One of the most beautiful, rewarding, sometimes painful parts of my five years of sobriety has been embarking on the process of learning to love and understand all of the versions of myself, past and present. What started as a quest to honor my intuition grew over time into a journey toward understanding all of the many people I have been that make up the whole. This has meant accepting that life is complex and expanding my capacity for forgiveness and self-compassion where I used to feel regret or shame.

I’ve sat with, and learned to love, the happy-go-lucky child who spent the 70s running wild in the woods behind people’s homes and riding her bike (floral banana seat, tall orange flag, and all) on gravel roads, morning to night. Instead of cringing at her awkwardness, I love the fact that she was unfazed by her coke-bottle glasses, eye patch, and the tubes in her ears, and was just her fully authentic, funny, creative self. I’ve learned to hold space for the awkward tween who had to learn to fit in in a new town outside of New York City, where everyone seemed so much cooler at first. I hold a mix of awe and envy for the sweet, complex high schooler who smoked cigarettes and drank with swarms of friends at wild 80s-style house parties every weekend while getting good grades and playing the violin during the week. What I wouldn’t give to be that girl running around town—long before the internet—carrying her shoes and a four-pack of Bartles and Jaymes (NA versions this time, though). I tell her it was ok to be wild and that I know she was trying so hard. (I also beg her, please, not to pluck her eyebrows in the 90s! She doesn’t listen. They don’t grow back as full.) I go for NA martinis with all of the versions of my ambitious, young-adult self who lived a charmed life in NYC, full of friends, social events, and travel, and was somehow also fairly lost and searching. I hold compassion and appreciation for the young mother who was struggling with postpartum depression while trying to do her best for everyone around her. I tell her it will eventually be ok.

Integrating these (and many other) past selves into who I am today with love, instead of regret, has become an intentional process of honoring, thanking, sometimes grieving, and accepting myself, flaws and all.

Throughout this issue, our writers explore ways to discover and honor your inner self and to sit with intention on your journey. Jen Veralle shares her story of uncovering her inner strength through the practice of sauna and cold plunge during the cold Minnesota winters (Hot and Cold, p.12). Anahata Sabat reflects on cultivating mindfulness and presence through her cacao ceremonies—one of which I was fortunate to attend at Mindful Drinking Fest last year (The Centering Ritual of Cacao, p.10). Caroline Villemoes shares memories of her childhood in Denmark and the tradition of creating warmth and presence through intentional spaces (The Cozy Danish Art of Hygge, p.16). As part of our special NA wine section, we follow a group of travelers who explored NA wines in vineyards across Europe this past fall and discovered as much about themselves as the places they visited (An NA Wine Tour of Europe, p.24). LP O’Brien introduces us to Amanda Victoria, who, in creating her company Siponey Spritz Co., discovered her calling as a steward of the environment, the bees, and the ecosystem within the business she has created (From The Source, p.38).

This issue is an invitation to slow down and pay attention—to the body, to ritual, to memory. We honor the quiet practices that help us stay present through the darker months and through the rest of the year, and learn to sit with ourselves instead of rushing past.

With love and gratitude,

Nicole Pietrandrea Hough