Guess I picked the wrong month to quit drinking?

Dry January during our nation's darkest hour. Fun!

OK, first off: Remember when I said that this new year’s was a crock of poop? HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW??

Ugh. 2021.

Honestly, though, I wasn’t shocked by what happened on January 6. Heartbroken and rattled to the core, yes, but not shocked. Given the white grievance and conspiracy theories that have been festering for the last few years (congrats to our Team Fascism MVP Donald J. Trump!) the attack on the Capitol, felt to me, instead, like what Flannery O’Connor allegedly said a good story ending should be: surprising but inevitable. (Actually, unfortunately, I don’t think this is the end.)

But! That’s not what I’m here to write about. I’m here to write about Dry January, and how I’m feeling kind badass for not having given in to my urge to grab a beer, or make an emergency trip to the liquor store for wine, to calm my nerves and soothe my anger and sorrow as I watched the Capitol siege unfold online and on TV last week.

Nay, while I watched a bunch of entitled, deluded a-holes maruading in the inner sanctum of our Republic, and as “so much for Dry January” tweets and pictures of the mega-margaritas and supersized glasses of red-wine people were coping with proliferated online, I reached for a sparkling cranberry juice. (Sparkling cranberry juice is so good!! Have you had it lately? Have it. Ocean Spray, diet or regular. Accept no substitute.)

If I weren’t doing Dry January, this would NOT have been the case. And please, believe me: If you went ahead and poured that drink or several for yourself, I do not blame or judge you ONE IOTA for it.

Was it easy to resist? Well, no, not exactly. But easier than I thought. I was able to acknowledge the urge—and reflect on how knee-jerk, almost unconscious it was—and let it drift off along its merry, drunken way.

This is a big part of why I’m taking a break this month: Because alcohol, instead of being something I just enjoy occasionally, had become my go-to for stressful situations. And celebratory situations. And social occasions. And for “winding down” at the end of the week, or the almost-end of the week. Or because I just read some quote from Ben Frankin (that he didn’t actually say) that someone posted online saying that beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy and thought: Hey, Ben Franklin is smart! He lived to a ripe old age! Who cares if he didn’t actually say that! I should have a beer this Tuesday night while I make dinner! What the hell!

I had fallen into a consistent pattern of drinking 2 or 3 (very) generously poured glasses of wine pretty much every Thursday through Sunday night. And occasionally in between, if I had a good excuse. (See Ben Franklin, above.)

I know that to a lot of people, especially folks who have struggled with serious substance use disorders, this may not sound like an extraordinary amount. And, yes, I’ve been fortunate that it’s never gotten to the point where I’m drinking every day, or during the day, or having hangovers or blackouts or anything like that. (OK, maybe I’ve had a hangover here and there.)

But I knew that it wasn’t healthy from a physical standpoint. And, more important, I didn’t like that alcohol had started taking up space in my brain. I was tired of the mental ping-pong game of telling myself I would only have one the next night, or vowing to only drink Fridays and Saturdays, but not actually doing it and then feeling crappy about it. (“Why did you listen to something Ben Franklin didn’t even say, you weak-willed lush? What’s wrong with you?”)

And who’s got time for all that? I have enough going on in my brain as it is.

It’s interesting; those worries, that internal struggle, didn’t used to be there. But something happened—call it the pandemic, call it the wisdom of age, call it having teenage kids who are paying close attention, call it perimenopausal night sweats probably being exacerbated by sauv. blanc—and here I am. Taking a break to re-evaluate, and hopefully re-wire my brain a little bit. Taking some time to be more cognizant and less in denial about the long-term health effects of alcohol, and the chemistry of addiction.

I’m not doing this thing on my own, through sheer willpower, which I think would be tough; I’ve been reading a couple of books about mindful drinking, and doing an online 30-day “Alcohol Experiment” and checking out the accompanying Facebook group.

I kind of love that it’s called an Experiment, not a Challenge—it lets me approach this month with a spirit of curiosity—how will I feel? What will it be like? What will I learn?—instead of a feeling of struggle or endurance. I’m really not a self-helpy, support group kinda person in general, but it’s been good. It also helps that lots of people do Dry January. I have a few friends who doing it too.

It hasn’t been a walk in the park, mind you. The first weekend wasn’t easy. My monkey-mind really wanted that habitual wine. BUT. We can do hard things, as Glennon Doyle says. (No, no, I swear I’m not a self-helpy person! Much.) And, I’m happy to report, that the two Zoom get-togethers I did with friends really were just as much fun sans wine as they would have been avec.

Honestly, I haven’t been any less happy or more stressed not drinking these past couple of weeks than I was beforehand. In fact, in some ways I feel better.

Do I plan to stay dry forever? Meh. I don’t know. After this monthlong experiment, I’d love to get to a place where I can drink (much) more moderately and occasionally. We’ll see. For now, I’m just taking it one day at a time.

Oh my God, I just said “One day at a time.”

WHAT HAVE I BECOME?

A badass. That’s what I feel like this month so far. A self-reflective, strong, healthy badass.

P.S. I just remembered that in my last post I said January was an absurd month to try to do something like give up drinking. Ha! It totally is. But I’m doing it anyway.