Every once in a while, I get a text message from my mother:
“Are you still doing that not drinking thing?”
And as I’ve replied each time, yes, I am. It’s been just about eleven months since I made my last-minute, on-a-whim decision to give up the sauce entirely after Dry January, and there’s no end to my abstinence in sight. In fact, the longer I’m sober, the more I think I’ll probably stay that way forever.
I’m well aware that what follows is an unpopular opinion, and that in claiming this position I’ll effectively brand myself a total downer to about half the population. But the more distance I get from alcohol, the more I see it for all the ugly things it is: a crutch, an unnecessary expense, a false promise. I really can’t come up with a scenario in which using alcohol is a better choice than not doing so.
Alcohol serves as a social nexus to gather around, yes. But you can just as easily create those gatherings without the presence of an intoxicant. I’ve been attending more social outings, many of which take place at local breweries, since I’ve given up booze, and I’ve made more lasting relationships and connections than I did while I was drinking.
The same goes for dating, which is another of the top concerns people raise when I tell them I’m sober. Yes, “let’s grab drinks” is the go-to first date move for a reason; getting to know someone new, especially when mutual physical attraction is pretty much the only data point you’ve got so far, can be awkward.
But awkwardness can be both telling and productive. “Let’s grab drinks” is not only an uncreative date idea, it’s one not very conducive to sussing out whether the person you’re with is relationship material. You’ll learn a whole lot more about each other by taking on some more active — and more exciting — venture, and you’ll learn if you genuinely enjoy being around each other without the patina of inebriation. (Excellent dates I have gone on while sober: swimming with manatees, hiking, hot springing, white water canoeing, farmers marketing, learning to play Go, and yes, lots and lots of chatting over coffee.)
And what about those antioxidants and other convenient health benefits? Hate to break it to you, but way more studies align alcohol consumption with increasing your cancer risk than decreasing it — and in the specific case of breast cancer, that statistic stands even if you’re only consuming one drink per day. (Which, let’s be frank, you’re probably not.)
We all know already that alcohol is poisonous to the body. Yet when a study in The Lancet legitimized that claim and found no net benefit to imbibing at any level, the resulting headlines were deemed controversial. What do you mean drinking in any amount is bad for you? Time magazine went so far as to find an expert who was willing to poo-poo the results, making the baffling claim that although the evidence clearly shows there’s no safe level of alcohol consumption, “nobody would recommend abstention.”
Bonkers. My hope is that in fifty years, we’ll look back on America’s drinking problem in the way we now do with cigarette smoking. Can you imagine someone arguing that Marlboros are good for you in moderation? If you want antioxidants, you might consider eating a piece of fruit.
How many times have I taken this same self-portrait? What did I mean by it, exactly?
Okay. So drinking is bad for you, and I don’t drink anymore. Good for me. But what am I so pissed about? Why the diatribe?
I’m pissed off because we’ve been sold a romanticized image of alcohol consumption that doesn’t exist, and which actually puts us into verifiable physical danger.
Alcohol is marketed as this thing that makes us better — more social, sexier, somehow freer — when it really does the opposite of all those things. It makes us more prone to violence and less physically capable. It puts excess fat on our bodies and drains our wallets. It clouds our judgment and makes us do and say things we wish we hadn’t. And when I think about how long I was in thrall to that narrative, that idea that booze made me more somehow more sophisticated or creative or worldly — and how much of my physical health and financial wealth I depleted on chasing that mirage — yes, it makes me angry.
This is a real shirt that’s really for sale right now at Express. Really.
Don’t get me wrong: there are still nights I think it would be nice to sip at a glass of whiskey while I’m cruising through my latest read, times I peruse the bottle list with a hint of remorse if I’m out somewhere fancy for dinner. And I do still appreciate the subtleties around wine in particular, how each (well-made) bottle tells a unique geographical and cultural story.
But for the most part, my reminiscence on alcohol is just like that longing-for-a-home-that-doesn’t-exist feeling — a kind of false nostalgia for a concept that doesn’t tack on to anything real. I’m remembering not the state of inebriation so much as the image of myself curled around a glass of wine, the kind of vague sensuality and abundance and relaxation that image is supposed to connote. In reality, my picture-perfect single glass usually devolved into three or more; the stranger at the bar or the “inspired” prose I wrote under the influence never passed the next day’s muster. And I’ve had more success in pretty much every portion of my life this year regardless of — and, I suspect, thanks to — my sobriety.
I have always, and still do, subscribe to the live-and-let-live philosophy. What you decide to put into your body is nobody’s business but your own. And obviously, my addictive personality and tendency toward overconsumption mean alcohol stands to wreak a lot more havoc on my life than it does on, say, my boyfriend’s, who’s one of those totally absurd people who can nurse a single beer all night (or leave a leftover Thanksgiving apple pie on his counter for multiple days. I mean, really).
But a year ago, I would have balked at the whole concept of sobriety, would have seen it as an unfathomable sacrifice and loss. As with all abusive relationships, leaving was difficult — but once I did, I could see clearly how much better off I really was.
So. If the idea of not drinking scares you as much as it did me, I challenge you to take a month, a week, or even a weekend, and give it up. See how you feel. Learn how little you actually need it.