I was talking animatedly,
waving around my fourth glass of overpriced
wine at the rooftop bar of a snazzy
Toronto hotel. This might not sound too
reckless, but it was a Monday night, I’d
been in bed with the flu not long before,
and my drinking buddy was someone I had
met only once, in a professional capacity.
Add to that the two work deadlines looming
the following morning, which I was making
it increasingly difficult to meet.
By the time I got home, I’d been out for
five hours and spent every penny in my
bank account. I woke up at 6 a.m. to a vise-like
grip around my chest: guilt, something
I’d become quite familiar with since my
three-year relationship had recently ended,
and I was hitting the bottle harder than
usual. This, however, was a new low, and,
lying on my bed in floods of tears, my new
apartment still filled with moving boxes,
I vowed to start a month of not drinking.
I had been toying with the idea of quitting
for a while. As someone who often puts
away double the recommended healthy
limit and as the daughter of an alcoholic,
I was aware of how quickly drinking habits
can take hold. But the reason I wanted to
try giving it up wasn’t fear of becoming an
alcoholic. I wanted to see what life would
be like without booze, if I could still be fun,
maybe even have more fun, sober.
Apparently I was not alone. With phrases
like “soberista” and “teetotal twentysomethings”
creeping into our consciousness,
it’s emerging as a new social trend. The
people leading the charge are young: Blake
Lively, Peaches Geldof and, more recently,
Harry Potter himself, Daniel Radcliffe.
And it’s not just young celebs who are
choosing to stick to soda — universities
are now offering dry residence halls. But
what would it be like for me, a 30-year-old
social drinker?
I wanted to see how it felt to do all the
things I would normally do, just sober.
So I signed up for everything. I went to
dinners, a movie screening, a dance party,
a wedding, even an ugly-sweater singles
party — all without any Dutch courage.
The first few days were a breeze — the
adrenaline boost from doing something
different felt good. Obviously I faced
resistance from people in the beginning.
They asked if I was pregnant and joked
their calendars were full for the month.
But in the end most people forgot I wasn’t drinking. In fact, most of the time the ‘social
experiment’ was easier than I’d expected.
There were, however, some experiences
that were real eye-openers. Toward the end
of the night at a friend’s wedding, a cute guy
I’d been smiling at asked me to slow dance.
He was sweet enough, but my sobriety
instantly divided us. Like everyone in the
room, he was slurring and stank of booze (it
really reeks!). I tried to angle my face so that
his breath was not flowing directly into my
nostrils, but his stunted conversation and
wandering hands were too much. The song
ended and I told him my feet hurt and left. Had
I been under the influence, the situation
could have ended in a mismatched hookup.
Make-out opportunities aside, my life
was undeniably better for the month I was
not drinking. I exercised more, I was less
tired, and, thanks to the money I didn’t
spend on cocktails, I could indulge in some
fabulous shopping (including a pony-skin
handbag and second-hand Jimmy Choos).
I almost effortlessly went from half
a pack of cigarettes a day to two or
three and lost five pounds, despite the
fact that I replaced the wine bottle I kept
on the kitchen counter with a cookie jar.
Since the experiment, I have returned
to drinking occasionally but have had much
more success at stopping after a glass or
two. Socializing sober made me realize
who I wanted to spend time with and gave
me confidence that I am fun and engaging
to be around. I finally unpacked my house,
and I’m seeing life as a glass half full,
regardless of whether there’s booze in it!