On Having a Few Beers

I used to drink too much.  I was never an alcoholic or dependent on alcohol, but I was definitely a problem drinker.  I drank to get drunk (very, very drunk) multiple times a week.  I vomited and urinated on furniture.  I hurled unwarranted verbal abuse at friends.  I got violent with bouncers.  I woke up feeling sick and anxious, wrapping my head around the vague memories of all the harm I'd caused the night before.  

I also had a lot of fun. 

But now I've entered a new period of my life, a stage in which alcohol plays a much smaller part.  I drink one, two, or maybe three beers about once every two weeks.  And it's fantastic. 

Having a base-line of sobriety (as opposed to the old semi-drunk normal) makes drinking just a few beers a much more enjoyable experience.  Before going to the store, thinking that "tonight I'll unwind a bit" fills me with a muted-but-satisfactory pleasure.  The beer tastes good, much better than it ever did when it was only a means to an end.  Just a few sips gets me buzzing in a way I never even recognized when "partying" was the aim.  I'm not drunk, my personality hasn't been changed, and yet there's an extra beauty in the black silhouettes of the mountains before the cobalt blue of the darkening early-night sky, the cadence, melody, and rhythm of a piece of music, the mysterious hopscotch of my wandering thoughts.  It's a joy I could never have experienced when alcohol served such a different function in my life.   

Ah, to have a beer.  And another.  Maybe one more.  Then gulp down a glass of water, tell someone how much you love them, and go to bed eager for the radiant clarity of the coming day.

Cheers.