A half-empty bottle

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The worst night of my life started with a half-empty bottle of beer.

It was not quite five years ago in New York City, and I was in the process of trying to give up drinking altogether.

The details aren’t really that important. The bottom line is I knew that alcohol was no friend of mine, after a quarter century of acting as though it was. Drinking made me feel like something other than what I was, and that was a good thing in my view.

Then, in late 2010, I made the decision to stop drinking altogether, in the hope of finally embracing what I was, and to quit feeding myself something that was harming me. When you’re in a hole, stop digging. That’s exactly what I needed to do.

After a few months of giving it up altogether, I drank a couple of margaritas while watching the NCAA tournament one night, and got drunk on mojitos celebrating a friend’s birthday a few weeks later. But I still had quitting on my mind when I went to New York with my family in June of 2011.

My wife had ordered a bottle of Bud Light in a restaurant, and only drank half of it. Starting to drink and then stopping had always been a foreign concept to me, from the very first time that I had a drink. once I started, I did not–and could not–stop. And after decades of denying this about myself, I finally knew it to be true.

I stared long and hard at that bottle on the table, all those years ago. And in the end, I finished it myself. Lots of bad things followed after that, but in the aftermath of it I told myself that it couldn’t happen again. And nearly five years later, I’m very happy to report that it hasn’t. I don’t miss it, and I never really needed it in the first place. That’s a hard-earned realization on my part, but one that I’m very glad to have made.

On Easter Sunday today, my wife again left a half-finished bottle of beer, this time on the dining room table in our house. I remembered the night in New York where I answered the call to finish the beer, but today was a completely different story. When faced with the opportunity to revert to my old ways, I didn’t even think about doing it. And that’s the way I have to live from now on.

If the Cubs finally win the World Series, I may allow myself a celebratory glass of champagne. But no half-finished beer bottles are going to knock me off this stride.

 

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