The Liquid Monster
Growing older means checking in with yourself. I'm glad I developed an ability to do that somewhere along the way in my massively thicketed and semi-pruned forest journey. And sometimes, during that soul-enriching/spirit-stirring check-in, you uncover a few things. Here's something I've realized about myself recently;
I really like my sober self.
I do. Alcohol isn't a crutch for me. And I've never felt addicted to it. But at times, I do enjoy the socially relaxing aspect of that ice cold golden bubbly ale hitting the back of the throat. I like the flavour. I like the smell. I like being in a new town and tasting a new microbrew of the area. I love the sound of a freshly cracked can that tisks into the thick summer evening air - like you're "sending one out to the universe". I can be content with one or two. I don't crave hard stuff and I don't think I'll ever be a scotch or whiskey guy. I've had the perfect amount and zany times in and around the liquid monster.
But I've had nights where I've had too many. And I've had nights where I've had too many verging into middle-age-dom - and I sort of know, in the back of my mind, where that road leads. It can truly feel like a warning shot fired across the bow of your character.
This is neither here nor there; it's just a stream of consciousness that has entered my mind with some steam energy in the last few years.
I like sober sleeps. I dream more. I wake up and analyze them and think "what the hell was that?" with some sense of recall. I feel more centered and not so all over the place. I feel more rested and not so scattered.
I don't wake up tired and I don't scroll through my phone the next morning hoping I didn't text someone something super odd or embarrassing.
The older I get, I wonder if I'll finally jump ship someday. Who knows?
For now, I'll do my part to keep the monster at bay.
