A Year Without Alcohol: A Chill in the Air

There's something sharper to my daily experiences since giving up alcohol a few weeks ago.

Alcohol was a warm blanket. And now it's gone.

The comfort of habit. The lure of the familiar faces at the wooden tables of the local brewery. The split-second "aw fuck it" decision to have another round, and another, and turn away from the compounding responsibilities of life.

That's gone. Like Ebenezer standing in the snow, peering in envy through the window at the warm scene inside the meager home of the Cratchit family, sobriety has me standing in the cold.

The effect is stark.

The truth is the crisp chill is the reality. Alcohol just put a comforting layer between us. Over the years, the layer got thicker. It went from a thin throw to a down blanket with high fill power. 

At some point, the whole thing got a bit wet. I was forced to abandon it.

It's not unpleasant to be standing here, though adapting has me in a mild state of discomfort.  I seek new and more reliable resources -- provisions to nourish and strengthen, not deceive and burden.

I suspect the answer is not in seeking to replace the layer. I do want to face reality. Perhaps the answer is to fan the flames from within. Perhaps in abandoning the layer, I am the provisioner of the of the ambient heat to warm the chill that surrounds me.