I have a hangover while writing this.
There’s so much to do today: from writing a complicated article to reviewing 232 candidates for a key role we're hiring.
Got a bit drunk last night with a friend and had great conversations around mezcal and IPAs.
And now this brain fog won't let me think correctly.
Angry at myself for letting it happen again.
Those lines were written last week, along with a bunch of notes regarding my relationship with alcohol.
The consensus is clear and not surprising: alcohol is not healthy for you. We all know that.
And the logical part of my brain completely agrees with the "you can have fun without alcohol" argument.
Which begs the question, why not just quit completely?
Well, it's complicated. The short answer would be because I don't want to.
As many adults, I’ve had my share of oversharing comments after a few drinks, coupled with a few more embarrassing moments.
I also have many fond memories around alcohol that I wouldn’t change for the world. The mere thought of not being able to ever share a trappist Chimay with my best friend is unbearable.
As is the thought of facing certain social situations without the easiness that alcohol brings by lowering my armor and making my interactions less self-aware.
Because a deeper argument is that for millenia we’ve evolved to do social bonding around alcohol.
But is social bonding really so difficult without drinking?
Over the last couple of years, I’ve empirically set out to find the answer.
I know I’m not alone. Society’s view on alcohol is also being reconsidered.
We only have to listen to the popular and scary Dr. Huberman’s podcast, or this tweet:
Some people from my close circle usually signal the exact opposite.
Every time I visit my hometown, my dad welcomes me with a smile and the sound of a beer can opening.
I once suggested we get the low-carb version and this was his answer:
On another visit, the look I got when I mentioned I wasn’t drinking had even more disappointment than if I’d said I love reggaeton.
EXCESS
Around that time, starting to care more for my health than the next party, I had just embarked on a 2-month sober self-challenge.
I specifically chose a period of time where I wasn’t expecting to have a lot of social gatherings, and do remember having thoughts on the weekends along the lines of “if I can’t drink with my friends and family, what can I do?”. The few dinner parties I went to were filled with pressure to have a drink and a few “are you pregnant?” bad jokes.
I accomplished the challenge, but felt like some sad, black-and-white couple of months of having to explain myself and longing to feel that warm, cozy buzz I get with the first sip of alcohol.
A week after those 2 months came my 30th birthday. My wife threw me a surprise party with my closest friends. I felt deeply happy and grateful to have them all gathered.
One negroni led to another. A rare bottle of mezcal was opened. Some old, caribbean rum was poured. In one night, I had all the drinks I hadn’t had for the last 2 months.
Other than completely forgetting the last 2 hours and becoming the buffoon of my own party, nothing too embarrassing happened.
But I learned that forced abstinence can lead to volcano effects in me.
Everything that I pushed down in those 2 months, erupted in a single night.
SUBSTITUTION
I then tried substitution. From cold-brew to weed to low doses of LSD, or anything considered “healthier” than alcohol that still alters your mind. It works up to a degree by also making conversations more interesting, or helping me communicate in a less self-aware way. But felt like cheating to me.
It’s a false answer to have to substitute one drug with another.
Maybe the secret lies in substituting with something more meaningful.
I recently went to a cousin’s wedding and I had important work to finish the next day.
A Mexican wedding is something to behold. The amount of alcohol being poured is enough to knock out a battalion. You interact with all your extended family and dancing is essentially mandatory.
For an introvert like me, alcohol acts as the perfect social lubricant in these kinds of events.
This time, I’d previously decided I wasn’t going to drink while having a good time.
At the beginning of the party, I quietly asked the waiter to serve me sparkling water with lime all night, so it would look like a paloma and people wouldn’t be trying to shove tequila shots down my throat.
I kept the promise to myself, and didn't drink a single drop.
Can’t say I danced better than Mads Mikkelsen in Another Round, but I genuinely had a great time. Even my wife thought I’d been drinking with how social and relaxed I was.
The weird thing is this time felt different, I wasn't fighting against the voice in my head telling me to ask for a real paloma. I had successfully managed to prioritize meaningful work above drinking, without it feeling like a sacrifice.
MODERATION
A middle point between abstinence and excess would be my desired state, but the blurry line is easily crossed.
As per Huberman’s podcast, I learned I have a genetic predisposition to abuse alcohol. Did I feel relieved? The opposite.
I’ve now confirmed I have to fight against my own genes.
But I also learned there that after the first drink, your brain will try tricking you to keep drinking more and more so you attempt to feel the same initial high, which no amount of alcohol accomplishes.
Interiorizing and keeping that in mind while drinking has helped me tremendously to stop after the third or fourth drink.
I still can't answer if we come from drunken monkeys and are doomed to use alcohol as social lubricant forever. For now, I’ve settled on keeping an eye on my imperfect relationship with it and attempting a healthy interaction every time I encounter it.
Here’s to keeping it that way.
"As is the thought of facing certain social situations without the easiness that alcohol brings by lowering my armor..."
Here's to that endless journey of learning to lower that armor 🎉