Once upon a time, back in my twenties and thirties, I'd commemorate each new year with a month of abstinence. A palate cleansing, if you will. I'm not sure it was even a thing back then, but the tradition withered under the application of a simple premise: life is short. This year, however, felt different. One morning following hernia surgery (do not recommend: 14 points,) I woke up and put "No booze" in my calendar for the month. That was that.
So, this January has been absent of alcohol for me - along with many, many others. The following notes are such subjective observations, I wonder about the relatable value. Nevertheless, I offer the following for your consideration.
First, and most important (to me,) is the realization that such an abrupt change in my routines and intake has not been challenging. Wine is a daily pleasure in our household, which is a luxurious comfort - as is the knowledge that I can go from abundance to zero without difficulty.
As previously mentioned, that was that once it was in my calendar. There's a lesson in behavioral science here. This ridiculously easy act had an equally ridiculous effect. Behavioral economics calls this a commitment device. Whether your life is organized around your calendar, a to-do list, or some other mechanism, adding almost anything - working out, avoiding sugar, going to a walk - to it would likely have the same impact.
That said, this month has not been without the occasional temptation. Last weekend I picked up a six pack of freshly-canned hazy IPA from Yellow Springs Brewery. Hearing my wife crack one open, smelling the wafting aromas of its citra hops, and watching the beautiful movement f its silty texture fill the glass, I did get a little swept up with envy. For whatever reason, there hasn't been an analog experience with wine. Not yet, at least.
It also helps that there's a defined end point - certainly for the sake of being able to defer gratification, but also because I've been picking up interesting wine, beer, and spirits this month, which gives me something to look forward to.
Finally, you're probably thinking I'll extoll the virtues of self-denial in terms of how I sleep, the taste of food, and how I feel in the mornings. Not really. Perhaps it comes with the territory of being a dad in his mid-fifties, but the aches and pains and forgetfulness are all still there. But my soft-around-the-edges dadbod has undergone a miraculous evolution into a chiseled, Adonis-like slab of manly steak.
Just kidding.
Anyway, thanks for your patience these past few months of sparse writing. It'll crank back up in February. Until then, cheers.
