Most people upon meeting me assume erroneously that I was born in the United States. I have no discernible accent. I have even taken it on the chin many a time by those who think I am trying to act WASP. I have been ostracized and attacked by people who think I'm trying to be something I'm not or I shouldn't be what I am. I make no apologies for my heritage or my diction. I speak the English my parents taught me (both my parents were bilingual: English/French and English/Spanish). My heritage puts me more in line with the "American Salad Bowl" of ethnicities than most people I meet.
Today is one of those days when I feel out of sorts. I'm feeling out of sorts in the gay ghetto, and as most of my generation are prematurely dead, I've not many peers to relate to, or who could relate to me.
The 25th anniversary of my sobriety is tomorrow, and I know this is part of why I am out of sorts. Even in some of the meetings, I feel more the outsider than I belong. I never did Crystal Meth, the drug du jour in recovery circles. Fortunately, we have over three thousand meetings here in LA. I have a place. I do belong.