on having a drink

I had a glass of wine at lunch on Friday. I was with my son, in a restaurant, and entirely not hungry. I suppose I could have gone longer without drinking anything, but the only reason to have done that would have been to prove to myself that I could. I’m the first to admit I was drinking too much – it’s the reason I decided to stop – for a while – because I don’t want to one day have to quit for good.

I know there are many people who are struggling with alcoholism, and I don’t want to make light of their efforts to stop drinking. I’m lucky, I guess. I know how easily I could go there. When I first read Caroline Knapp’s book, I was hardly drinking, yet I saw myself on every page.

I have my own struggles, not with addiction, but with fear, self-doubt, etc.

Strangely, before I started to drink “regularly,” I enjoyed drinking more. And I must admit, I enjoyed that glass of wine on Friday more than I’ve enjoyed a glass of wine in a long, long time.

I may choose not to drink more often than I choose to drink, just because I’m enjoying the mental clarity. I am sleeping more deeply, and my dreams are less fragmented.

But I don’t expect to give it up entirely. There are occasions in life that call for a toast. And the truth is, I don’t get along very well with people who don’t drink – not unless they’re enlightened – Buddhist monks or yoga teachers.

And since I’m not on any kind of path to enlightenment, I don’t know why I would turn myself into someone I wouldn’t want to be friends with.