On overcorrection and balance
I’ve felt small jabs, my mind playing games with me, devils on my shoulders convincing me that when the time comes, things will get back to the way they were: I will drink again. I might not drink as much, or in the same manner – but drink I will. I’d come to accept this. To acknowledge that this year was probably just an experiment, although an interesting one. Had you asked me just two months ago what was holding me back from drinking, my pride, not lack of desire, would’ve been the reason. If not for pride, I probably would’ve given up on this venture and had a drink a long time ago.
When hanging out with people close to me, many have stopped drinking as well. I think abstinence became easier for them, as they could latch on to mine, if only for a short time, a single night. No headache tomorrow, kids will be manageable, the day will be alright after all – everybody wins. It hasn’t been without its loss though. There is a certain life missing, a layer of dull, quiet dampening, everyone not quite up to their usual spirit. We’ve lost the garrulity that only shows up after that third drink, the boisterousness that alcohol seems to manifest in all of us. And it’s a real loss. Tangible. You get your day after, but you never really get your night before.
The self-improvement part of me, ever present, ever alert, is happy about this trade. He is winning out a lot these days. He is very effective. I am still learning how to be happy though. I miss my friends. And I miss getting drunk with them, having a fun night out, adding more outrageous, cringeworthy, hilarious memories to our shared history.