Day 1

I stuck to my 2 beer limit last night and am diving head first, or feet first, or freefalling and somersaulting into day 1 alcohol free.  I'd be an idiot to think this will be easy, but maybe I prefer to be an idiot.  I've been asking myself, "Does this need to be difficult?  Is it the TRUTH that this is difficult or is it me forming a story based on other people's experiences?" I try to do that with all of my thoughts.  Is this true?  Or is this a conditioned story that has attached itself to a thought or feeling in my body?  Like a deer tick sucking my blood.  That's a little dramatic, but hey, I feel it's called for.  Think about it.  I was conditioned, like millions of people around the world, to believe someone else's story that alcohol  is good and part of being an adult.  That's not an undeniable fact.  That's a story that has been passed down through generations and became an unquestioned "truth."  I put truth in quotes, like air quotes, in an attempt to mimic the tone of sarcasm in my voice.  How else do these so-called truths show up in my life?  "Wrinkles are bad."  Wrinkles are NORMAL.  "Cellulite is ugly."  The cellulite on my legs is 47 years of walking around cities from coast-to-coast, standing on the border of East and West Germany in 1986 and listening to my father sniffle while wiping his tears, carrying the weight of my pregnant belly- twice, running from the psycho ex-boyfriend, hiking sacred mountains, dancing to the live music, walking towards a loved one, pedaling my bike in the sunshine or rain, using their strength to lift my body as I picked up my toddlers, skiing and snowboarding,.... You get the idea.  My head is filled with other people's stories.  My job now is to question EVERYTHING.  So maybe quitting alcohol isn't hard.  And if so, what is considered hard?  This is getting a bit too philosophical for 6:30 in the morning.

When I quit in 2020, both in July and then again in November, it wasn't difficult.  It was welcomed.  It was an adventure.  We were in the middle of a global pandemic, I found out my husband is a hardcore certain political supporter, and, without realizing it, I was entering the hellish throes of perimenopause.   Yet I was welcoming an AF life with open arms.  Did I have meltdowns?  Absolutely.  Pretty much every evening for the first week or two.  Did I dream of winning the lottery so I could buy my own little condo and live far away with my house plants and yoga matts?  Pretty much every evening the first couple of months.  (I still dream of that sometimes.)  Was I awkward and did I stumble over my thoughts and words when out to dinner without a drink?  You betcha.  But I knew that this was all temporary, that this was all part of the initial healing.  Within a few weeks, living AF became second nature.  (We also set some ground rules: no talk of politics in the house, no certain news channels on the television if I am within earshot, and if other family members brought up X,Y, or Z at a family function, I would quietly slip away and play with the kids.)

This time, though, I find my mind going through waves of panic.  I think it's because I don't have an end goal.  And I'll be honest, there were times when I didn't drink and wished I had.  (Like the quick getaway to Seattle with Craig.  The cold and rainy days when a cozy little pub was welcoming.  Yes, I had an AF beer, but it was work and I often wonder if I could have enjoyed the trip more if I drank.)  There were times I did drink and enjoyed it.  (Like our trip to Boston and this past summer to San Francisco.)  So I have proof on both ends of the spectrum.  Am I glamorizing alcohol?  At times, yes.  Do I need to rewire my thinking about booze?  I'm working on it.  All I know for sure is that I can't change my thinking about alcohol when I'm actively drinking.  It doesn't work that way.  

So today I'm starting my adventure.  Curiosity and open-mindedness will lead the way.