My last drink was on November 29th, 2015. It was a pint of delicious Paulaner Hefeweizen from the historical Fanelli‘s pub in SoHo. I drank this pint with two dear friends and their pints, after work. Our four-hour conversation shifted from New York City madness to what we want to be when we grow up to complaining about annoying customers and their demands of high-end yoga pants. I whined about not having enough time to write - the reason I moved to New York City. As we bonded over more pints, time seemed to stand still - until it didn’t. Our plan was to have one beer. Four hours later I was enjoying a beer buzz that can only be achieved from several beers as I navigated towards the PATH train.
I think of this day often. Sometimes I wish my last drinking episode consisted of more booze and more drama so I could have gone out with a bang. A few beers over four hours was tame for me. It’s not the story you see on TV or in movies where a person loses everything, has a dangerously low rock bottom, and then they decide to quit drinking. I’ve grown to appreciate what us sober folks call a “high bottom”. It’s important to share these stories, too. I’m thankful that I didn’t have to lose everything to wake up and see that alcohol was a significant roadblock - a roadblock that I kept putting in my own way - for more than a decade.
