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My last drink was a whole bottle of Veuve on New Year’s eve. If that was going to be my last drink, I wanted it to be fucking memorable.
I had already decided that I wanted to experience my life, alcohol-free. I knew I could do it, because I had done it before: when I was training for Ironman AZ in 2015. I feel like I can do anything since that day.
I was considering making another commitment to living sober. And not in the context of the most physical undertaking of my life. In the context of my everyday life. Like a permanent commitment.
In a life that includes things like double dates with the Petersens and happy hours with the colleagues, birthday brunches and the company holiday party, nights alone at home and dinners with friends. Celebrations. Gatherings. Difficulties. Trips. Life.
I dared to think that I could continue to live this life I love, and just cut out the alcohol. Under the excuse of Dry January, at the turn of the decade, I made that commitment.
I haven’t had a drink all year.
It’s the champagne I miss the most because of its association with special moments: a promotion, a reunion, waking up in Paris. Something luxurious and decadent to drink at any moment of sincere gratefulness or progress towards an accomplishment, goal or dream.
Other than that, so far, I don’t miss much.
In fact, waking up without a hang over after a night of quality sleep is. the. best.
It’s February first. I’m doing Dry January.