Buzz Kill

Warning: Do not read this unless you want to stop drinking.

Let me start by saying I do miss alcohol. I don’t miss the actual product. I have cured myself of that. But I do miss the illusion of a better life. I miss mixing margaritas for my friends on a beautiful spring day. I miss picking a good bottle at a restaurant and getting the nod as everyone agrees it pairs nicely with dinner. I miss sitting in the Bogue Falaya river under a tent on a hot day, slipping a local IPA into my koozie. And don’t get me wrong, the associations aren’t all first world good times. I miss the illusion of comfort too, the assurance of knowing my KJ Chard is waiting on me in the fridge when I’ve had a long day, and the comfort of having a stiff drink with a girlfriend discussing my hurt and pain.

Sigh.

Here’s the rub.

The curtain has been raised. The cat is out of the bag. Neo and I swallowed the red pill. The illusion is gone. I’ve done my homework, and I’ve figured out some (always more to learn) of the reasons I drank. I’ve recognized that the messages I’ve gotten since I was a teenager and the constant cultural influences of drinking as the norm, had rooted themselves in my subconscious. I’ve read the litany of health downsides to alcohol consumption, including the biggest one for me: alcohol was actually feeding my anxiety instead of easing it. And as I’ve looked at the stats, I’m clear on alcohol as the number #1 raging addiction problem in our society, in terms of mental illness, depression, family strife and death. If that ain’t all a fucking buzz kill, I don’t know what is.

(I’m sure Nancy Regan mentioned this stuff to me at 15, but I’ve always been more of a ‘yes’ girl. And let’s face it, we were laughing at her collectively down here in New Orleans.)

All of this acquired knowledge has, as I mentioned before, cured me from wanting it. My mind now thinks it’s crap. And that’s a big switch for this wine snob. But what of the illusion? How do I reconcile the lifestyle I held so dearly to this wasteland of sobriety? Well, I get together with friends, new and old, on beautiful spring days. We still laugh and complain and relax. I still eat dinner. Shockingly, I find it’s possible to enjoy a steak without Cabernet, and I appreciate the chef’s preparation (maybe even more). I still cool my feet in the Bogue Falaya river and soak in the sun. Maybe I don’t sit out there for six hours telling the same old stories over and over, but I’m actually okay with that. I watch that life float down the river on a leaf, memories good and bad, gathered like miniature theater, little voices of the past talking and laughing until out of earshot, and I’m left in the warmth and the silence.

So I do miss it - the life I had. I also miss my daughter at five years old. But some things we just don’t get back. They are gone and something different remains. The old adage presents itself: If we knew then, what we know now... Well, we can’t go back to those young bikini bodies, but we can start living, in wisdom, from this point in time. It is possible to lay it down, and I have discovered, surprisingly, preferable.

There's a new buzz if you want to catch it.