730
On a vacation, my ex-mother-in-law whispered: "Does he have a drinking problem?" 22 years later, I can answer that question honestly.
I was asked yesterday, for someone who says they didn't have a "drinking problem," why I insist on celebrating my sober anniversary? I waxed poetic. Danced around what constitutes a drinking problem. I quoted Half Baked, likening the need to drink at all times to the type of pothead who swears everything is better when high. Then I paused. I decided to discard my guarded tone and let my crass, inner stoic speak freely.
My dependence on alcohol was weakness. It made discomfort easier to swallow, bad decisions exusable, and certain places and people tolerable.
What I celebrate today, on my seven hundred and thirtyth day Cali Sober, is not being weak. Now strong enough to say no to people, places, and circumstances. To endure discomfort without toxicity. To make decisions I am (mostly) proud of and can stand by.
To those who say, I'm not as fun as I used to be. The truth is, I often drank because you weren't as fun as you thought you were.
