Norman Fox

My pocket, 2007. The meeting directory got worn down fast. The cigarettes stuck around longer. Both had their place. Finding Momentary Connections in Recovery I’ve been in recovery spaces for decades. I’ve witnessed the bravado, the resistance, and the masks people wear. Yet, every now and then, something breaks through the surface. A single word. A moment of silence. A magical interaction in a group setting. Everyone seems to connect not just with their ears but with something deeper. These...

By Norman Fox A Chilling Encounter in Vancouver's Eastside On a cold night in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside, I found myself trapped behind a dumpster. I was three days deep into addiction, lost and unaware of it at the time. All I felt was an overwhelming paralyzing fear. I was terrified, deeply sad, and utterly alone. I had been stuck there for hours, likely since early evening. My feet were soaked in a puddle of rainwater—probably dumpster runoff, which was worse. Disgust was a feeling I...

Left behind most nights. Waiting most mornings. I’ve been thinking a lot about impermanence lately. Not just in the big, dramatic ways, but in the smaller, daily things we live with—like a slowly fading TV screen. I wrote this short reflection recently, and while it starts with a story about a television, it’s really about something deeper: learning to live with change and finding appreciation in the middle of it. Voice Blurs I have a very large TV. I came by it more accidentally than most...