The Year of Living Drinklessly

I didn't have a drink yesterday but was offered a beer, a screwdriver, and a glass of red wine.

Living in beach paradise, as we do here in Baja California Sur, it's easy to get caught up in the It's-Another-Tequila-Sunrise Lifestyle. So many people in our little villa love to party. And who can blame them? They are on vacation or retired. Whoo hoo!

I have nothing against getting wasted away again in Margaritaville. God knows I've had a lot of fun over the years doing so. It's just that recently, booze has stopped being my friend. A few drinks at night is a surefire ticket to insomnia, migraines and malaise.

Maybe booze has always affected me like that. Perhaps it's just that in my 50s, feeling like crap bothers me more than it used to.

On my beach walk today, this idea came to me: How about an experiment? Not drinking for a year. The Year of Living Drinklessly (after one of my favorite films, The Year of Living Dangerously).

But wait a minute. Who will I be without drinking? When I'm offered a margarita, can I really say no? Isn't that rude? Won't I be a drag? Won't I be a buzz kill, a party pooper?

What will happen when I meet my sister's new boyfriend, who owns a winery, and I tell him I'm abstaining from the passion of his life? That doesn't seem very nice. (Then again, many people I know have never read my books.)

Most of my friends drink. I heard one--wine glass in hand--say: "I decided to stop drinking wine, but after a week I realized it made me really boring."

The non-drinkers in my circle tend to be pot smokers. Maybe by the end of my experiment, I'll be a stoner. Maybe I'll gain 100 munchie pounds.

I doubt it. I don't care for weed. Once I ate some pot candy and sat, a catatonic marble statue, for four hours on a friend's boat. I felt immobile and silent as a rock. I finally understood why they call it "stoned."

Booze has always had the opposite effect for me, making me bubbly and social and happy. Well, for a few hours. And then if I want to stay awake to keep dancing and chatting, I need coffee.

Maybe giving up booze is just the next level of shedding. In the past two years, I've shed my job, town, house and possessions. Oh, and a brain tumor the size of a walnut.

No, my husband and I are not ascetics. We love a fat steak and Tempurpedic mattress as much as the next guy. But we are experience junkies. We like to fling ourselves into life and try new things. Right now we have two more months in beachside paradise before we leave for more adventures in California, New Orleans and Chicago.

Oh my god. Am I really going to be boozelesss at JazzFest?

Well, that's hardly an epic act. People do it all the time. I'm just not usually in that group. In fact, the last time we were in New Orleans, I had a sore throat--so I drank ginger tea rather than beer, and I still had a great time.

This experiment could be an epic fail. Someone could put a Pliny the Elder in my hand tomorrow, and I could unthinkingly and happily suck it down.

But it helps if I frame the story like this: The Year of Living Drinklessly is an adventure. I'm not giving something up. I'm leaning into my curiosity about living a different way. I'm going to learn a lot. I can already think of a bajillion things I want to write about on this topic. So stay tuned.

 

(Originally published Feb. 16 on another blog, but I've decided to merge them. It's all ONE life after all!)

Update: The Year of Living Drinklessly

What's in my blue cup?

The other day I was sitting around with a group of laughing, chatting people who were drinking beer and smoking pot.

Then there was me and my fucking Year of Living Drinklessly. What the hell was I thinking, giving up booze? I felt so left out. So un-fun. Was I everyone's buzz kill?

I kissed my husband goodbye and trudged to the beach. I was alone. Sand and water and sky stretched out eternally.

I walked and walked. Waves shot up, lingered, then crashed. A pelican flew by.

A voice said to me, "What anyone else does is none of your business." I don't think the pelican was talking, but who knows?

What anyone else does is none of my business.
What anyone else does is none of my business.

I kept that mantra going, toes grabbing at the sand.

Then the voice said, "You can have fun, drink or no drink. You are fun!"

As though my body believed those words, my bones felt lighter. My mouth smiled, all by itself.

By the time I got home, I waved hi to my drunk, stoned friends. They seemed happy. I was happy. I went to my kitchen and made myself a special drink--a smoothie of banana, mango, berries and homemade yogurt. And I poured it in this beautiful glass: 

A few days later, we went to a pool party celebrating our friend Pete's 60th birthday. I filled my blue cup with an Arnold Palmer: iced tea, lemonade, sparkling water and fresh lime on ice.

Dancing with the hostess. Damn, I'm fun!

What a blast, hanging out with great people, eating fantastic food, jumping in and out of the water, spontaneously dancing on the pool deck.

What everyone else did was none of my business. And I enjoyed them all the more for it.

The Year of Living Drinklessly: Update

Alcohol has always been part of my life...

...the allure of my parents drinking Manhattans with glistening cherries

...the priest drinking "the blood of Jesus"

...high school keg parties every weekend at the home of whoever's parents were out of town

...college binge drinking (most weekends, someone from the dorms was hauled off to the ER for a stomach pump)

...Happy Hours after work (that began on Fridays, then extended to Thursdays, and eventually leaked over to Wednesdays)

...vacations (England: pubs!, Hawaii: umbrella drinks!, Napa: wine tasting!)

...champagne for any celebration, beer for any beach adventure

...pouring a glass of wine, or grabbing a beer from the fridge, as the first ahhhhhhh after a long day...

One of my boyfriends took a cooler of beer with him wherever we went. He could open a bottle on the steering wheel.

My first husband home brewed beer.

My wife (marriage number 2) and I loved pubs. We drank wine and beer at home most nights. We decided multiple times to "take a break." We'd pour the wine and beer down the drain--or give it to someone--and in just a few days it would sneak back into our house like a child into her parents' bed.

Five years ago, I started dating Dave, who rarely drinks. I had never spent as much time around another person who didn't care for booze. It made him sleepy. He'd sometimes drink a Guinness or nurse a glass of red wine at dinner with friends. But generally, it wasn't his thing. He didn't care what, how, and if I drank.

When I underwent brain surgery two years ago, I didn't drink for two months. I thought of it as temporary. I longed for my cold glasses of chardonnay and frothy IPAs and was happy when I got them back.

But then something happened when we were living in Mexico. I suddenly became less tolerant of the next-day malaise that accompanied even just a drink or two. And the headaches. I'd always thought booze gave me a lift, but when I began to really look at it, I realized the lift lasted about half an hour--and then the only way to keep it going was to have another. Otherwise, like Dave, I'd get sleepy.

I wanted to do yoga, and write, and do my writing coaching work, and take long walks, and explore Baja feeling my best. I was curious if living without booze would improve my life. I mean, just truly erasing drinking as a possibility. What would it feel like? Who would I be without it? It seemed like an adventure to try.

It's been five months since I decided to embark on the Year of Living Drinklessly. As I've written elsewhere, it's been fascinating to sit in that space between wanting a drink and not having one. Perching in that margin between, "Ah, a beer sounds good" and taking a sip of sparkling water. I've become more and more aware of all the associations I've with booze:

that it makes me happy
that it's a celebratory thing
that only boring people don't drink
that it's the lifeblood of fun
that it helps me relax.

Also, it's sophisticated! Look at those Europeans and their elegant sidewalk cafes! (A friend said recently to us that the French don't trust anyone who doesn't drink.)

Now I can see that:

* nothing external makes me happy (it's an inside job).

* the rollercoaster of using booze to bring me up always involves a coming down.

* celebrating is fun because of the new job/baby/marriage/experience/people/music/dancing...not the booze.

* the French generally drink only at meals...and, of course, there are French people who don't drink. Drinking or abstaining has nothing to with moral character.

* partying does not have to equate to "drinking"! (I still can't believe it took me 52 years to come to this one!)

* it's not booze that makes people fun, it's their spirit, their sense of humor, their willingness to dance on the table! And no, you don't need to be drunk for that.

* that initial morphine quality of a sip of wine can be lovely, but so is knowing how to calm and soothe myself without a substance (through meditation, breathing, thinking a better thought, laughing, petting a dog, taking a walk). And there is no agitation-backlash, headache, or malaise involved.

Four months into my drink-free adventure, I decided to consciously, mindfully partake in some drinking. Over the course of two weeks, I went wine tasting, drank champagne to celebrate the release of my book, and sucked down some draft IPA. Each one of these was a social occasion, with friends. Everyone else (even Dave) imbibed.

I never had what you could characterize as a hangover, but each time, I felt less "sparkly" for a few days. It was like I was wearing a long dress, and someone was stepping on the train.

That's when I realized: I prefer not drinking. I feel better. I'm happier. I'm calmer.

Who'da thunk.

Now I'm not counting the days or months. I'm just living booze-free. "Free" being a key word, because I do feel free. I don't spend time thinking about if/when/where/how I will or won't have a drink. I don't wonder if a hangover is coming tomorrow. I also don't care what anyone else does. We all have our reasons to drink or not drink. I spent 52 years one way. Now I'm living another.

Today, this eternal now (which all we really have), I'm happily a non-drinker. That may change. If it does or it doesn't, it's okay--because I am the one in charge of my life.
 

Taking a booze break (update on The Year of Living Drinklessly)

A great booze-less Baja evening.

When I decided to take a break from booze, I had no idea there was a movement afoot.

These days, people are doing a lot of writing and talking about the role of drinking in their lives. They are looking at why they feel compelled to drink in social situations or most evenings. Or why they drink to celebrate or soothe. For many, traditional views of drinking (such as espoused through 12-step programs) don't resonate. So they are finding other ways.

One of the most exciting for me is the social network Hello Sunday Morning. Some people on the site are taking a break. Some are sober. Some have developed a "drinking plan" to foster mindful drinking. What they all have in common is a desire to understand.

New books on the topic abound, such as Glass Half Full, Sober is the New Black, The Sober Revolution, and Kick the Drink Easily!--in which Jason Vale makes the great point that "alcohol is the only drug you have to justify not taking."

There are many reasons to take a break from booze. It doesn't have to be that you're an alcoholic or have a "problem." I don't identify with either notion. I was realizing how I didn't feel good the next day, even after one or two drinks. And I wanted to step back and take a look at my patterns.

I haven't had a drink in two months--the longest period of time in my life except for when I had brain surgery.

For the most part I've been very good at focusing on not drinking as an adventure. I'm seeing that I'm not missing out on anything, except hangovers.

But the other day, I endured an hour-long super-craving for a glass of wine. The desire was so strong, it surprised me. I didn't pretend it wasn't happening, and I didn't impulsively act out (unless you can call eating a few jelly beans acting out). I just watched that crazy part of my mind buck like a wild horse. I actually laughed at myself as that voice developed all kinds of rationalizations about why I should do it.

I told myself I could go buy a bottle if that's what I really wanted. But that didn't sound so good either.

So then I drank a big glass of sparkling water with a dash of grapefruit juice and went for a swim. Drinking that water helped a lot. Makes me wonder if I was a bit dehydrated and, therefore, more susceptible to the craving.

Soon, the desire disappeared. As Joe Dispenza days, "A habit is when the body becomes the mind." The mind knows what it wants and doesn't want. But the body has become so habituated it overrides the mind.

The question is: Who's in control?

During this time off, I've come to realize the limiting thoughts I have about booze. The main one is that only uptight, un-fun people don't drink.

Today I embrace my empowering belief that what I imbibe has nothing to do with my happiness, joy, strength, personality, or sense of self.

Every day, every moment, I have choices. I celebrate my choices! I know what makes me feel good. My sense of ease, peace, spontaneity, fun, purpose, and power come from connection to my inner being--not from some outer source.
 

The Year of Living Drinklessly: Week One

up on the roof

My Facebook account blew up when I posted that I'm taking a year off drinking.

Tons of "likes." A few playful "unlikes." I was surprised to discover that a number of my friends have quit drinking or regularly take breaks.

One of my good friends stops drinking every February for a post-holiday cleanse. (She likes that February is the shortest month!)

Another takes what she calls "drinking sabbaticals." She's a very social person and enjoys having people over for dinners where the wine flows freely. Her wineglass is often filled with sparkling water. A non-drinking couple who attends these dinners brings their own pitcher of iced tea.

Some friends told me they experimented with non-drinking and never went back. Others did go back and are happy about it. One said she's always drunk sparingly, treating alcohol "like a spice."

I received several private messages. One guy said he hasn't had a drink since September. He stopped because he was rewarding himself with drinking. Without changing anything else, he lost 14 pounds. He said it's fun to go to parties, drink a virgin drink, and watch his friends "get looped."

He said he didn't want to comment publically because people might accuse him of having a problem. It says a lot about our drinking (and recovery) culture that someone who chooses not to drink is hesitant to say so. In my mind, whether or not one has a problem with alcohol is personal. And there are gray areas and slippages that only we can make sense of in their own lives.

I have friends who have thrived in various recovery programs. I have friends who've never drunk much, and others who drink a lot every day. Clearly they want to or need to for whatever reason, and I have no judgments. Many of them are happy and ongoing, others not so much, but whatever--we all get to decide how we're going to journey on this planet.

Most people who contacted me said they chose to stop (or take a break) not because they felt they'd hit bottom. It just felt good to cut back. Some enjoy the challenge. In my case, I'm thinking of it as an adventure. What will a non-drinking life be like?

I haven't spent more than a few months without drinking since I was a teenager. And now that I'm looking at a year off, I'm experiencing unusual sensations. It's as though I'm living someone else's life, that of a non-drinker. And it makes me kind of giggly, kind of off-kilter. Like I'm getting a drug high from abstinence!

Sounds weird, I know, but that's not all. The other day in yoga, I felt floaty, light, like my bones are a bird's. Maybe that's because I've been thinking for a while about quitting--and now that I have, it's a relief. Of course, it's always my choice to drink or not drink. But having created this arbitrary space of a year off feels like I've built a happy boundary.

I'm noticing that a desire for a drink often pops up in me around 4 p.m. Happy Hour is in my genes. An herbal tea or a smoothie later, the desire wanes.

I'm realizing I equate having an alcoholic beverage with doing something "special." I've found a special non-booze drink: limonda con agua mineral, a ton of fresh lime juice and sparkling water. You can get it with or without sugar; I prefer it without (sin azucar). Tastes similar to a margarita. I don't like tequila anyway.

I'm seeing how much I associate pleasure and relaxation with drinking. When Dave and I are on the roof watching sunset, I think about how a nice glass of cab would accentuate the experience. Then I turn toward myself and ask, "Why?"

It's a habit. It helps me relax. Wine's ruby color in a glass is an aesthetic pleasure.

So how can I get those things another way?

I inhale the ocean air, nestle into Dave's embrace, and watch the electric orange spread across the sky.