The Moderation Fantasy

    I'm a month away from completing my year-long alcohol-free experiment and am noticing this thing I've named "The Moderation Fantasy" rearing its head. It chases me around the house, in the car, on walks, out with friends, at family gatherings. It sometimes calls to me in my sleep. It creates colorful bursts of opportunity for me, happy scenarios, good times... always good times, never bad. It is a fantasy after all.

    In it, I sit, looking glowing and composed, always smiling and carefree. The fantasy finds me in different places. I might be on a chair on a restaurant patio, on a lounger on a deck, sitting on a dock at the lake, reclining poolside, or in someone's backyard... all locales in keeping with the theme of summer. I might be anywhere, but I am always with others in the fantasy, and always with a glass of wine in hand. It might be a refreshing, crisp, cool white. It could be a lighter red that I'm nursing, fingers lightly caressing the stem of a wine glass as I elegantly bring the glass to my lips. 

    In the fantasy, I feel the wine start to take effect, do its magic. My worries begin to shrink, receding somewhere further back in my brain. My normally overthinking mind slows down its rapid pace and a fuzzy stillness creeps in to take its place. The fuzziness extends to my body; I become loose, languid, light. I am, in that moment, at one with my surroundings, intimately connected to my companions. I feel fabulous.

    The fantasy is a snapshot of a moment in time, never more than that. If it were any longer, it wouldn't be a fantasy of course. Real-time couldn't support it. Playing the fantasy forward a few hours longer to push it into the realm of the real would definitely find the story significantly altered, likely for the worse. I know this. That is why I like to keep it as a snapshot instead. Lately though, I've been trying to figure out how I could stretch the fantasy, push it into the land of the real, but without the ramifications that real-life wine drinking has often brought to me. How I could live the fantasy out in real life... on the dock, the deck, the patio. How I could, in short, moderate.

    I've been trying to figure this out because I am coming to the end of my experiment, so I am wondering what's next for me? Thinking back on my life, I have many, many memories of good times where alcohol was involved, times that didn't find me in rough shape emotionally, mentally and physically the next day. There were also many times when I could moderate, when it wasn't a big deal to "only have 2". I only had a problem with binge-drinking sometimes or often, not always. Because of this, it is easier for me to latch on to the responsible-drinking memories than it might be perhaps for someone who found moderation impossible on all occasions. Because of this, it is easy to push away the memories of drinking escapades gone bad. Because of this, I begin to wonder if I could, realistically, sit on the patio, perfectly composed, smiling and healthy, wine in hand, and stop at two once my experiment ends?

    I already know the answer. Yes of course I could moderate. For sure, I could do it for a time. But could I do it forever? Should I try in order to find out? Or should I continue on this alcohol-free path and see where it finds me? Would resuming drinking basically mean throwing away all of the gains I've made in my life over the past year? And if so, why would I do that? Perhaps an honest look at what those gains have been is in order?

    I know that the main reason I am even considering inviting alcohol back into my life is the moderation fantasy growing ever larger, it seems, by the day. What I need is a reality check in order to balance out that perfect picture, that snapshot, that won't quit. And suddenly, there it is, something I've read about that describes the state in which I am finding myself: Euphoric Recall. Wikipedia tells me it is "a psychological term for the tendency of people to remember past experiences in a positive light, while overlooking negative experiences associated with that event". I begin to see that this is a powerful case of "euphoric recall" that is tugging at me and won't let up. It is an actual thing, a term, created because other people have experienced this. It is real. It has a name. It was masquerading as a fantasy all along, but now I can see it for what it is. Now I know what it is I need to conquer...

Living Consciously

    I am almost a month away from completing one year without alcohol. As time goes on, I have come to understand that going alcohol-free for me has also been making the choice to live consciously. Eleven months in, and I thought I'd share a few observations I have about this path...

1. Choosing to live consciously- meaning to NEVER numb out- is definitely a challenge to set for yourself. It is for sure akin to climbing a huge mountain. It requires emotional, mental and physical strength, stamina, fortitude, determination and a willingness and okayness to stand out from the crowd. It's a big deal and people who choose to live like this all the time are brave people indeed. 

2. We who choose this path in a world that encourages distraction, escapism and numbing out are in the minority. While climbing this particular mountain, sometimes it is a lonely experience as there are not many travelers on this route. Sometimes it feels like it is only you- solo- on the trek.

3. As hard as it may sometimes be, it is also during these times that you come face to face with yourself. And then true magic can begin. A whole new world opens up, an inner world that you might have avoided for a long time. You might rediscover long-buried parts of yourself, or other parts entirely that you have never met.

4. Living consciously is also closely tied to living authentically. I wrote in my journal on day 100 earlier this year that "I have never lived more authentically in my life (except maybe in my childhood) than I am living now". I am 52 years old, so that's a lot of years not being true to myself. Not casting blame or beating myself up (what's the point in that?), just something I've noted!

5. Some days I feel exhausted from feeling all of my feelings all the time, and I start to fantasize about numbing out with several glasses of chilled white wine, or a smooth, voluptuous red. But that doesn't last too long anymore because I am better able to distinguish fantasy from reality these days. And the coolest thing ever about this journey is all that stuff I read about feelings not lasting forever... is true! If you wait out yucky or uncomfortable feelings a bit longer than you think you are able to handle, you suddenly realize they've diminished in intensity or disappeared altogether. I never get tired of this.

6. Finally, I'm aware that I am a baby on this journey. There are millions of other souls on the planet who have also chosen to live consciously, for their own reasons, and many who are much further along than I am. I am in awe of, and inspired by, these people.

    So here I am, eleven months in, trying to live my truth every day, and definitely learning so much about myself, others and life as I go...

The Bubble

     I have this thing I call the "wine bubble" and I need to write about it today. The reason for this is that I am finding myself forgetting more than usual lately the reasons I quit the wine. I am finding myself thinking of all the good, cozy, fun things about a life with alcohol in it while the lousy (or soul-shattering) things take a backseat. This is probably happening because I am 1.5 months away from completing my 1-year alcohol-free experiment, so my brain knows I could drink again once that is done. So this is where the bubble comes into the picture...

    I call it the bubble because that is what it felt like when I was drinking wine. I loved the fuzzy feeling about half-way into the first glass, where things took on a less sharp, less serious shape. I loved how the people drinking with me also looked less sharp, their edges softening under the soft glow of the lounge booth lights. I loved how my normally racing thoughts began to slow down, how any nagging worries or concerns that I brought to the table began to shrink, how things seemed to suddenly matter less. I loved that we were all in the bubble together, nestled in our safe, cozy place of comfort as we talked about the things going on in our lives. We were connected. 

    And yet, in some ways, we weren't. The truth is we were more likely each in our own bubbles sitting under the illusion that we were in the same one. The truth is we were each becoming more or less "bubbly" (in more ways than one of course) as the minutes turned to hours. But in the end, it didn't really matter whose bubble we were in because it all just felt so good. Until the bubble burst, inevitably, the day after. And this is the thing I have to remember as much as I remember the bubble. This is the thing I need to drag out of the box I stuck it in awhile ago. I need to haul it out now more than ever and name it.

    The day after was so completely different from the bubble of the night before that I often felt  cheated. That next day took on a sour, sickly, disappointing hue more often than not, especially as I got older. I was distinctly aware that the bubble had burst, leaving me alone, in its wake. I'd drag myself around the house, stunned at how absolutely awful I felt. How was this possible? How could I feel so wonderful and then one sleep later, wake up to this? The part that wasn't so surprising but that pissed me off nonetheless was how proportionate everything was in this ridiculous game: the bigger the bubble, the worse the day after was. It was a rule, a law, a perfect example of cause and effect.

    When I decided to give up alcohol for a year, I did it for a few reasons, but one was the bubble. I was tired of it bursting and leaving pieces of me everywhere the day after. I was tired of being disappointed. I was tired of feeling sick. I was tired of the ups and downs. I realized that the bubble could no longer compensate for the day after. When I quit drinking wine, it was because I could finally see the bubble for what it really was- a puffy cloud of illusions that so easily burst in the light of day. I need to remember that part about the bubble. And I do.

    

    

    

    

Two Worlds

    I'm between two worlds these days. Have been for awhile now. I've been calling it my own little purgatory, for want of a better word. What I really am is in that place between "there" and "not yet there", struggling to embrace the moment, even though most of me just wants to get on with it.

    But get on with what? My other life... the one after the alcohol. I could also add the one after the smoking (did that for 20 years) or the one after the bulimia (did that for 6 years, 30 years ago). I could add those things because they are variations on the same theme as the binge-drinking, my most recent penchant while on this planet. I decide to look up the definition of penchant on google and I see instantly on my phone, "a strong or habitual liking for something or tendency to do something". Yep, that about sums it up. I had a strong habitual liking for wine. And cigarettes. And food. I definitely had a tendency to drink, smoke and binge. But what did I also like? What did I also have a tendency to do? 

    I liked escaping, avoiding, numbing my emotions and distracting myself. I liked to do that a lot. And I had a tendency to do those things, sometimes more, sometimes less, but pretty much consistently. I didn't like feeling discomfort of any kind, so I told myself I didn't have to. I found solutions in various behaviors over the years- 35 years to be exact. I arrived at this number recently after realizing that I started engaging in numbing behaviors (as I will fondly refer to them now) around the age of 17, when the eating disorder began. I found a way to temporarily take away the emotional, mental and spiritual discomfort of where I was at in life, and so I immersed myself in those behaviors. Six years later, and the eating disorder behind me, I found another trick- smoking- and proceeded to do that for the next 20 years. After I quit that (almost 6 years ago), I fell more in love with wine than ever. The alcohol has been with me through it all, regularly enough since the age of 18. I'm 52 years old now, so I guess that is a long time for a penchant. 

    The booze was my long-time pal, but it really didn't become my lover until I quit smoking. I still had a dislike, evidently, for discomfort of any kind, so I began uncorking the wine bottles more frequently in order to address that. It worked, until it didn't, of course.

    Then 320 days ago, I decided to quit drinking wine for a year, I did that to see if I could do it and to see if other things in my life would change for me as a result of not drinking. I did that without AA (that is another blog topic, or 10) and without other real-life supports of any kind, mostly because those supports are hard to find (another blog topic for sure). I did have other supports in the form of books. I read and continue to read many things related to quitting drinking and addictions in general (more blog topics). These authors are my lifeline; they've helped to keep me on this path. But lately, the path is a bit blurry. The road I'm walking on doesn't have the clarity I'd like it to have, sometimes it's hard to see even a few inches in front of me to where I am heading.

    I'm heading of course to My Other Life. I know this. And I am terrified. I know also that I am in that place between there and not yet there, and it is a tough place to be. I spend a lot of time wondering why it is taking me so long to get to my other life. I have visions of what that other life is (again, another blog topic) and the fact that I can't touch it frustrates me to the core. On the other hand, I also seem to be turning around a lot lately to look back on That Other Life, the one I left behind. It reaches out to me with it's warm, comforting embrace, reminding me of the fuzzy glow of lounge booths, reminding me of that particular solution, reminding me of the wine. I know by now that this isn't about the wine really, but for some reason, that is what I still see when I look back. 

    I have an inner knowing somehow of how easy it would be to just go back to that world. I can taste the effortlessness of it. It lures me with its promise of the familiar, the known, the comfortable. It tells me that I'm too old to start again, to build something new, to find another tribe. It whispers in my ear, too regularly it seems, "Just come back. Stop this ridiculous quest you are on. What are you even doing anyway? What's the point?" It wants me there. I want me there. But then I don't. 

    Then I look down at my feet and remember where I am standing. Then I feel myself, anchored in this moment, to this spot, solidly, this spot between there and not yet there, and I know I am okay. I am between two worlds and I am okay. I know that I will hear the whispers again, will turn my head back to look, but I also know that looking doesn't have to mean returning. I begin to understand that looking back is probably necessary sometimes. But the beauty is that I can then turn and look forward, to that place I am heading, and as scared as I am, for all the reasons I am scared, I also feel a surge of excitement, and I decide to go with that.

My Experiment

    Today is day 318 of my one-year experiment. I would have started this blog sooner, tracking the days as I went but the business of adjusting to my experiment got in the way of it actually happening. Added to that, was a strange fear filling me up every time I thought about writing about myself publicly. So I just kept to myself. But now I no longer want to. Now I'm ready to talk.

    There are many reasons for this but a main one is that I am looking for kindred spirits on this journey, others doing their own experiments, in their own way, in their own time, but doing them nonetheless. I've read about these people online and in books. I've followed their journeys with a voraciousness born out of loneliness, confusion, and yes, sometimes desperation. Sitting on the fringes as I began my own experiment on July 30th, 2019, I felt I needed to connect with others who understood. I would soon come to know how difficult this is to do in real life. This is mostly because of the nature of my experiment I think. In my neck of the woods, in my social circles, it isn't exactly a popular undertaking, but I did it anyway, and here I am, telling the tale.

    On July 30th, last summer, I woke up after a particularly long day turned into night of binge-drinking and decided, "Today is the day. Today is day 1 of my one-year experiment. Today I am giving up alcohol for one year". Reading that, I make it sound so simple, like I decided and just did it. But what isn't included in that decision is the agonizing two years before I got to that place, two years of stops and starts, trial and error, as I attempted over and over again to ditch the booze, and make it stick. As I reflect back on it now though, I can see how all of this is interconnected and makes sense, how I couldn't just decide once and do it, how I needed the two years before in order to get me to a more ready place. I can see how those two years were indeed the training exercises for this marathon in which I now find myself. I get it. 

    And it is true that I'm in a marathon now, gaining momentum here, losing it there, stopping to rest sometimes, but ultimately never stopping completely, never giving up. It is also true that the world I now live in is richer, brighter, fat with promise and hope. It is a calmer world where getting adequate sleep and waking up without a hangover are things I celebrate regularly. However, it is also a world where I meet and hang out with my emotions all the time. All emotions, even the yucky ones. All the time. Without running or numbing. Ever. Who does this? Fools and brave people, that's who. I am both.