It's been a tough time for many over the Christmas and New Year period. The added stress, the triggers, the life pushed slightly out of routine, the added temptation of holiday-season parties, have seen more then a few people on Living Sober posting with regret and angst about returning to day one. Thankfully I haven't had to deal with any strong physical cravings for alcohol. I don't relate to the stern daily tests many others are experiencing, the white knuckle ride many are describing. This has been why I have questioned at times whether I needed to give up at all (the multiple benefits of my new lifestyle have made this question largely irrelevant for me now).
However, during the holidays I have started to remember the good times, and frequently I've felt like joining in and have a few drinks with the others. At the cricket in Mt Maunganui I watched the parade of fellow 40-something-year-old men toting plastic cups of ice-cold beer around the boundary back to their seats. I remembered the last time I had drunk alcohol at the cricket, on a searingly hot afternoon at picturesque Hagley Oval, taking turns with my mates to buy the maximum four beers, spilling slightly more on each return trip as the beer took more of its sweet effect. I thought about the first refreshing gulp - I can still remember the taste - the eyelids getting slightly heavy, the speech slightly slurred, as beer after beer disappeared. I remember finding the drunken antics of others absolutely hilarious, feeling like I was part of the party, one of the gang.
It's funny how the mind plays tricks on you. Mostly I don't think about drinking at all these days, but just lately very specific memories have flooded my sober brain - the taste, the smell, the sensations of that first drink. The day dreams have mostly been about beer (which in recent years I had largely given up because it caused me skin problems). Is it a rosy-eyed remembrance of my youth, of the days when alcohol was the main vehicle of my social life, when I could drink what I liked and not have a hangover. Those days where when alcohol was the ultimate conduit of celebration, the convenient and instant salve for my problems?
Right now I'm nursing an injured AC joint in my shoulder. It has been dogging me for months and I have no idea how I did it. I went to my first physiotherapy session yesterday and I'm relieved that the prognosis is good. It will come right with the proper care and exercise to strengthen the ligaments around the joint. It turns out is likely to be old rugby injuries to the shoulder that were never treated at the time that are coming back to haunt me (and I can recall a few times I injured it). In those days my young body would bounce back quickly from most minor knocks. We'd all pile into town after our games and dull the pain of our injuries with beer, anyway. If it wasn't broken you'd generally carry on.
These days I can't avoid dealing with my problems - physical or psychological. I could have drunk cider and wine every night to help deal with my shoulder pain, but it wouldn't have solved the problem. Nothing, other than rehabbing it properly, is going to fix my shoulder. Alcohol is NOT an answer (before I quit I tried to make a list of the ways alcohol had truly helped me and I couldn't think of anything).
Like Lotta Dann says, life is often raw and gritty and tough, without alcohol to numb ourselves to life's struggles. But I wouldn't have it any other way.
There is no way of avoiding the occasional rose-tinted view of my former glorious drinking days, but if I have to pine occasionally for a cold beer or two then so be it. It's a small price to pay for how much better life is sober. Maybe one day I'll be free of these thoughts as I get more and more sober years behind me.
I'm committed to living my life sober. And that's what I'm going to do.
Wednesday, 18 January 2017
Saturday, 14 January 2017
Treading a Fine Line
Last night I helped celebrate another friend's 40th birthday at a courtyard party in town. It was the first big social occasion since I shared my post New Year's blog on my Facebook page - revealing my new sober lifestyle for the first time to my wider circle.
Amplifying my discomfort was having to attend solo - my wife kept home with a sore throat. I ordered a cranberry and lime soda and lingered awkwardly at the edge of a couple of groups' conversations till more people arrived. I soon mixed in and began to relax.
The questions I asked myself in the hours before the party were:
1. Would having revealed my sober stance/lifestyle to the masses make me feel self conscious and awkward?
2. Would it become the object of lengthy and tiring conversation - having to justify/explain throughout the night why I had to take such a drastic step?
3. Would my drinking friends feel like I was criticising them?
The hardest thing about answering questions about my sobriety is the fine line I have to walk between describing the benefits without coming across as criticising the other person, or their choice to drink. It's hard having to walk this line when what I really want to shout to as many people as possible is:
"I've never been so happy, healthy, fulfilled, productive, settled, confident, socially at ease, and self assured as I have been since I quit this evil poison. Giving up alcohol is, hands down, the best decision of my life and I feel like I've saved myself a considerable amount of future misery and anguish. I can't recommend the sober life enough!"
To aid the mental shifts you make when giving up a vice such as alcohol, I've found it necessary to adopt a fairly negative attitude towards every aspect of alcohol. But I've consciously not adopted the same negative attitude towards people who drink. That is their personal decision. It's none of my business. My wife still enjoys drinking wine, as do most of the people I know. I can hate the game but still love the players right?
Did I get asked about my sober life last night? Absolutely, but it was fine. I actually enjoyed talking about it, and it didn't dominate the night. The theme of the night was great conversation with lovely friends, standing for a good deal of it beside a toasty outdoor gas fire. Our discussions about drinking alcohol, quitting alcohol, and the role of booze in all of our lives were funny, serious, and mature. What I am finding is that many of my friends are changing the way they drink as they move towards their 40s, totally independantly of my decisions around it.
Since I shared the New Year's post several friends sent messages that they too had quit alcohol (one friend has been three years' sober) and had enjoyed similar improvements in their lives.
So, it seems I have company!
I also know that my friends remain my friends regardless of our respective stances on alcohol. We often build these things up into major issues in our mind when most people care little about it, other than the odd passing observance. Many don't even notice.
Last night, I chatted to the stragglers outside as the party venue was locked around us then drove a car-load of the happy revellers home towards the dark outskirts of Christchurch.
Being defined by my sobriety is no longer something that bothers me.
Amplifying my discomfort was having to attend solo - my wife kept home with a sore throat. I ordered a cranberry and lime soda and lingered awkwardly at the edge of a couple of groups' conversations till more people arrived. I soon mixed in and began to relax.
The questions I asked myself in the hours before the party were:
1. Would having revealed my sober stance/lifestyle to the masses make me feel self conscious and awkward?
2. Would it become the object of lengthy and tiring conversation - having to justify/explain throughout the night why I had to take such a drastic step?
3. Would my drinking friends feel like I was criticising them?
The hardest thing about answering questions about my sobriety is the fine line I have to walk between describing the benefits without coming across as criticising the other person, or their choice to drink. It's hard having to walk this line when what I really want to shout to as many people as possible is:
"I've never been so happy, healthy, fulfilled, productive, settled, confident, socially at ease, and self assured as I have been since I quit this evil poison. Giving up alcohol is, hands down, the best decision of my life and I feel like I've saved myself a considerable amount of future misery and anguish. I can't recommend the sober life enough!"
To aid the mental shifts you make when giving up a vice such as alcohol, I've found it necessary to adopt a fairly negative attitude towards every aspect of alcohol. But I've consciously not adopted the same negative attitude towards people who drink. That is their personal decision. It's none of my business. My wife still enjoys drinking wine, as do most of the people I know. I can hate the game but still love the players right?
Did I get asked about my sober life last night? Absolutely, but it was fine. I actually enjoyed talking about it, and it didn't dominate the night. The theme of the night was great conversation with lovely friends, standing for a good deal of it beside a toasty outdoor gas fire. Our discussions about drinking alcohol, quitting alcohol, and the role of booze in all of our lives were funny, serious, and mature. What I am finding is that many of my friends are changing the way they drink as they move towards their 40s, totally independantly of my decisions around it.
Since I shared the New Year's post several friends sent messages that they too had quit alcohol (one friend has been three years' sober) and had enjoyed similar improvements in their lives.
So, it seems I have company!
I also know that my friends remain my friends regardless of our respective stances on alcohol. We often build these things up into major issues in our mind when most people care little about it, other than the odd passing observance. Many don't even notice.
Last night, I chatted to the stragglers outside as the party venue was locked around us then drove a car-load of the happy revellers home towards the dark outskirts of Christchurch.
Being defined by my sobriety is no longer something that bothers me.
Monday, 2 January 2017
A New Year to Remember
As the clock ticked over to a new year (and I hugged, kissed and shook hands with each member of this year's small group of revellers) my sobriety spanned across two years for the first time since I was was a young bullet-proof teen.
I joined our friends as we shouted "Happy New Year" into the starry sky over Hanmer - happy and grateful for being with good friends celebrating another year alive - and I thought of all the train-wreck new year's nights in my life that alcohol has tainted. I also spared a thought for the drunken New Year's fun and hijinks I've had. After all, it wasn't all bad.
I embraced and kissed my precious wife, and our charmed life together flashed through my head; countless warm embraces, conversations of depth, a million moments of fun and laughter, our first weekend as a new enchanted couple 20 years ago (spent hand-in-hand walking the streets of Hanmer incidentally), the earth-movingly emotional moments our children were born, how truly I know and love her, and how generously she returns my love.
Truly sober reflections. Powerful. Honest. Real.
Tomorrow will be sober day 200. As the days pass, I feel increasingly grateful. I'm mindful of the countless small ways my life is enhanced, and the few big ones. I'm proud of myself and of my fellow sober warriors, who understand what it is to swim against a current so strong. In the nearly seven months of sobriety, I've come to highly value the hangover-free mornings. In the past, the morning was just the start to the day, and often not a good one. But now I regard the sober mornings as a daily gift to myself. It's not that all mornings are awesome. Some are truly rotten and grumpy. But most are pretty bloody marvellous. Is this mostly to do with a shift in attitude or is it a spinoff of my healthier state? Or is it a mix of both? Is it merely an absence of the dehydrated state left after a night of boozing?
One thing I know is that the sluggish, dead-headed mornings are no longer the price of a good (or bad) night drinking. My good (or bad) nights sober can leave me feeling weary from lack of sleep but generally fresh and ready for whatever I choose to do. I'm far more present and helpful to my children when they bound into our room at, or before, the crack of dawn.
The main thing I was looking forward to in the aftermath of the New Year's revelry was an early-morning run up Conical Hill. I left about 7am and had the hill to myself apart from a couple of fellow early risers. On the way down I saw one ashen-faced chap hauling himself up the track in spite of his pounding hangover, and I figuratively high-fived myself that I no longer have to recover from the same alcohol-induced physical malaise (I don't know for certain that he was hungover, but it works well for this particular narrative). I no longer have to drag my heavy bones out of bed or groan about my pounding headache, or how I drank one too many drinks (it's always one too many) the night before. It was just me and the soft underfoot crunch of the fallen-pine-needle track and the shafts of light sneaking through the stilt-straight trees. At the top I lingered to enjoy the view, my breathing heavy, my brow dripping alcohol-free sweat.
It's in these moments I can look with valuable perspective on how alcohol has been a handbrake on my life.
When I was a drinker, I thought it was an intrinsic part of life, that I couldn't (or wouldn't want to) do without. Drinking was just what people did - and managing/putting up with the negative effects of it on mind and body was just part of the deal. It was an adult right, and something to enjoy (but not too much that you came completely unstuck, or to the point it spilled over to affect your public or working life).
Now, mostly, I feel lucky that something caused me to pause and consider stepping back from it in order to work out if it was something I wanted or needed.
To know that alcohol's no longer important, and in fact never really was, and that life is better without it, is one of the great discoveries of my life.
All the best for 2017.
Sober Man
A few photos of Conical Hill in the early days, in winter and one of the pine-needle track.
I joined our friends as we shouted "Happy New Year" into the starry sky over Hanmer - happy and grateful for being with good friends celebrating another year alive - and I thought of all the train-wreck new year's nights in my life that alcohol has tainted. I also spared a thought for the drunken New Year's fun and hijinks I've had. After all, it wasn't all bad.
I embraced and kissed my precious wife, and our charmed life together flashed through my head; countless warm embraces, conversations of depth, a million moments of fun and laughter, our first weekend as a new enchanted couple 20 years ago (spent hand-in-hand walking the streets of Hanmer incidentally), the earth-movingly emotional moments our children were born, how truly I know and love her, and how generously she returns my love.
Truly sober reflections. Powerful. Honest. Real.
Tomorrow will be sober day 200. As the days pass, I feel increasingly grateful. I'm mindful of the countless small ways my life is enhanced, and the few big ones. I'm proud of myself and of my fellow sober warriors, who understand what it is to swim against a current so strong. In the nearly seven months of sobriety, I've come to highly value the hangover-free mornings. In the past, the morning was just the start to the day, and often not a good one. But now I regard the sober mornings as a daily gift to myself. It's not that all mornings are awesome. Some are truly rotten and grumpy. But most are pretty bloody marvellous. Is this mostly to do with a shift in attitude or is it a spinoff of my healthier state? Or is it a mix of both? Is it merely an absence of the dehydrated state left after a night of boozing?
One thing I know is that the sluggish, dead-headed mornings are no longer the price of a good (or bad) night drinking. My good (or bad) nights sober can leave me feeling weary from lack of sleep but generally fresh and ready for whatever I choose to do. I'm far more present and helpful to my children when they bound into our room at, or before, the crack of dawn.
The main thing I was looking forward to in the aftermath of the New Year's revelry was an early-morning run up Conical Hill. I left about 7am and had the hill to myself apart from a couple of fellow early risers. On the way down I saw one ashen-faced chap hauling himself up the track in spite of his pounding hangover, and I figuratively high-fived myself that I no longer have to recover from the same alcohol-induced physical malaise (I don't know for certain that he was hungover, but it works well for this particular narrative). I no longer have to drag my heavy bones out of bed or groan about my pounding headache, or how I drank one too many drinks (it's always one too many) the night before. It was just me and the soft underfoot crunch of the fallen-pine-needle track and the shafts of light sneaking through the stilt-straight trees. At the top I lingered to enjoy the view, my breathing heavy, my brow dripping alcohol-free sweat.
It's in these moments I can look with valuable perspective on how alcohol has been a handbrake on my life.
When I was a drinker, I thought it was an intrinsic part of life, that I couldn't (or wouldn't want to) do without. Drinking was just what people did - and managing/putting up with the negative effects of it on mind and body was just part of the deal. It was an adult right, and something to enjoy (but not too much that you came completely unstuck, or to the point it spilled over to affect your public or working life).
Now, mostly, I feel lucky that something caused me to pause and consider stepping back from it in order to work out if it was something I wanted or needed.
To know that alcohol's no longer important, and in fact never really was, and that life is better without it, is one of the great discoveries of my life.
All the best for 2017.
Sober Man
A few photos of Conical Hill in the early days, in winter and one of the pine-needle track.
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