Translation by nature involves the analysis of a primary source and transference of the essence of that original into a secondary language. Something is lost in translation, but some things are gained. For instance, the Latin virtus has a whole declension, gender, phonetic appeal, and association to other pieces of Latin vocabulary that the English virtue lacks. When we speak of virtue in English, the word carries a smorgasbord of everything from the cardinal faith, hope and charity to traits such as beauty and creativity. The Latin virtus, virtutis is a third declension, masculine noun rooted in vir, the word for man. So its meaning encompasses all that the Romans held to be most valued in a model Roman citizen: courage, integrity, strength of character. Virtue is what the Romans strove to embody as leaders among men and instill in their youth who would be the future of the expanding nation of leaders. For a patriarchal society whose strength lay in militarism, the connotations of virtue meant something to emulate and honor for the sake of the entire nation. This was its place in their language. The versatility and diversity of virtue in our modern language suits the mindset of our time, in which we celebrate the milieu of characteristics that make us our truest, best selves. The leaders of our nation have virtue, as do the artists, athletes, soldiers, teachers, students, laborers, lovers and every other participant of our public and private worlds.

The nature of the Romans’ and our understanding of virtue may vary, but in both languages, virtue is associated with truth. In Latin it even sounds like it: veritas.

These essays will undertake the work of translation from primary sources such as literature, nature, art and music into the language of recovery, which itself exists in the fluid state of a language still being discovered and developed. I think recovery speaks in this way because of the diversity of tongues trying to speak it. Each person in recovery seeks the same truth, but since we are recovering that truth from different paths of departure it can be a process to find the direction and destination when we don’t know where to look or how to orient our internal compasses. How do we find that truth, and what is it exactly? It’s a big question, but I think on some level we all have the answer and just need to learn to see it more clearly in the world in which we live. The answer isn’t some indecipherable tome privy only to the wisest of sages on some remote hilltop. The language lives in plain sight and sound in the life and art that surround us, waiting for our eyes to truly see and for our minds to translate it into the words our mind, body and soul have been trying to speak.

I’m just starting with my recovery, and I hope these essays will facilitate the insight I’m trying to cultivate on my own path. I’m hoping they also hold me accountable to working on my understanding of myself and my journey. I think that recovery in its best form is shared, so I’m making this part of my effort to share my process with whoever wants to be part of it. These essays are my personal translations, so they will be biased to my individual experience and knowledge and may contrast how others translate them. I’m not professing to know more than any reader about any language, just to know what I know and present it as my understanding. When I analyze literature, art, music or other mediums, I’m exploring them as recovery texts, which in most cases may not be what their creators intended but may contribute to the depth of their work in a way they didn’t imagine but might appreciate since they’ve helped at least one person in recovery find a level of connection or wisdom in their work.