Party soft
Photograph ©2022 David Bivins
I went to a party this weekend. I brought two six-packs of non-alcoholic beer. For a while it was the only “beer” there, and I found it funny that people were drinking them, thinking it was alcoholic. I told the first friend who had popped one open that it was fake beer, and he put the open can in the fridge, saying “Oh, I want alcohol.” After that, I didn’t tell anyone.
As the night went on, bottles of wine were opened and emptied. Glasses were topped off. A nice bottle of mezcal made the rounds. “Just a little bit,” some said.
A couple hours in, I was in an interesting conversation with the person sitting next to me, a friend. I knew she was a little drunk, but at one point while I was mid-sentence, she drifted into another conversation. I noticed that a lot of people were repeating themselves, their tongues thick, their voices a little sloppy. I got quiet.
Later, at home, my partner told me that I got really quiet at one point at the party—had I been OK? “I was fine,” I replied. “It just got really boring.”
That’s the experience I have at parties now. Once everyone’s a little (or a lot) sloppy, it’s not much fun.
I feel very stable in my sobriety. Being around people drinking doesn’t bother me. I’m not tempted to drink. I don’t feel left out, and no one makes me feel left out. But I can feel the room recede from me once everyone’s had a few drinks. And I get it—this last party was a group of people who have been through a lot together, and this was the time to “unwind.” And this is the tool they knew would help them do that. I don’t feel superior to them or like I have a secret way of relaxing that they should all know. I’ve even talked to a few of them about my own experience of sobriety when they’ve asked. And when the next party comes up, I’ll go. I do have fun up to a point.
When I first quit for good, I wasn’t looking forward to being around people drinking. By chance, I eased into it, with get-togethers in our community garden where a couple of bottles of wine were shared. It gave me the opportunity to tell people I’m not drinking when the wine was offered, and I had plenty of seltzer on hand for myself. It gave me a long runway for learning how to be myself in this new state of being. It also gave me space to reflect on how fucking hard I had worked to stop, and I honestly had no desire to start again.
I chalk this all up to the practice of sobriety. I practiced sobriety when I was trying to get sober (and flubbed it over and over), but the practice—the habits—took over eventually. And once I quit for more than ten days, those witching 10 days, my confidence grew. The habit of not drinking overcame the habit of drinking. I started practicing “I don’t drink anymore.” I started practicing “I already drank enough for this lifetime, and it’s time for a new chapter.” I practiced “I was feeling really unhealthy, and now I feel a lot better.”
The compliments helped. “You look different. Your eyes are brighter.” “That’s amazing, good for you.” “That must have been hard.” The people I spend time with gave me a nurturing place to change.
I have to point out that most of the time, no one notices that I’m not drinking. Most of the time people help themselves to my seltzer and NA beer. Sometimes, as happened a few weeks ago, I end up in a deep conversation about recovery and coaching and someone else leaves the party with some new possibilities and some links they’ve asked me to text to them. It’s the lighthouse effect—they’ve seen a way forward and now have a hand to hold.
Everyone emerges at their own pace, and for some of us practicing sobriety, being around alcohol at all doesn’t feel right. And obviously there’s nothing wrong with that.
I just keep both feet on the ground, be myself, and remember the amazing words of my friend Conor: “Water is an adult drink.”
I love you,
David
