Copenhagen in summer is no place for a resolution
With the end of May, Copenhagen has woken up and Mother Nature has decided to finally turn up her great cosmic thermostat. Slowly, people are coming out of their hives, feral and hungry for the sun, fighting for the best spots in this concrete jungle, to relax, to forgo commitments for a brief moment, or to show off and perform for the algorithm. The winter bathers are cursing the gathering crowds by the water, suffocating what had been their private haven for the last many months, the harbour baths lined with people tanning in neat rows, air filled with the sound of laughter, yelling and bad, loud music from mediocre tiny Bluetooth speakers.
Every morning, batches of empty cans are littered throughout the streets, attracting deposit hunters, delicately balancing enormous black bags on their bicycles, filled to the brim, like worker bees on two wheels, filling their reservoirs before returning to the hive to unload (or in this case, in some poor unsuspecting supermarket vending machine).
Usually I would’ve contributed significantly to this load, but not this year. Even so, I must admit, with the change in weather and disposition all over the city, thoughts of a cold beer in a spot of shade on a warm day have my mind jumping through more hoops than usual. This sudden collective ascent in mood is palpable and the temptation to succumb to older habits is very real.
Tempting as it is, I promised myself I would live through all four seasons of this year sober, be it the long winter luring with beautiful dark meat dishes paired with heavy red wine, or the crisp summer evenings, perfect for great company, elevated mood, and an effervescent drink with an unspecified amount of alcohol in it (preferably large).
None of which is happening, obviously. Partly because of said promise. But also because I haven’t felt this good in my body for years. I’ve settled into a much higher base level of contentment than ever, doing away with the constant mental wallowing in every poor choice I ever made, and finally ridding myself of the thousand jackhammers punching through my skull, sweat pearls of alcohol permeating my skin, my body barely holding it together through a gym session on a Tuesday.
Time feels different – slower, more tangible, less elusive. I experience and savor more moments throughout the day than ever before. Although we’re only at the end of May, to me, this year has felt twice as long already. I get more things done, have fewer off-days, and everything I do carries more intent and direction than ever before.
Quitting alcohol is still a two-sided experience to me, and I can easily name both good and bad things about my earlier consumption habits. But even so, I can’t disregard the overall change in my mood and disposition towards my own life. This year has already taught me a lot, and I feel nowhere near done with this venture. I’m not ready to give all that up, and I’m scared for what might happen if I were to have a drink, both now, but also come January 2027.