How Dry I Am
Liquor, liquor everywhere, but not a drop shall I drink. For now.
Olfactory sensors being what they are, I found I could almost approximate the taste by allowing myself to breathe on the number 43 bus. But nothing I found could approximate the buzz. And let me just admit it: that fuzzing out around the edges of consciousness—the apotheosis of relaxation and all that is carefree and happy in this world—that’s what I missed most.
“Have you tried kava kava?” asked a kindly colleague who is into such things. It’s a potion brewed of a South Pacific root, with relaxing properties said to produce a buzz similar to that of alcohol. “Try it,” she urged, pouring viscous brown fluid out of a thermos into a cup. “It tastes like dirt!”
Hmmm, promising. I took a sip and realized that dirt wasn’t nearly foul enough a comparison. After I gagged on the third swallow she produced a slice of apple. “You might want to eat this with it,” she offered meaninglessly. Like a slice of apple was going to sweeten the sewage drain I now had for a mouth. Save your stinkin’ apple, I inwardly screamed. I want an APPLETINI.
As the weeks passed I couldn’t deny that I was feeling better—healthier, clearer—with other welcome side effects. No more woolly tongue at 3am. No more maroon smile. My not-so-little belly (my “wine cellar,” as a Sonoma friend calls hers) had diminished; so had my grocery bill. So, slowly, had the habit of drinking—leaving room for a more unexpected renewal, of that quality that makes people kinder partners and more thoughtful mothers and more authentic humans. I was paying closer attention.
These benefits were wonderful, really, but cold comfort against the dawning reality that my friends didn’t seem to like me anymore. “You did what?” barked my friend Jane after I ordered plain soda with a twist of lime at the Top of the Mark. Stupidly, I hadn’t considered my girls’ weekend in San Francisco when I went off the sauce. “How could you give up drinking before our girls’ weekend!?” she demanded, exhibiting a bizarre degree of personal investment in my adult-beverage life.
But I understood. Not only is the teetotaler a walking, talking buzz kill, corroding the fun from any gathering by bringing self-denial to the party—she makes everyone else feel completely terrible about themselves. “I know I should give it up, too,” blurted my friend Jenny, the dermatologist, defensively. “But every time I’m ready to start I have a really stressful day, and then when I get home I have to pour myself a martini. I think it would take an unlikely number of good days in a row for me to pull it off.”
Sitting in a bar watching my girlfriends get loopy was a new one for me; I’d never seen it before, as I was always getting loopy right along with them. Similarly unprecedented were sober entertaining (I kept neglecting my guests’ empty wineglasses) and sober delivery of what was supposed to be a witty tribute at a friend’s birthday roast. What I’d conceived as jaunty, lighthearted ribbing just came out sounding vindictive and morose. Talk about sober. My unlubed litany of humor-free jabs provided the bridge between ribald hoots of laughter and the awkwardly silent official kickoff to Mr. Birthday’s midlife crisis.
Apparently, much depends on getting a little bit drunk. It’s a social currency right up there with table manners and inoffensive breath—ironic, since it can do a number on both—a reality I never appreciated. Understanding this only deepens my compassion for one of the most valiant species of human on earth, the recovering alcoholic.
But the realization also leaves me puzzled. Right now, at 8:53 in the morning, I could hoist a jug of Jägermeister and knock myself out if I felt like it. I could dust off the lamp shade and revive my reputation as Fun Girl, bringing untold relief to my concerned friends (who I think have been planning a reverse intervention). I could bring back cocktail hour, dulling the sharpest edges off the bad days and numbing all those pesky feelings that accompany them.
But I haven’t.
Published: June 2009
Kathryn~I was surprised and absolutely delighted to read the interesting article you wrote on giving up alcohol. Bless you for writing the article~And bless you for giving up booze! I know thousands of people will read it and identify with the effect that drinking has had on their lives.
My experience is somewhat similar. Years ago I decided to give up alcohol and sometime later decided that perhaps I could join my husband with a glass of wine on Friday evenings at the dinner table. Sort of a “Whew~we made it through the work week” thing. (Not a good idea.) A pattern began forming. Somewhere during the meal our conversation would turn into a low-grade disagreement and eventually a full fledged argument would evolve. It was very disappointing and I finally came to grips with the fact that NO alcohol was the way to go for me. (He did not join me in this endeavorI’m sorry to say.) The night I made this decision I was walking on the Edmonds beach and upon deciding this was the way to go for me, I picked up a tinsy shell and wrote that day’s date on it as a declaration of my total abstinence of alcohol for life. 30+ years later I can say that this decision was the right one~without a doubt! (I still have that shell.)Thanks so much for sharing your experience!