Four Corners

 I waited at the stop light, the lone car, quietly idling at the intersection. The symbolism didn't so much blindside me as stealthily pull up beside me, like a Tesla in the lane over. Feeling it flood my consciousness, I was simultaneously breathless and amused. I sat there, that steamy summer morning, sitting at the intersection, in my hometown. Four street corners- each with it's own backstory. 

To my immediate right, on the southeast corner, sat a small, nondescript office building; the kind one might see driving in to work without giving a second glance. But not me- I give it alot of thought. Two years prior, in that very building, inside one of its cramped conference rooms, I sat for 12 hours at a meeting table alongside my divorce attorney as we negotiated the final settlement. Back and forth between rooms the mediator shuttled with offers and counter-offers as every last marital asset was meticulously divided up. It was as emotionally as it was mentally exhausting. I remember leaving there close to midnight, no less drained than I would have been after a string crazy of night shifts at the Rock, or crossing the finish line after my debut marathon in Charlottesville. I flinched.

 Across the road to my far right, on the northeast corner was LabCorp, my local home base for “whiz quizzes,” where only the day before I had submitted my 128th urine specimen for drug screening. For 3 1/2 years, while enrolled in the Virginia Health Professinals Monitoring Program I have been making "deposits" there. It is in my contract as one of the major requirements for retaining my license to practice medicine. There are  others- AA meeting attendance and supervisor reports attesting to my workplace functioning to name a couple- but drug testing is the biggie. Three times per month on average I am randomly called upon to piss in a cup to demonstrate to the HPMP and the world I remain clean and sober. These days I am in LabCorp more than the supermarket.

 Moving counterclockwise, there is that 7-Eleven on the northwest corner. How many times, on my way home from a shift, had I stopped in there for a bootlegger or bottle of Wild Irish Rose (vile stuff, by the way). I was so careful. I always purchased my convenience store alcohol with a soda or some other random item so it didn't appear as if I was only there for cheap wine. I always paid in cash. My drive home was only ten minutes, and I would crack the seal on the cap at minute nine, just as I turned into my street, and guzzle the entire bottle while sitting at the bottom of my driveway, carelessly tossing the empty into the front field. Then I would go into my dark home, descend into the basement, pull out my "stash," and do my REAL late-night drinking.

 That was a long time ago. I feel blessed, strong in my program, and grateful that I never have to do THAT again. I have recovered from alcohol; what I haven't been cured of, and never will, is alcoholism. It is a disease that can only be held in remission. So long as I work my recovery daily, I will be OK. There is no other option. I am reminded of this fact because, still at the intersection...I summoned the courage to look to my  left.

 Just off the southwest corner, beyond the Costco, is the edge of campus- the big university. The place where she works to this day, doing her academic planning and project management. The place where for two years I visited her, surprised her with lunch and a kiss, or brought her a cake on her birthday. I am recovering from her...I really think I am; it's just taking time. A lot of time. We fell in love, and recovery from love will always take time. Our relationship collapsed under the weight of our collective emotional baggage. I made fatal mistakes, leaned on her far too heavily with my problems when she herself had her own unresolved issues. But I feel myself getting better, slowly. Time does heal tender wounds, but at risk of sounding cliche, scar tissue is forming in its wake. We will both have some as we move on. I wish her peace and happiness in her future. I am moving on.

The light finally turns green and I gently depress my car’s accelerator. Within seconds, the four corners of the intersection are behind me. I make one final glance in my rearview mirror...and then drive on to my new happy place- long-term sobriety, a resurrected career, a fantastic new relationship, a pending book launch, a loving circle of friends, and an orange sunrise over the Blue Ridge.