Is Quarantine over?

We’re in some level of “phasing in” now. What this means exactly, whether we are technically “out of quarantine”, I am not sure. But for now, I’m all set with drinking. And in more general terms, I’m all set with ‘going back’ to the way things were pre-COVID.

It is exceptionally easy for me to not drink during these socially distant times. Going out to a bar looks so different than in the past, with everyone masked up, sitting at separate tables, that it is just not appealing.

My job has historically been a huge source of alcohol intake, which may surprise you if you’re not a flight attendant or pilot. The aviation industry is unlike any other. There is a gray scale between professional and social that gets mighty fuzzy when you work on airplanes. And many a layover has been spent partying through the night with my crews. In the past, I’ve suffered from FOMO, telling myself I’d stay in, go to bed early, then feeling a gnawing sense that I’d “miss out” on something great if my crew went out and I didn’t.

Now? FOMO doesn’t exist. On layovers, there are hardly any bars or restaurants open. The temptation just is not there. And beyond that, I’m feeling so awesome, keeping so busy, that I just don’t feel like drinking.

Lent and quarantine may have come and gone, but I’m not rushing back to the bottle.

So, now that you know the back story of why I quit drinking, here are some benefits I’ve felt and concerns I have.

My mental clarity is un-fucking-real.

Benefits:

Clarity.

My mental clarity is un-fucking-real.

This is the first, biggest and best side effect that has happened as a result of my not drinking.

I don’t have foggy days. I don’t do things I shouldn’t do. Say things I later regret. I feel focused, calm, at peace. Even as I wondered for four months, and still do now, whether I’d have my job in the future, there was a sense of peace and acceptance in the wonder. What is meant to be will be. If I get furloughed or my airline goes under, I’ll figure it out. I feel confident in myself, my abilities, and my resilience because I believe my thoughts and feelings. There are no chemicals to interfere with them or to drag me into a dark hole.

My health.

I’m not talking about weight loss. That has happened, I suppose, but more so because of the overall healthy lifestyle I’m living, and less because I quit drinking. And while I really like the way my body looks in a bikini right now, I really LOVE the way it feels. I’m not bloated. My skin is (mostly) clear and not excessively oily nor dry. I’m regular. I sleep like a baby. I feel comfortable in my skin. I feel energized most of the time.

A lot of people talk about how much weight they lost when they quit drinking, or even more often, how much they’d lose if they someday stopped. And they might be right. I never believed that for my body. I was able to maintain a healthy weight while drinking by eating healthy food and exercising. That being said, it is SO much easier without alcohol. I’m eating very healthy right now. Not for weight-related reasons, but for overall health—gut, skin, brain, mood.

The cravings I’ve had for sugar, dairy and bread have been surprisingly low for someone who could easily live off those things alone. But I’m confident that, were I drinking a couple nights a week, I’d be less likely to make myself a healthy meal, and more likely to grab whatever (breaded, sugared, cheesy)  thing was easy and available. Drinking consistently also makes cutting sugar cravings—an Achilles heel for me—nearly impossible.

My sleep cycle is On. Point. As someone who suffered from sleep trouble in the past, this perk is freaking GLORIOUS. Uninhibited by the residual effects of alcohol in my body, I wake up to a fresh, clean slate every single day. I never feel too “blah” to go for a run or do my 10-minutes of yoga (a new habit I’ve picked up.) This starting off fresh, rested, energized, puts me on track for a solid day. Honestly, I have had very few not good days.

Productivity

Just wow.

COVID gave me more free time than ever before, and I wanted to make sure I took full advantage. I’ve been CRUSHING my productivity goals, in no small part due to quitting alcohol. Now I’m back to work full-time and STILL getting more done than I ever have in the past.

Besides flying the friendly skies, I’m running this blog (meaning writing, formatting, optimizing, promoting), creating weekly content for a YouTube Channel dedicated to activism & social justice, and still finding time to focus on songwriting and “dream-writing.” That is, the kind of writing that fulfills your dreams. The big, lofty goal kind.

It’s a lot. I have not only been creating content more consistently than I ever have in my life (HELLO self-imposed deadlines!), but I’m also learning new, useful skills: Search engine optimization, video editing, content promotion, affiliate marketing, reading analytics.

I am impressed by my tenacity in seeking information and learning on my own. I’m delighted with the progress I’ve made over these months. I’m proud of myself for pursuing my passions, despite conventional wisdom telling me I’m too old. For pursing worthy causes even if I have to learn as I go. For investing time and energy in myself and the things that truly make me happy.

Could I do all these things without giving up alcohol?

Maybe I could. But it took me 34 years to harness the awesome power of my time this effectively. So, it is not something I’d bank on. Would I stay up late to finish that one last video segment if I’d had a margarita with dinner for taco Tuesday? Definitely not. Would I choose reading in bed about the history of systemic racism over an invitation to have a few cold ones with friends? Doubtful. Could I produce as much quality work with alcohol haze in my brain? I don’t know for sure, but right now it doesn’t feel like it.

I’m astounded by all the boozey and brilliant creatives over the years that have become prolific despite their vice. I don’t know how Hemingway did it, but I know I’m no Hemingway. For me, creating coherent, eloquent thoughts, buckling down to trudge through writer’s blocks, or tedious bouts of editing would be out of the question while hungover or tipsy.

This work I’m doing, and the volume of it, is a lot to maintain. And it would be impossible for me with the after-effects of alcohol in my system. I know this for a fact because running out for plans to grab a drink, daytime hangovers, and the nondescript haze that makes your head foggy, your patience shrink, have all been at one point or another, causes for not working on or completing creative “dream” projects.

I’m not saying alcohol always gets in the way, or that it always will for me. But right now, I’m choosing dream work over a cold one, a celebratory toast, or an unwinding glass of red.

For now we’re just doing what feels good, taking it
one day at a time.

Am I done forever?

Honestly, I have no idea. I’m not thinking about it much because I’m busy thinking about other things. I haven’t had much desire to drink over these months, and I don’t now. So, the need to define my future with (or without) alcohol seems inconsequential.

This works for me. I’ve found throughout my lifetime that being restrictive with myself can cause unwanted effects. Like creating more demand and desire for the forbidden thing: A deliciously bad-for-you food, a shopping habit, or a particularly sticky ex. I’ve found that when I don’t put harsh restrictions on myself, when I give myself space to do whatever I want, that I often make great choices.

Call it fear of commitment, but committing to a life without the possibility of grabbing a drink with friends feels big. Important. A little scary.

Not having a drink today because I’m busy and don’t feel like it? That’s simple.

Titles

Truthfully, I may be actively trying not to think about the future. Because it is a lot to think about. A huge change to my life, and one that feels mighty and permanent.

I will say this: I became a pescatarian five years ago, with no intention of doing so, after a Lent challenge. Once Lent ended and I could again eat meat, I didn’t have the desire. Not wanting to think about it too much, not wanting to make some bold statement about my “New lifestyle”, not wanting to come to a conclusion to which I’d have to commit, I adopted the term “flexitarian” to describe myself.

“If I feel like eating meat I will, but I haven’t felt like it yet,” I’d say when people asked me about my dietary restrictions, and what the hell flexitarian meant.

It was more than a year later, when my then life-partner brought to my attention that I had not and would not eat meat.

“Just call yourself a vegetarian,” she’d burst out one day. “There’s no way you’re just going to start eating meat again.”

And then I accepted it. She was right, I wasn’t going back to eating meat. Occasionally when I travel, I’ll try a bite of meat in a local dish. But meat will never be a regular part of my diet. And just like that, I became a pescatarian. After a year and a half of acting the part, I accepted the title.

If I should find, at some point, that the title of sober is something I feel comfortable accepting, then I’ll slip it on and wear it around. For now, we’re just doing what feels good. Taking it one day at a time.

Concerns:

I’m not gonna lie, there are concerns when I think about staying on this train for the long haul. I will have to re-learn how to do a lot of things. Socialize, date, dance—this last one is especially intimidating as I’ve never, ever busted a move before my third cocktail. I worry that my friends won’t like me anymore. That they’ll think I’m less fun. That I will be less fun. That traveling will shift dramatically.

Bars, pubs, clubs and breweries have always been a big part of my travels. Drinking in foreign countries is a way of getting to know the culture. I know this sounds crazy if you don’t drink, but I’ve found it to be true. There would be a fundamental shift to my adventures. With earlier mornings and earlier, quieter evenings. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, but it is a different thing.

I worry about how it will feel to discover which of my friends are only party friends and not much else. It hurts me to think about.

I worry about living up to a standard. Committing to being sober is big. It means you can fail. It sounds like pressure. And I hate pressure. And commitment. And failing.

Beyond these concerns though, there is a lot of light. There are shining rays, positivity. And there is the other kind of light—the kind that occurs when your load is lessened. When heavy dissipates. When you simplify.

In Conclusion

I don’t know what the future holds for me or my liver. Whether I’ll be sober for life, or simply take a much-needed, long break. I’ll make that decision for myself when I’m ready. But what I do know is the simplicity and the clearing of space for other things in my life has been sweet and joyful. I know that I feel a deep sense of gratitude, clarity, and positivity. I know that wherever my path is meant to lead, right now I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.

And ain’t that something?