My “Sober January” experiment of 2018 has officially rolled over into yet another year.
When asked why I am not drinking I now demure some version of, “I’ll probably have a beer again someday, but just not now.” Most of the time I feel that I am serious about this claim. But now that two years have passed I suspect I might not be telling the whole truth.
A year ago I posted that my 2018 sobriety had surprised me. I hadn’t planned it. I just rolled over one month into ninety days, into six months, into a year. I didn’t have a lot of *reasons* on hand to run this experiment. Instead, the reasons gathered *as* I ran it.
In 2019 I was a little more conscious of how nicely another year would stack atop the former. Part of my reason to abstain from alcohol was to square this personal game of jenga.
But as I waded through my second year without a single hangover other reasons gathered around me. I did some math on the difference between a year with a couple mild hangovers here and there and a year without them at all.
I found that Thirty Calendar Days went back in my pocket.
I'll explain.
Here’s the thing: I still believe I’m a “Grey Area Drinker.” I wrote last year that I didn't necessarily identify as an alcoholic. The line isn’t terribly bright for me. I’ve attended AA meetings in the past, and though I find them extremely powerful, I wasn’t sure they were for me.
What is a Grey Area drinker? Well, some might call this high functioning alcoholism. Another definition might hear this refrain a few times: “Yeah, I should probably cut back.” For me? I don’t like having just one drink but I also don’t like having ten drinks. I like having three to five drinks. That’s my sweet spot.
And I really prefer five.
I didn’t often wake up in a ditch or going 65 on the freeway, but I did often wake up feeling not my best, and occasionally with my clothes and lights still on.
The “Grey Area” of an appetite for three to five drinks usually puts me into some hangover the next morning, however light, however gone-by-noon-ish-funk, however just-a-little-hungry, blah, no-big-deal, fine-by-afternoon, I-got-this.
These mild, light, “barely noticeable” hangovers really don’t feel like a big deal. And taken singularly, they probably aren’t a big deal.
Here’s the but.
Even if I only do this twice a week, this means in one year I will have (52 weeks x 2) 104 mornings that are low energy, low emotional intelligence, higher irritability, which usually means slightly higher stress.
Again, taken alone, each of these is probably not a big deal.
But morning til a little after noon is about one-third of my day. And when I add up all the twice a week small hangovers as a third of my day, by the end of the year I have spent (104 x .33) one calendar month in mild hangover.
And this equation does not account for the large hangovers that invariably come throughout the year. Nor the hours spent numb or buzzed.
That is thirty-some days blown in blah. One month out of the year where potential is blunted.
I keep saying “I’ll have a drink again one day.” And part of me believes it. I’m kinda waiting for the right event. The right time. The right reason.
But also, in 2019, I flew to Bangkok for my first ever Red Carpet Premiere of a TV Series I wrote for Netflix. At the after party, surrounded by a warm and supportive team that came together to celebrate a show a year and a half in the making, they were handing out champagne. There was an open bar. I passed. I enjoyed soda water and looked forward to a clear-headed and long bubble bath in the beautiful tub in my room upstairs later.
I’m finding almost everything is better with a clear head.
If I didn’t drink a glass of champagne at my first premiere then I honestly am not sure what the right occasion— what the appropriate reason— will be for me to crack open a drink again. Perhaps my own wedding? But also, why then? Why that moment?
And it got me thinking that the drink itself is the event. Recall Paul Giamatti at the end of Sideways drinking his 1961 Château Cheval Blanc in the styrofoam cup while shoveling fast food in his mouth.
There are really no reasons to drink, except to drink. No event is intrinsically linked with alcohol. We can just be damn clever with our associative brain power to make sure we can revisit that event often if we happen to like the event of drinking. And the residue of doing this (if you, like me, happen to enjoy three to five) is the next morning when the direct result of that event is that we feel ”I’ll be fine” or ”just a little out of it” or ”just didn’t sleep well but I took a tylenol.”
I’m finding I quite like doing things sober. It’s nice to walk into a bar to meet friends and not worry about lugging a fifty-dollar-including-tip tab with me on my way out. (The price of a gd IPA these days, sheesh!) Eating out also becomes slightly more affordable again. I drive whenever I damn well please. Coffee is fantastic. I was lucky enough to have a lot of set days this year next to beautiful beaches. I got up every single morning to watch the sunrise when I normally would’ve been sleeping off a couple beers. At my physical this year my cholesterol was lower than it has ever been— and alcohol is the only thing I’ve adjusted in my diet.
My recommendation is the same as last year: if you’ve ever thought about giving the sauce a rest, you really only stand to gain.
Run the experiment. Roll a Dry January into a dry 90 days. There are a lot of companies that take a lot of your money by keeping you in a month of hangovers each year. Take some of it back.
Run the experiment. If you have no problem abstaining, that will tell you something. And if it ends up being harder than you thought, well that's good intel also. And along the way you might enjoy the extra days you pick up in your pocket.
According to this app tracker I keep, I have saved about $6,000 and over 1400 hours over the two years. The six grand is great. But I really look at the 1400 hours. That’s two months. Time is our only non-renewable resource. Consider where it goes.
In April, just before the Cambodian New Year, I found myself approaching Angkor Wat before dawn. The starlit sky gave way to indigo and then over to sunrise as the ancient ruins emerged out of darkness in a golden wash.
In July, I met my niece.
For both of these moments I was fully, completely there. And those are just a couple good reasons to wait on that next drink.
Happy New Year.