The city that walked with me

Reykjavík didn't get me sober. It made staying sober ordinary, which is harder and more important.

There was a meeting at 7am, three blocks from my apartment. There was a swimming pool that opened at 6:30 and didn't care what brought you. There was a baker who started saying my name in the second week.

None of those people knew my story. They didn't need to. They knew my face, and they expected to see it tomorrow. That expectation, repeated a thousand times across a small city, is what a recovery community actually is.

I left Iceland eventually. I took the practice with me.