Non-alcoholic’s Anonymous
The cultural challenges of choosing not to drink
“But how are we going to bond?”
The words hung in the air, echoing within the awkward space between a joke and a plea. I managed to stammer awkwardly for a few seconds before my wife chimed to respond on my behalf:
“We can still go out to bars, he’s just not going to drink.”
The hardest part about giving up alcohol is not the abstinence itself, it’s constantly explaining to people why you’re not drinking. And don’t think you can get away without an explanation, because in this culture of work, drink, regret, repeat; friends, co-workers, acquaintances, and even random strangers all feel that you owe them one.
Ethanol is one of the oldest and most commonly used psychoactive drugs in human history. Archaeological evidence suggests that people have been actively brewing alcoholic beverages since at least 7000 BC. The analysis of clay pots found during the excavation of an ancient settlement in China called Jiahu indicate that the inhabitants were producing a proto-beer-wine-mead hybrid by fermenting rice, grapes, honey, and hawthorn. Wine is thought to have come out of Georgia around 6000 B.C. where modern wineries still practice some of the same ancient vinification techniques. Beer is believed to have originated even earlier, perhaps around 9500 BC, with the rise of cereal farming in the Fertile Crescent. The best evidence for barley beer production comes from 3500–3100 BC Iranian ruins. Alcohol flows through and saturates not only the majority of civilized history but may have its roots in human and primate evolution. We’ve all heard stories or seen footage of animals getting drunk by consuming fruit that has fermented. Animals use a group of enzymes called Alcohol dehydrogenases (ADH) to facilitate the breakdown of alcohols. Mutations in genes that code for these enzymes, ADH4 in particular, resulted in a 40 fold increase in the efficiency of ethanol metabolism. This meant that our primate ancestors could eat more of the fermented fruit before succumbing to any ill effects. Our relationship with alcohol is as old as our species itself.
My history with alcohol is decidedly less brief owing to the relatively small slice of history containing my existence. The first time I got drunk involved a few bottles of Miller High Life, the self-proclaimed champagne of beers, during a camping trip with some friends from high school. At seventeen, I was somewhat late to the drinking game compared to most of my peers. Sure, I’d stolen multiple sips from glasses on special occasions or from dusty bottles in the liquor cabinet throughout my short life but this was my first time drinking to disorder. The preceding summer I’d had my first few experiences with marijuana. In perhaps stereotypical fashion, the experience of having my consciousness drastically altered while most of my mental abilities were left intact had blown my mind. In contrast to those revelatory experiences, drunkenness felt so much more intense, yet severe and debilitating. The world became a blur of color and sound into which everything about me temporarily dissolved. Though I didn’t really enjoy the experience all too much, my subsequent encounters with alcohol usually ended with me crossing the threshold of this crippled and dissociated state, not having learned or experienced the benefits of restraint.
Alcohol is generally categorized as a central nervous system depressant but interacts with many classes of receptors so the psychoactive effects can vary based on the dose. The wave of relaxation rippling through your body with those first few sips; that’s due in part to the release of dopamine into the mesolimbic pathway, commonly referred to as the reward pathway. The initial rush of energy from the first drink or two is the result of an increase in your levels of norepinephrine, a neurotransmitter responsible for alertness and arousal. GABA (gamma-Aminobutyric) is the primary inhibitory neurotransmitter in the central nervous system of mammals. Ethanol binds to GABA receptors, increasing the effects of GABA and thrusting upon us the primary signature of alcohol intoxication: impaired coordination and cognitive function. At the same time, alcohol decreases the effects of excitatory neurotransmitters like glutamate, amplifying the depressant properties. It’s this combination of depressant effects that can lead us so quickly through slurred speech and stumbling to vomiting and blackouts. Meanwhile the dopamine coursing through your mesolimbic pathway is training your brain to consider this a good thing, gradually shifting us towards the vicious cycle of addiction.
I am not an alcoholic. I have never been an alcoholic. Ignoring for a moment my moderate coffee dependency, I can’t say I’ve ever truly been addicted to anything. But there have been a couple brief flirtations with alcoholism in my past. I have a clear and vivid memory of the first time I felt a strong inner desire to drink; a fierce sensation of thirst confounded with the bestial quality of a hunger gripping my throat. It happened some time around the middle of my first semester away at university. With easy access to cheap alcohol and the beginnings of a social life, I had started drinking every weekend. My nights would start with either a 40oz of Budweiser, a six-pack of Icehouse, multiple trips to the keg with my little red cup, or mouthfuls of anything being poured for free by people who didn’t care to question my age. My nights would end with me lying on a bed, a couch, or maybe a lawn; my skin tingling with a vibrating numbness; my head swimming in a dispassionate stupor. <! — I clearly wasn’t in it to enjoy the taste. →
But then one night I felt a craving, a small but frightening sip of addiction. The next weekend I vowed not to drink and instead bought a nickel bag of weed. This led me to form a regular pot habit that I excused as being not as bad as alcoholism and carried with it both positive and negative consequences. But that’s a story for another time. A couple years later I would give up pot, alcohol, and all other drugs besides caffeine completely; at times caffeine would even disappear from the mix as well.
her: You drink?
me: not really
her: lame
an early online chat with my wife
My sobriety continued past graduation until working and dating eventually intervened. Slowly I started letting alcohol creep back into my life. It was possible to enjoy a drink with friends and neither cross the threshold of drunken disgrace nor end up with cravings for more throughout the week. Alcohol may be an acquired taste but the real trick is acquiring the taste for moderation.
In those earlier years we’d mostly drink good imported beer from Germany or Belgium. Then around 2007, a mounting revolution in the American craft beer scene made its way to our area. Suddenly breweries like Dogfish Head, Sierra Nevada, and Rogue were taking over the taps at our local bars and filling the shelves of the liquor stores. A Total Wine opened near us and I’d pop in every week or two to pick up a couple bottles of something new to try, and there was always something new to try. I remember being excited about Dogfish Head’s “Chateau Jiahu”, a beer inspired by that ancient Chinese brew found to have inhabited clay pots around nine thousand years ago.
Some of my colleagues were similarly enthusiastic about these new horizons opening around us. We would hit up our local brewpub every couple weeks after work to have a pint of their small batch brew. A few microbreweries opened up in the area and we’d go pick up growlers for late nights at the office. One time some of us took a long lunch to grab a six-pack each of a special release from the only store in town to get a case. We were drinking good beer and having a great time together. But then good friends and colleagues started leaving town for better opportunities. My turn came when I got offered a job in LA.
Beer and food became my tactics for exploring a new city. Head to a pre-researched restaurant for lunch, bounce over to a nearby bar or brewery because they have this special beer on tap, take a walk around the area, get some single origin coffee at the local roasters and then repeat it all again in a different area for the evening. There was always so much to explore in the dimensions of space and taste. I’d find the bottle shops around town that stocked my favorite rarities and buy multiples to hoard. On a few occasions I raced between all such shops in the greater LA area to chase after some limited release bottle, often coming away empty handed and in a frenzied state of wanting. I’d stand in stupidly long lines at breweries to snag a couple bottles of a limited release. I’d read through forums where fat men argued about whether this year’s Bourbon County Brand Stout was as good as last year’s (it never was). I’d meet up with strangers for trades or to buy bottles allocated to them as part of a club or society they were in. I joined a couple societies myself. I didn’t care about the alcohol, I wanted the experience of these beers. I was actually drinking for the taste and there was an endless variety of flavors to sample.
At work I was the beer guy. Tell me what styles and characteristics you like, I’d pick out a beer for you. This? No, you won’t like this. It’s a sour rye ale with kumquats that will strip the enamel right off your teeth as it continues on its way to assert dominance over your stomach acid. You should grab that hefeweizen instead.
A year and a half into our stay in LA I got a job in the Bay Area and divided my time between the two areas. The job was, and still is, quite demanding and stressful. Many of my other outside interests were gradually consumed by the overwhelming demands of work and it seemed that my hunt for beer was the only thing I could continue to win at in my personal life. Perhaps because it took no real mental effort, just cash and half-hearted persistence. At the peak, I amassed around 80 bottles of beer, many of them 750ml bombers, in my “cellar” (also known as the closet). I started keeping a spreadsheet to track my inventory.
“Beer isn’t a hobby.” — my wife
The hobby started to become a burden. In 2015 I was still a member of a couple brewery societies that were releasing pre-purchased bottles in addition to other club exclusives and generally available beers that we could buy at a discount. My resolution that year was to not buy any bottles outside of those societies. One particular beer I was excited to finally try was a massive bourbon barrel aged stout brewed with cacao nibs, vanilla beans, and coffee that clocked in at a whopping 19% ABV. I shared one of my 3 bottles with a couple other craft beer aficionados at work one evening and then spent that night tossing and turning in a state of fevered delirium. And that was it, something in my body changed. I couldn’t manage even a sip of those big, syrupy sweet, high-alcohol beers anymore without feeling that my immune system was going into a revolt. The same brewery was scheduled to send me another 8 beers of similar caliber throughout the year and I still had 15–20 such bottles from various other breweries sitting in the closet (not to mention another 30–40 of various other styles). The stress of acquiring beer had suddenly transmuted into the stress of how to get rid of it. Having invested $15–40 in each of those bottles, I wasn’t prepared to throw them all away. Although on a few occasions I’d open up a bottle, take a couple sips, and spitefully dump the remaining contents into the sink for no other reason than I was angry. I was angry at beer. But mostly I was angry at myself for allowing this frenzied collector’s mindset to become a part of my life. Throughout this whole ordeal I hadn’t been drinking too much and I could more than afford everything I bought. My physical and financial health weren’t dented in the least by any of this (although I’m sure my body and bank account would look a touch more polished had it never happened) but I came to a very sudden realization that this was negatively effecting my happiness.
Progressively, the slightest sensations of alcohol intoxication started making me feel disgusted and sickly, an effect which became more pronounced after I began a regular meditation practice. Having moved multiple times over the previous few years, I’d done a great job paring down my personal possessions to things I either truly needed or greatly valued and was living a self-congratulatory minimalist lifestyle. Beer was always excused because it’s an experience, not a possession. Now I was staring at boxes of bottles that I didn’t want to experience. Future experiences decayed into present burdens.
Bottles steadily disappeared from the spreadsheet, now a hit-list rather than an inventory. I kept my 2015 resolution not to buy beers outside of the societies I was in. At the close of the year, with my memberships lapsing, I resolved to not buy any alcohol in 2016. Furthermore, I planned to not drink a single drop for the entirety of 2017. I needed a break. I needed to reset.
Tell someone you don’t drink and they’ll assume you’re either religious or a recovering addict, maybe both. My wife takes medication to treat an autoimmune disease and can no longer drink due to the elevated risk of liver damage. Yet people still dismissively urge her to have “just a little” as we all know “a little bit won’t hurt you”. Say you don’t drink for health reasons and you’ll get to hear all about the studies that correlated moderate alcohol use with reduced morbidity, studies a recent analysis proved flawed due to insufficient discernment between those abstaining because of health reasons or prior addictions and those who were in good health but had other motivations for not drinking. After taking this distinction into account the data showed no benefit to moderate alcohol consumption and that those participants drinking less than one alcoholic beverage a week, “a biologically insignificant dose of alcohol”, had the best outcomes.
There are many more reasons to not drink. Alcoholic beverages are full of “empty” calories that are more likely to be stored as visceral fat, abdominal fat surrounding vital organs linked to increased risks for cardiovascular disease and type 2 diabetes. Ethanol is neurotoxic and “approximately 9 percent of alcohol-dependent individuals have clinically diagnosable brain disorders”. Our drunken minds lead us to do regrettable or dangerous things as we fast forward through our life one sip at a time.
My reasons for quitting are multifaceted. Yes, I am still recovering from the shame of awakening to find myself metamorphosed into a fever-stricken bottle hoarder but that’s only really motivating me to stop buying alcohol, not to avoid drinking it. Physical well-being plays a significant role in my decision to go that one step further. Since college I’ve maintained a reasonably healthy lifestyle with a strict exercise regimen and good nutritional practices. Even during the height of my beer craze I was drinking well within the “safe limits” (14 units of alcohol per week for men) but even a little is too much for me now. Maybe I’m becoming more attuned to the workings of my body. Maybe I’m just getting old. But the most important reason I’m resolving to enter an extended period of sobriety is that I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a drink; the company, yes, but not the drink. The existential restlessness I feel in that slurred and sluggish state of consciousness is motivation enough for me to take a break.
But there are also many reasons to drink. Our species has a long tradition of fermentation. There’s an unparalleled amount of craft, care, and consideration going into brewing and distilling these days. We make some really tasty beverages. Alcohol isn’t an acquired taste so much as it has acquired taste. And alcohol’s reputation as a social lubricant is not without reason. There is no other drug that can bring groups of people together, large or small, quite the way it does. That last part is what makes it so difficult for others to accept you putting the glass down; it’s as though you’re breaking a social contract as old as humanity itself.
Though more and more of us are putting the glass down. We’re abandoning inebriation in favor of mindfulness and recreation. From non-alcoholic happy hours and dedicated meditation studios to sober, morning dance parties and raves; a broad spectrum of sober events have started to pop up in major cities across the US, catering to the growing crowd of adults who are more likely to head outdoors than to a club or sit in silent meditation than at a bar. Our lives are becoming more complex and more demanding. The corpus of knowledge about our bodies, minds, and health expands with the passing of each day. We’re taking the focus and intentionality from our professional lives and applying it to our leisure time in ways that can promote wellness and enjoyment.
Still, there are social challenges in refusing a drink. Let’s ignore the more outwardly ridiculous topics like heavy drinking’s entanglement with the notion of masculinity, it’s easy to completely dismiss and remove oneself from such situations. The real difficulties come with turning down the toast, failing to tip up that glass in celebration as though well wishes and congratulations mean nothing coming from dry lips. Even in casual interactions, we just feel uncomfortable drinking around an abstinent individual. A friend and I joked about this recently when I told him about my plans to quit drinking for a year. Mostly I had said this to again set expectations and braced for the questions and disbelief but he instead congratulated me and told me the story of how he had done the same a few years prior (but had since returned to drinking). We played through the reactions of the drinkers to their sober companion. “Is he judging us?” “Is he taking notes on every slurred word and stumble?” “Oh, well you don’t mind if I drink, do you?” As if that is ever a problem. People fail to consider that primary reason we gather together is not to drink but to spend time with one another, no buzz required, though at times it can enhance the experience. These reactions are based on tribal customs from when it was important to mire oneself in local traditions and superstitions for the benefit of community cohesion. In our modern world, where our communities are built more around the work that we do and the lifestyles we choose, ceremoniously breaking bread or making a toast doesn’t really make much sense anymore when there are so many other interests and rituals to bond over.
As for me, will I drink again? Absolutely, but not much. My year of abstinence is intended to help me disentangle alcohol from my life and, more importantly, from the expectations others have for me. I want to be able to interact with people without the expectation of my intoxication. At the same time, I don’t want to disparage anybody who chooses to drink. If you like your alcohol, you can keep your alcohol. There should be no compulsion to forgo alcohol just as there should be no compulsion to imbibe, because at its core this is an issue of personal choice; a choice that is at times tangled up in cultural expectations. But cultures change and ours is gradually opening up to a bit of sober reflection.
