Week 16 – Living in Today

I used to think "one day at a time" was just something people said in meetings, like a recovery bumper sticker that sounded nice but didn't really mean anything. Then I had one of those weeks where my brain tried to solve my entire life by Thursday morning.

You know the feeling: lying awake at 3 AM, running mental spreadsheets about everything that could go wrong in the next six months. What if this doesn't work out? What if I mess everything up again? What if, what if, what if. By sunrise, I was exhausted from living through disasters that hadn't even happened yet.

That's when "one day at a time" stopped being a slogan and became survival.

When Tomorrow Steals From Today

The Big Book tells us that worrying about tomorrow robs us of the strength we need for today (p.85-86). I've lived this truth more times than I want to count. When I'm mentally time-traveling to next year's problems or last year's mistakes, I'm not present for the actual life happening right in front of me.

Future-tripping looks like writing horror movies in my head about things that haven't happened. My brain becomes a really creative screenwriter for disasters: This is going to end badly. I'll never figure this out. Something terrible is bound to happen. Meanwhile, my body responds like those imagined catastrophes are happening right now. Heart racing, sleep disappearing, that familiar itch to escape creeping back in.

But here's what I've learned: when I'm living in all my tomorrows at once, I miss the actual help that's available today. I'm too busy panicking about imaginary problems to notice the real person trying to connect with me, the next right action sitting in front of me, or the peace that's possible in this actual moment.

Regret works the same way, just in reverse. Instead of future horror films, it plays the greatest hits of my worst moments on repeat: If I hadn't done that. I ruined everything. It's too late now. Regret chains me to yesterday's version of myself and makes me miss who I'm becoming today.

How to Interrupt the Time Travel

Learning to live in today isn't about becoming some zen master who never thinks about tomorrow. It's about practicing simple ways to bring my scattered mind back to where my feet actually are.

Start with the truth of right now. When I catch myself future-tripping, I try a simple reality check: "That's a story. What is actually true right now?" Right now, am I safe? Am I sober? Am I breathing? Is there something concrete I can do that's in line with recovery, call someone, drink water, pray for two minutes, show up to the next thing?

Trade lifetime planning for daily planning. I used to either have no plan at all or try to map out my entire future in perfect detail. Both left me anxious and disappointed. Now I focus on what a sane, recovery-based today looks like: one connection (meeting, call, honest conversation), one act of self-care (shower, walk, decent meal), one moment with my Higher Power (prayer, gratitude, just getting quiet for a minute).

Practice being where your feet are. This is one of my favorite recovery sayings because it's so simple and so hard. My feet might be at dinner, but my mind is on my phone. My feet might be in a meeting, but my brain is spinning about next week's problem. A few times a day, I literally look down at my feet and ask, "Where am I right now?" Then I take three slow breaths and remind myself: "I am here. This moment matters."

The Gift of Enough

Living in today isn't just about surviving anxiety or avoiding regret. It's also about discovering something that used to seem impossible: moments of actual contentment with what is.

In my old life, joy was always conditional: I'll relax when everything is fixed. I'll be happy when I get there. Recovery has taught me to look for what I call "enough" moments, times when I can honestly say, "Right now, this is enough. I'm enough. This breath, this connection, this tiny bit of peace, it's enough for today."

These moments don't require perfect circumstances. Sometimes it's a real laugh with someone who gets it. Sometimes it's a warm drink in my hands and five minutes of quiet. Sometimes it's just the realization that I made it through another day without picking up, without burning bridges, without disappearing into old patterns.

Trusting something bigger with tomorrow. One of the hardest parts of living in today is that it requires me to trust my Higher Power with what I can't control. In active addiction, I tried to be my own Higher Power. I thought if I worried enough, planned enough, controlled enough, I could keep myself safe. But the more I tried to run the whole show, the more exhausted and afraid I became.

Recovery invites a different approach: "Just for today, I'll do what's in front of me and let my Higher Power handle what I can't." I don't have to feel perfectly trusting to practice this. I can start with, "Higher Power, I'm scared about tomorrow, but I'm willing to focus on today. Please take care of what I can't."

Tools for Today

Living in today is a practice, not a destination. Here are some things that help me when my mind wants to time travel:

The daily reset. Every morning, I ask: What has my Higher Power actually given me to do today? Not this week, not this year, just today. Usually, it's simpler than I think.

The three-breath pause. When anxiety about the future hits, I stop and take three intentional breaths. Breath one: "I notice I'm scared." Breath two: "That fear is about something that hasn't happened." Breath three: "Right now, I'm okay."

The regret reframe. When yesterday's mistakes get loud, I try this sequence: Acknowledge ("Yes, that happened"), Accept ("I can't change it"), Act ("What can I do today that aligns with who I'm becoming?").

The enough practice. Before bed, I look for one moment from the day where I felt genuinely present or grateful. Even if it lasted thirty seconds. Especially if it lasted thirty seconds.

Living one day at a time doesn't mean I don't plan or hope for the future. It means I stop trying to live in next year's problems or last year's regrets. It means I show up to the life that's actually available right now: messy, imperfect, real.

And when tomorrow comes, I'll do the same thing then. One day, one breath, one choice at a time. That's how we build a life worth living.