I
have a penchant for quitting things. It’s a source of pride for me. I derive pleasure from leaving parties early. I don’t particularly enjoy any specific activity, so the opportunity to stop always excites me. Like many men who struggle to get out of a chair without making an embarrassing noise, I derive much of my personal philosophy from Michael Mann’s Heat (1995): “Don’t let yourself become attached to anything you’re not willing to walk away from in 30 seconds flat if you feel the heat around the corner.”
Of course, this is all bravado on my part. If I were to actually live by this philosophy, my wife, child, and annoying cavoodle would all have numerous follow-up questions. It’s a good thing De Niro’s character wasn’t burdened with a cavoodle. I must also acknowledge that even if I attempted to live this way, most of my 30 seconds would be spent attempting to extricate myself from the aforementioned chair. But deep down, the principle still holds true.
This especially applies to various vices—smoking, drinking, drug use, anything that adds excitement to life. Quitting these things is always challenging, which is precisely what makes it worthwhile. I want to quit them before I’m forced to quit. I want to quit while I’m still confident in my ability to quit. Even if it’s only for a short period—just to verify my resolve.
The first six months of this year were completely sober for me. I hadn’t intentionally taken a break from alcohol since I started drinking at a young age. One concern was how pervasive it had become, especially during the pandemic. The other concern was how monotonous and uneventful every night felt while I was sober. There were no highs and lows. Time just passed by.
I expected to spend that time feeling like I was missing out and suffering. However, I discovered that I actually enjoyed this newfound lifestyle.
I enjoyed the way I felt. The background noise wasn’t as intrusive. It was amusing to make people feel a little awkward when I told them I didn’t drink. I became a bit of an enigma. Does this guy have mental health issues or an utter lack thereof? Suddenly, I’m a fascinating puzzle. Most surprisingly, I found myself enjoying mornings. Have I always been a morning person? It turns out every day is meant to start with a fresh, well-rested feeling, not as if you’re paying penance for the previous night’s escapades.
Then came the self-righteousness. Smugness often gets a bad reputation, but it’s called “feeling superior” for a reason. Oh, the insights I gained from my lofty perch. No, please, enjoy your drink. It’s perfectly fine if you need it; it’s just not for me. I caught myself saying, “Oh, I don’t drink but sure,” to the police at a random breath test station. All they were getting from me was a minty-fresh hit of Colgate’s finest, officer. Okay, I’ll comply with a drug test, but I assure you, I’m only high on life. Yes, I realize that talking like this is precisely why I’m being subjected to a drug test.
The mission was a success. Not only was I able to give up drinking, but I also discovered that I could enjoy life without it. However, the question remains—how do you ever return?
At some point, you come in from the cold. It’s time to have your first drink again after a long break. Resuming drinking is its own journey. It’s a reminder that this was merely a test, and returning at a moderate pace doesn’t mean you’re betraying yourself.
Suddenly, I’m back where I started. My hard-earned self-righteousness dissipates. I’m no different from the rest of you. It feels like a failure, even though I never intended for it to be a permanent ban.
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