One Year Sober
My unexpected Thanksgiving miracle
The days leading up to Thanksgiving always feel melancholy to me. The fun, thotty Halloween spirit has passed, and winter’s solitude is settling in. 2018 was no exception. We were weeks into what I suppose is now California’s annual fire season, thick smoke lingering over the city, and it was my first single Thanksgiving in 3 years. I went to meet my client for a work dinner wearing a respirator mask. I had some forms for him to sign for his new Palo Alto restaurant.
As is often the case when meeting restaurateurs in their establishments, he had many distractions throughout the evening, leaving me alone for 10 or 20 minutes at a time. I sat alone with a bulbous gin and tonic and a few small plates. The bill came without the comps I anticipated for making the trip after hours, and I left feeling miserable — both ashamed of expecting special treatment and taken for granted, not to mention lonely and sick from the smoke. I trudged back to BART, then onto a bus, arriving home late. I pulled off the mask, poured the last third of a bottle of Hendricks into a large glass of ice, and drank it in a few gulps. Around midnight I collapsed into bed for an agitated slumber.
The next morning — the Wednesday before the long weekend — I awoke with a splitting headache. My sadness mixed with wildfire smoke and a gin hangover and I spent much of the day in a vile mood.
At some point in the afternoon, the sky opened up and rain descended upon the city for the first time in weeks. The downpour cleansed the air. We could breathe. I felt a growing mixture of relief and resolve. I decided I would spend the holiday weekend sober and make the most of the fresh air that had eluded us for so long. I did not want to wake up on Monday feeling bloated and depressed. It would be my first completely sober Thanksgiving in almost 20 years.
This is how my year of sobriety began.
It would be my first completely sober Thanksgiving in almost 20 years.
The entire weekend was glorious. I exercised and reflected and rested. I had illuminating insights about myself and my relationship with alcohol. I felt good. Maybe there was more to this. I decided to keep it going.
At first, I didn’t know how long I wanted to try it. If you knew me even remotely over the past 15 years, you probably associated me with wine or alcohol in some capacity. I tried to make it fashion by studying it and developing a decent palate, but the reality is that I’ve relied on alcohol as a way of coping with uncomfortable emotions since my teens.
I had already done some major excavating in my life —calling off an engagement and moving into my own place in the spring. I completed Seth Godin’s altMBA in October which stimulated my mind in ways it hadn’t been for a decade. I was articulating my dreams and acknowledging longings. Putting some scary audacious goals in writing.
I think I was ready to admit that alcohol wasn’t helping me achieve any of it. There’s a philosophy of productivity by Gary Keller called The ONE Thing that directs you to find the one thing that makes everything else easier or unnecessary. If I was honest with myself, quitting alcohol was that thing. I didn’t know what the end result would be. I was personally unfamiliar with adulthood free from alcohol. But I had gotten to see my mom’s recovery and subsequent alcohol-free lifestyle over the last seven years and her life had transformed into something I truly admired. I figured at the very least, it wasn’t an experience I would regret.
I think I was ready to admit that alcohol wasn’t helping me achieve any of it.
My first plan was to go until I got out of credit card debt. An app called I Am Sober prompted me to input my daily alcohol spend and I estimated about $20. At that point, I was $16,470 in debt. Not only did I save the money I would have spent on alcohol ($7,400 at the time of this writing), I also was able to cut out a lot of impulsive spending. Being more honest with myself about my financial state and the substantial stress of this persistent debt, I was able to get intentional about my priorities. One thing that always tops my list of “dreams” is designing a kitchen in my own, beautiful home. A down payment (plus renovation budget) was light years from my reality. This clarity helped me gracefully turn down travel and suggest more affordable alternatives for my local social engagements.
Thanks to my inexplicable comfort in sharing financial details publicly, a friend who read my article recommended Dave Ramsay. I was fresh from a Marie Kondo kick and ready to spark some motherf&%&in’ joy in my bank account. Ramsay’s Total Money Makeover was simple and motivating. Turns out sobriety gave me the longer period of focus I needed to make a plan and stick to it. I implemented some seemingly small changes in my life and was able to completely pay off the debt by July of this year. Now I am watching my emergency fund and investments grow instead of my liability.
By this summer, my life more closely resembled the one I’d dreamed of than anything I imagined was possible. I was energized, exercising almost daily. I was writing consistently and publicly. We’d had some breakthroughs at work and I was seeing a thousand new possibilities. I was dating without any help from alcohol, feeling good in my body and making better decisions. I was communicating my needs, setting clearer boundaries and being more present. I was spending time and energy on relationships with my parents, my extended family and friends. Relationships went from feeling obligatory and tiring to nourishing and unbelievably precious. There was more trust involved. My mom and I connected in ways we hadn’t since I was a kid. My dad told me this summer that I was everything a father could hope for in a daughter. I still get emotional thinking about that.
By this summer, my life more closely resembled the one I’d dreamed of than anything I imagined was possible.
People ask me if a year of sobriety was hard to maintain. And I don’t know if it was just the right time for me to do it, but it wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be. I had support emerge from many surprising places, not the least of which was responses to my writing about it. A mantra that occurred to me often is that I always turned to alcohol to feel better. But I feel better now than I ever had when drinking. So what, frankly, would be the point?
I’ve now done an entire year of Life Without Alcohol™. Every holiday, two weddings, four flights, family reunions, births, birthday parties and bereavements. I’ve had first dates (and last ones), professional triumphs and failures. I’ve had many, many meaningful conversations and virtually no hangovers. I’ve gotten to observe myself when I’m lonely and cranky and delighted and sensual. I’ve gotten to feel what my body wants without the intervention of alcohol. I’ve settled into my new identity as a morning person and a runner and a writer with a, wait for it, good memory. I’m developing and practicing strategies of processing my feelings that don’t involve numbing or dissociating. I’m healing past pain and making bigger, grander plans for my future. I’m in integrity for the first time in my adult life.
I sometimes can’t wrap my mind around how much better my life is only 365 days after starting this crazy experiment. It’s hard to overstate how big of a shift this allowed me to make. I don’t think alcohol is inherently bad, it was just the substance widely available at many difficult times of my life. It was an escape from uncomfortable feelings. It’s also the coping mechanism I saw growing up. I didn’t realize there were others out there to choose from or that it was such a sub-par option.
They say alcohol makes you uninhibited, but I can’t think of something that inhibited me more from my own happiness. Only a year after quitting, I am free from the tyranny of self-loathing. I no longer have a debilitating internal criticism of my every thought and action. I can look at my flaws with compassion. Of course I’m not an expert at this thing or a master at that, I’ve only just started practicing. That view extends to others as well.
They say alcohol makes you uninhibited, but I can’t think of something that inhibited me more from my own happiness.
Over time, I get better at being grateful for what I have right now, however imperfect or impermanent. From a parking ticket to the rustling of giant trees on my walk home. From a dispute with my landlord to an impromptu phone call with a friend. From bouts of weeknight loneliness to the way my lover holds me after a disagreement, I find each moment exquisite and illuminating. None of it will last forever, but I get to experience it now. It’s made me cherish the roller-coaster of life, the opportunities it gives me to show up and grow.
Alcohol is an important part of the economy and many people’s livelihoods, including my own. That being said, I want to stress with some conviction that substances are a poor substitute for emotional maturity. It’s really hard to ‘grow up’ under the influence of alcohol. It’s not a good substitute for skills at setting boundaries or having difficult conversations. It’s no stand in for knowing where you want to go and it certainly doesn’t take the next step to get you there. Giving it up feels like removing a shackle I didn’t know was there.
This Thanksgiving I am filled with gratitude. I feel unbelievably lucky to have this new lease on life, one that feels rich and rewarding and sustainable. I feel overwhelming joy at the possibilities. I don’t know what comes next but I am ready for it, with a clear mind, strong body and open heart.
