Long Ass Swim

I was sorting through by mother’s items last week, and I came across a small journal of mine that had somehow gotten mixed up with her belongings. It contained daily entries from 2003. To date, that is twenty years ago. One of the first entries I read said, “Today I am not hungover. Yesterday I had not one drink. I would like to do this again today.” It notes that I made it to day three, but at day four there is a long entry about a Champagne tasting at my family’s wine store, and how I “had” to drink in order to give my speech and “do the rounds.” There was also a post event meeting where a coworker and I polished off a bottle of Pueche-Haut and discussed the night’s successes. And then there was the afterparty where we went to Ruby’s Roadhouse and danced, followed by The Pub where I’m fairly certain I was not “nailing the ring game.” (Or maybe I was; I always fashioned myself a shark at bar games after a solid buzz).

If I had all that liquor in my system now, at 50 years old, I think I would die. This is not an exaggeration. I think my body would convulse and my brain would fritz out. Ahhhh….youth. Quite amazing, to be honest, that I could metabolize all that and even attempt to play the ring game.

I found another journal in my straightening, because as you know, one chore leads to another (and now there are junk drawer treasures sprawled all over the floor). This one was dated 3/7/14, the start of Lent nine years ago. It states: “Once again for Lent I am attempting to give up alcohol. For several reasons I attempt this every year. Mainly, I just need a break. I have a tendency to drink every day. Not to the point of getting drunk, but two glasses of wine has surely become a prescription of sorts. Then there is the going out with friends, the gist of which is to get a buzz and have some fun. Aside from being too old for a hangover, I feel like I should be more in control of my health. Not that I’m not healthy, but I really don’t know what my body is capable of accomplishing without a steady stream of booze in my veins.” Apparently I was successful for Lent that year, save one night at our camp by the river, when our dear Scottish friends came to party. Slàinte Mhath!

My point is this. It is true that I am now sober. I’m done, and I’m pretty certain that’s a fact jack. But it did not happen over night. God it did not. Apparently it was at least twenty years in the making. I tried things along the way, but they were all short lived. Whenever my brain said, “how about a glass of wine?,” my default was always, “oh that’s a mighty fine idea. Yes!” I never hit rock bottom as they say, or got in a car wreck, or couldn’t show up to work on time and ready. No one ever confronted me with the dreaded “You have a problem.” So I kept going. Alone. Until I saw 50-years-old looming and started talking about it. For me that was the key. I just started blabbing about it to everyone, prompting me to find the information I needed to change the answer to my internal dialogue. Now when I pose the question “How about a glass of wine?” I am able to answer, “No thanks honey bunny.”

What I’m discovering is that it is so much nicer to live a life without that “steady stream of booze in my veins.” I knew it all along, I just had to get here. So take heed friends. If you are out there and reading this, you are indeed on your way. I have no idea how long it will take you - but if you want it - it’s out here. And it feels really, really good.