life right now.
And I realized I wanted to be silly. I wanted to have fun. So I did things I would normally be embarrassed of. Put my words and goofy videos and some of my dreams out there where others could see.
Ten plus one. I don’t know that I’ve solved anything, I’m an utter work in progress. Some heartbreaks I hold close. Grief does not leave when you stop looking at it. Problems don’t necessarily either. But like a room full of furniture, there are all these pieces making a whole.
The rug might need cleaning and there’s that stain that’ll never come out. The couch might be lumpy and the floor outdated. And there’s that plant you killed again.
But there’s also a comfy chair. And the window is pretty bright. That picture on the wall is lovely too, and it was a gift from your sister, right? She knows you so well. Oh, and the piano. Maybe you never play it but your nephew does when he comes over. And the bench is a lovely blue. That shade might be your favorite color.
We are the room. Looking around, noticing the good stuff has made me want to bring in more things I enjoy. And what I choose might be a mistake. It may clash with the decor and be a total waste of money. But I’m tired of not taking risks. Plus one has been that year. I already know that when I sink, I can start swimming again. The 10 taught me that.
by Trish Broome 
by Courtney Devich 
by Jessica Grillo 
