I Dream of Drink

I’m something like ten months sober, and until yesterday I had yet to dream about drinking. (At least a dream I remember.) But last night, as I was laying in my bed, I was also sitting on a stool at a beach bar, overlooking the water and feeling anxious, like I should be enjoying myself more. I remember thinking “a glass of wine would solve this problem,” and thinking “I am at the beach, of course this is the ticket.” Magically, a Chardonnay appeared and I drank it. But here’s the rub - or maybe the relief - I didn’t enjoy it. In my dreams it was pungent and oily and and after I finished it, I remember spitting on the ground, turned off by the aftertaste and the sheer waste of throwing ten months away solely to muddle my head.

Our brains are magnificent things. There is a common myth that says humans only use 10% of our brain, when in fact we use all of our brain pretty much everyday. However according to cognitive neuroscientists at Washington University, “we are conscious of only about 5 percent of our cognitive activity, so most of our decision, actions, emotions and behavior depends on the 95 percent of our brain activity that goes on beyond our conscious awareness.”

In my dreams or in real life, it’s subconscious thought that wine will cure all my ills. Ingrained since childhood, I have been conditioned to reach for alcohol to cure my sorrow, my boredom, my social anxiety and my everyday anxiety. For years, I gave the matter no conscious thought as to what alcohol actually did to my body and my emotions. I was throwing a pool party: I needed to stock up on margaritas and craft beer. I had reservations at a nice restaurant: I would be choosing the perfect accompaniment from a fat binder of listed vintages. I was meeting a friend: we would find a good spot and toast to our happiness and health. I had a long day at work (really the same length of work I had every day): I would pour my relaxing dose of white wine.

All without conscious thought.

But then in walks the gut.

The gut gnaws at you. The gut is there in the morning hours, asking the question. “Why?” And it’s in the kitchen as you pour your nightly dose, saying “Really?” According to Harvard Business Review, the gut is “hunch, instinct, deeper knowing. There are many names for gut feelings, or the ability to immediately understand something without conscious reasoning. In other words, answers and solutions come to you, but you many not be aware of exactly why or how.”

When your brain and your gut start to coexist, this is when change must be addressed. My gut and my conscious brain wrestled heavily throughout my 40s. These days, I see so many young people actively listening to their gut, working to be their best selves; but for me, it took a long long time. The ingrained, subconscious-reaching-for-alcohol was hard wired into my existence. I had made it part of who I was. But the gut persisted. And along with it, an inner faith, probably God, told me I was more than this rote habit. It told me hope existed, I could change, and that my gut was right about what I needed.

The methods are available for change once desire is at the threshold. There is information and support to be found. Books, podcasts, on line, or in person groups are all available for the seeker. It takes exercise and practice, but truly you can go in as a beginner, one small bit of information at a time. Sobriety will eventually resonate if the gut is prodding you along, helping you bring your subconscious actions into conscious living actions.

I think my dream solidified for me that I have made that switch. To know that even my resting brain finds no pleasure in old habits is quite mind blowing. I think of all these synapses and neurons firing in my brain and body - work that I am doing on the daily but will never fully understand. I think that even though most of it is beyond anything I can master in this life, occasionally something deeper can reach up from inside and help me fire one or two of those synapses in the right direction. Small miracle perhaps or just science? Who knows, but now….I can dream anew.