alcohol – Dev on Running

My mother-in-law Greta used to shower us with gifts like I’d never experienced before. At Christmas, piles of presents carefully chosen, wrapped and scrawled with our names awaited us under her perfectly decorated tree. Opening gift after gift felt almost dizzying. I was used to my parents asking me what I wanted and sending them Amazon links—a light variation on simply shopping for myself. Greta never asked what we wanted but always seemed to know, and then added a few more things on top of that just because.

Now that she’s retired and we’ve all collected more things than we could use in our lifetimes, she’s shifted her gifting strategy to experiences: ballet tickets, cooking classes. They are things we can keep in a way that don’t collect dust around the house. Things we can revisit again and again in our minds, remembering the way we dressed up in velvet and high heels and shared a special holiday outing, or remembering the smell of freshly whisked chimichurri and steak sizzling on a grill. They represent togetherness, memories—things we want to hold onto forever.

Greta treated me to an incredible Argentine cooking class for my birthday this year.

I liked her strategy so much that I wanted to give my stepdad an experience gift for his 74th birthday. I came across the concert lineup at Chateau Ste. Michelle, a winery in my hometown that hosts a popular series of outdoor shows every summer, and saw Jon Batiste was coming to play the week of his birthday—perfect.

I was in awe of Jon Batiste after listening to him on Armchair Expert and watching American Symphony, a documentary that follows him composing his first symphony while he experiences professional highs (winning a Grammy for Album of the Year) and personal lows (the resurgence of his wife’s leukemia). I watched American Symphony for a second time with my stepdad and we both connected with Jon’s unflinching attitude in the face of life-threatening illness. “You have to confront the brutal reality,” he says, “but at the same time, have completely unwavering faith.”

I sprang for great seats—all part of the experience—and my stepdad was thrilled. He even called his brother in Virginia to brag about how close to the stage we were. We arrived when the venue opened and had plenty of time to eat dinner and share a bottle of crisp white wine in plastic cups. My stepdad started singing Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day,” and it was—a balmy, cloudless evening in early June.

“Mom would be so proud of us,” I said. The past five years have been filled with crushing stress and grief. My stepdad is completely devoted to my mom and continues to work a physically taxing job in order to offset the massive cost of her care. Other than working, visiting her and taking care of their house, he doesn’t go out, socialize or do anything enjoyable for himself. He was long overdue for some fun.

With an hour to go before the show was set to start, we bought another bottle of wine—and why not? We were celebrating! My stepdad kept refilling my cup as we waited and chatted with fellow concertgoers. When the start time came and went, we bought a third bottle—not a great call, but not disastrous yet. And a few songs into Jon Batiste’s set, I saw my stepdad making his way to buy a fourth bottle as I stared at him in disbelief and shook my head, “Nooooo!” It’s the last thing I remember.

Before the blackout.

Past midnight, I woke up on the living room floor of my mom and stepdad’s house with my cheek nestled in a spray of vomit. My stepdad wasn’t doing much better. I staggered over to the kitchen sink, washed as much sickness out of my hair as I could, then chugged some water and went back to sleep in an actual bed. When my phone alarm woke me up at 6am, I was still drunk.

I’m thankful we got home safely—we assume security dumped us into an Uber—but I was horribly sick and hungover for the entire next day. I repeated “I’m never drinking again” over and over, and I meant it. I felt ashamed that I missed so much of the concert I’d been looking forward to, and embarrassed that I got blackout drunk at age 37. In my early 20s, this would have been just another night out—something to laugh about with my friends—but as a full-blown adult and mother, I thought I was well beyond that level of poor judgment.

“Mom would be so ashamed of us,” I said as my stepdad drove me to my car after we sobered up.

It scared me to lose control like that. So many terrible things could have happened. I’m lucky the worst of it was feeling sick and full of regret over ruining and missing what was supposed to be a memorable night. If Alzheimer’s has taught me anything, it’s that memories are beyond precious.

I’ve had 160 alcohol-free days to process this experience, and I now give a lot of grace to two deeply hurting people who were just trying to have some fun amidst so much sadness in their lives. Wine gave us a glorious, weightless feeling; we just wanted to hold onto that as long as we could. The problem is that one bottle wasn’t enough to ease the excruciating pain of losing my mom. 100 bottles wouldn’t be enough. Rather than trying to erase the weight of this hellish journey, we need to hold each other up, help shoulder the load.

I put a lot of work into keeping myself afloat and not sinking into depression. I work out, eat (mostly) well, talk to a therapist and write, but I still feel like I’m always teetering on the edge of a cliff, vulnerable to being knocked over the edge by a single blow. Misusing alcohol felt like giving up all my hard work and throwing myself off the cliff. It was not compatible with who I want to be and how I want to live.

Since this experience, I have not once wanted to drink alcohol again. My choice to stop drinking has freed up so much mental space. I no longer have to think about whether or not I’ll drink in any given situation; how much I’ll drink; whether or not I’ll be able to drive; whether or not I’ll feel sick or hungover afterward. I thought I’d miss the social lubrication that alcohol provides, but I haven’t at all. I’ve actually enjoyed going into situations 100% as myself, summoning my own courage to be friendly and talkative and interesting around people I don’t know very well.

I don’t describe myself as “sober” since I do like to take half a cannabis gummy—to relax or to enhance a funny movie, not when I’m sad—a few times a month. I say I’m “free from alcohol” because that’s exactly what it feels like.

I have enjoyed this freedom during a girls’ trip to Las Vegas to see Adele in concert; during a 50-mile bike ride that included several stops at dive bars; at a wedding with an open bar; at dinners, birthday parties and still more concerts where alcohol is flowing all around me. I have no problem if others want to drink and am happy to be the designated driver. I have discovered a new appreciation for sparkling water, root beer, iced tea, non-alcoholic beer and some really tasty mocktails. I have never felt left out. I have never regretted not drinking.

At 37, I know myself quite well. I know what is for me and what is not for me. It feels really great to cut things out of my life that are not for me, making room for all the better things. There are so many better things.

In early September, my stepdad and I returned to Chateau Ste. Michelle to enjoy a Gregory Alan Isakov concert free from alcohol.

Someone blames me for what happened last time.

It was another lovely day. We sat near two-time Oscar-winner Hilary Swank! I remember it all, I drove us home, we weren’t sick. A fun memory firmly in the bank.

Mom would be so proud of us.

I am so proud of us.

On New Year’s Eve, I deleted Instagram, Facebook, TikTok and Reddit from my phone and resolved to take January off from social media.

I found myself spending hours a day on these apps, endlessly scrolling in search of… what? Staying so up-to-date on other people’s lives and constant commentary left me feeling empty. I resented the nagging drive to share content on Instagram Stories, and the guilt I felt if I didn’t post about something — a friend’s party, my daughter’s dance recital — in a timely manner, or at all. I wanted to shut down my virtual world and live entirely in the real world for a month.

The first few days, I compulsively picked up my phone whenever I wanted to procrastinate from working, and it took me a second to realize I didn’t have any of my go-to apps to open. Instead, I checked the weather a lot. At any given moment, I could tell you the exact temperature and when it was going to rain next. I allowed myself to scan the headlines of People.com to get my celebrity news fix, and to Google Taylor Swift to see what she was up to. I also gave myself unlimited access to the New York Times app so I could read news stories and, you know, learn stuff. I don’t get sucked into those resources or lose hours to them over the course of a day like I do with social media.

Soon I reached for my phone less and less often. Instead of opening it, I’d just click the side button to see if I had any texts or missed calls. If not? Back to work, or whatever else I was doing.

My 9-to-5 window became way more productive. I got ahead on my work and had plenty of time to exercise most days at lunchtime. In my off time, because I wasn’t concerned with what everyone else was doing, I had the mental space and clarity to think about what I want to do.

I’m super inspired by the musician Jon Batiste and highly recommend listening to his interview on “Armchair Expert” and watching his documentary “American Symphony.” This quote from the podcast stood out to me:

“If you stop seeing yourself, you stop being yourself, and then you can’t create the thing that’s the most resonant that only you can create.”
Jon Batiste on “Armchair Expert”

I feel more like myself than I have in a long time, and I’m excited to have the time and motivation to create. My goal in 2024 is to write and submit at least one essay or article each month for publication somewhere: a newspaper, magazine or website other than mine.

I wrote two pieces in January and have good ideas for a third and fourth. I submitted one piece and got my first rejection, which just put me one “no” closer to a “yes.” I reworked the piece and submitted it elsewhere.

I’m really excited about the second piece, but need to hold onto it until the time is right. If I can’t find a home for it, I’ll eventually publish it here. That’s the great thing about this goal: The only thing I stand to lose is a bit of ego, and nothing I write will go to waste. I already make a living writing, so I don’t need the validation of getting published to know that I’m a good writer. It would just be icing on the cake; a bit of life extra credit.

Even though I don’t have an objective win yet — that is, a published piece — I’m riding a high from accomplishing what I wanted to do in January, and I’m driven to keep going.

I’m not eager to reinstall any apps to my phone. When I do, it’ll just be Instagram, and I’ll turn off push notifications. I want to use it mindfully, not whenever the app tries to suck me in. And I’ll probably mute or unfollow a bunch of accounts. There’s just a handful of people I found myself wondering about in January, and I only want to spend time keeping up with those I’m truly invested in.

***

I also set out to do Dry January — no alcohol for the entire month. I always enjoy a reset after the boozy holiday season. This time I made it to January 15 — Martin Luther King Jr. Day — when Evie and I went with another family to the Pacific Science Center, then found ourselves at the top of the Space Needle taking in a gorgeous 360-degree view of Seattle. The other mom — my friend Kyra — was going to get a drink from the bar, and I thought it sounded pretty fantastic to watch the sun start to set with a bit of sauvignon blanc in hand. We toasted to being Dry January dropouts. (At least the wine was dry!)

I enjoyed it without guilt. Because I’ve done Dry January many times before, I don’t need the validation — again! — to know I can do it. Now the goal is more about drinking mindfully and not falling into a pattern of drinking more than I really want to just because alcohol is around. I enjoyed three more drinks in January, each time while I was out doing something fun with people I love.

When it comes to what I put into my body, moderation and intention feel good and healthy; rigid restriction does not. I want to be in control of my life, but also to enjoy it. I know all too well that it can be much too short.

If you’re a Dry January devotee, good on you — especially if it’s the first step on a path to sobriety. But if you enjoy drinking in moderation, consider Damp January (or February, or whenever). Shift the focus to intention, and don’t worry about failing at an all-or-nothing goal.

I’m lucky and grateful to be able to have one drink, enjoy it, then stop. (This was not the case in college, but luckily I grew out of that.) I find Instagram to be far more addictive. Is it a thing to be social-media sober? I’m not willing to entirely give up on sharing photos and keeping up with online friends, so I’ll work to find a balance.

***

I’m sure some people thought my unexplained absence from Instagram meant something happened with my mom, but she’s still with us and nothing much has changed. She has been re-certified for hospice a second time and seems just a little worse every time I see her. I’m moving forward with life and even have a few trips planned this year; I’ve given up on planning for the unknowable.

Less drinking. WAY less scrolling. Much more writing. That’s my 2024 so far.

Tag: alcohol

Experience