In the Middle of Alcohol-Free (Day One)
Indecisive on what to post today, yet the pressure to do so is similar to a pressuring toddler in a grocery store persistent for candy, knowing if she persists, she will eventually win the battle.
Okay, maybe not the best example. But, sitting here, meandering about a few ideas that reside inside my mind, I ask the “youngins” behind the counter of my local coffee establishment what they’d rather read, a post on fear, or Day One of 30 days alcohol-free?
Instead of a direct answer, one asks, “What is your gut saying?”
“Post my daily journey.”
“Well, okay then.” She says.
Here’s the thing, I’m waiting until the journey is complete to post. And I’m not at the end, but in the middle of this journey.
But a friend said recently, and I will misquote her, and I’m not sure entirely the context of her words as they weren’t about alcohol, but she said, “It is the middle of the journey we need to hear, not when someone is already on the other side.”
Often I learn and grow most when tagging along in the middle of another’s experience.
Maybe this is not your struggle, that’s okay. Meet me on the other side a month from now and we can catch up on other ramblings. But, if you are feeling stuck, knowing there is more to life than you are experiencing, may I suggest you tag along for the journey.
Oh, and I do have a rolling start in the middle of this, as I am officially on Day 32 of the journey.
I see in the book, my writing on my new adventure. To where, or what? Instinctively, I know. The journey is to alcohol-free living. The first time I traveled with any semblance of success was in February. Thirty days. Actually thirty-six, before one single glass. A couple days later, another. Actually two.
But I kept it to weekends. Lie. Tell the truth Josie, you kept it to one weekend. Then three days later, a drink at night. Then the next night. Then it was two. Then the bargaining—keep it to the weekends. Keep to one drink. Control. You can do this, you just went thirty-six days without. What is your problem?
I knew at the warmth of the first sip I was in trouble.
Actually I knew when I completed the journey, if I had one, I’d be right back where I started.
I remember back in 2013, when I woke to words from within, not sure from me, or to me, “It’s a decoy to get you off track.” What decoy?
A person? Who?
A place? Where?
It’s only at the end of the 30-day challenge, six year’s later, that the answer is embarrassingly obvious. The wine bottle in front of me, my favorite cabernet–its name is Decoy.
The decoy: Alcohol.
It is getting me off track.
If only I’d listened then, I wouldn’t be where I am now.
The constant thoughts.
The caving to the craving.
The endless cycle, sucking the life right out of me.
It wasn’t always this way. When Bill died, alcohol helped saved my life–a much better option than a tranquilizer. When I couldn’t breathe, when adrenaline soared off the charts, one glass helped me make it through the darkest of moments.
But that was then, and this is now.