It’s so weird that I am not surrounded by all my familiar things and people this year for my sobriety birthday, but I wouldn’t have it any other place, truly.

I’m here in this still familiar but now distant idyllic universe that is San Diego, to show up for a good friend’s actual birthday – and to show up for her grief. My friend lost her sister and her mother within a few months of each other last year, and to say her holidays were rough is an understatement.

This isn’t a trip I wanted to make. Not because I didn’t want to see my friend, or bear witness to her sadness, but because selfishly, it’s kind of hard to come back. Memories are sharp here, like daringly running your finger over a piece of broken glass sharp. We made a home out of nothing. We went through the worst part of Covid here; my mom died while I was here. Memories I long to beat away with a very large stick.

But – to no one’s surprise – I’m here for exactly that reason. There are still feelings to deal with, something to uncover here that I left undone. This may or may not be the trip on which I can actually reconcile these feelings, and that’s ok. It’s not to be forced. The reason I am really here, it would seem, is something I learned in early sobriety. I am meant to be here, and the lesson is simple, direct, complete. It is something that’s echoed in my favorite show, Shoresy. It also happens to be the exact thing that will help me resolve my own feelings for whatever jagged and abrupt memories that lie in wait for me behind the next bird of paradise I see.

When a friend needs help, you help them.

My entire sobriety journey has been about doing the next right thing. I might take a few steps back sometimes, but what keeps me able to celebrate sobriety at all is knowing that, in the immortal words of His Purple Majesty, “not knowing where I’m going is galaxies better than not having a place to go.”

You are here, and it’s enough.