185 Days

Today is June 15, which means I have been off alcohol for 19 days in December, 120 days January-April, 31 days in May, and 15 days in May. That adds up to 185 days.

I note the fact that I quit drinking quite often in conversations with friends, acquaintances, family members, and colleagues. Even though I speak of the decision a bit casually, I find myself treading the topic with a little bit of apprehension. I suppose the uncertainty for me stems from a few pointed questions:

* Am I an alcoholic?

* Did I have a drinking problem?

* What would happen if I had a glass of wine?

I honestly do not wish to have a glass of wine, or any other libation, though I do think about wine, beer, and hard liquors like scotch, bourbon, rum, vodka, and gin almost daily. Sometimes I think that it would be enjoyable to have a drink, but then I think about the weirdness that would infuse me and the dryness, the headaches, the difficulty awakening that I would experience again and I thank God for every day that I do not have a drink.

Because, fact is, every morning feels fresh and new. It's rare now that I wake up groggy. And even though I still do seem to have a little bit of difficulty getting myself settled down to sleep, I rarely have trouble falling asleep once I make the decision that I am in bed.

This week during the AP reading, I have maintained my energy all the way through Day 6. I felt alert enough today to work an extra 75 minutes past the reading and probably would have made it to 90 minutes if I hadn't made plans to meet up with someone to talk about flipped classrooms and online learning.

I remember John, an alcoholic, whom I dated in Honolulu. I didn't know until I was fairly emotionally involved that his form of alcoholism was to drink until he passed out. He told me he would go months without having a drink, and then would have seven all at once. His drinking had cost him dearly: a divorce, two DUIs, and probably a lot of lost brain cells. He often drove when he drank, even though he would try not to.

But when he was sober, he said, the clarity was amazing.

Another individual, who had been hooked on drugs (I'm not sure what drugs), was in a sobriety program when I began working with him and his writing. A scowling teenager, he had produced a piece of writing on his personal dreams and aspirations that was original and inventive. He stayed sober through his junior year but lapsed at some time in his senior year before getting sober again. He described sobriety as the most incredible clarifying experience, a time when his creativity felt boundless and his potential seemed endless.

So, clarity, boundless creativity, endless potential.

I feel these things, too, as I wake up at 5 a.m. to read, as I go through a day of encounters with people of various personalities and personal challenges that they often bring to encounters and feel myself able to give them attention and compassion without getting unstrung myself. I feel the power as I read at a high speed, and feel confident that my reading is accurate. I feel the strength of boundless creativity as I run during lunch, and swim after the work day is done. I also notice the difference as I look in the mirror, and see my skin looking fresher, younger, less worn, less tired.

It's my goal to keep it going for at least eighteen more months.

After that, honestly, we'll see.

But what can I do now that I wasn't able to do this time last year?

* Run a 12-minute mile at a relaxed pace.

* Swim 1,000 to 2,000 yards without getting completely winded.

* Bicycle.

There's other non-physical benefits, too. I speak my mind without worrying that I will say something that I might regret later, meaning that I feel a full command of my thoughts and emotions. I do things that seem counter-productive to the overwork culture of twenty-first century corporate America like taking three weeks of vacation to play sports and plant tomatoes, or write poems and short prose pieces on a nightly basis, and know that I deserve it. I get -- probably 28 out of every 30 days of each month -- a full night, eight hours, of sleep.

Describing life as a non-drinker, however, is challenging. Our culture is that of a drinker. Non-drinkers are categorized as deviants, somehow, as threats to a sense of normality. Many find solace in support groups like Alcoholics Anonymous. I am afraid to visit Alcoholics Anonymous because I, too, feel threatened by the category of deviancy that AA seems to house: the people who admit themselves to be alcoholics, the people who share their stories of having drinking problems. I fear the stigma that surrounds the woman who attends social functions with a glass of ice tea in her hand, or who sips Perrier from a bottle.

I also worry about the loss of friends, the loss of a social circle that might come with non-drinking.

In short, almost everyone I know drinks. Some of them a little; some of them a lot. All of them seem to have no problem with their intake and behavior. I realize that I once belonged to that group, and I feel awkward when I ask my husband to limit his drinking to beer (which I've never been fond of) and to request that the occasional dinner guest not bring a bottle of wine. At this stage in my life as a non-drinker, I feel that I can be around drinkers, but not much and especially not in my own home. I fear that my ability to move in the circle of friends and new acquaintances in which I once felt extremely comfortable has been severely curtailed.

Still, each morning that I wake up, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for the difficult decision I made.