I Don’t Remember the Date
Six years ago, on Tuesday, March 17th, 2020, at the start of COVID, I quit drinking.
I had already quit smoking two weeks earlier. But this was the end of a chapter.
Like a lot of people during COVID, lives changed suddenly. Often without say. We didn’t stop going to work lunches because we wanted to. We worked from home one day and never went back.
Businesses closed not because of choice, but because they couldn’t remain open.
Relationships changed. There are legit people I used to hang out with every weekend that I haven’t seen since COVID.
Part of that is because during a time when things were out of my control, I controlled the one thing in my power.
I’d love to say that I never went back to drinking, that I am celebrating six years sober.
But after a year and a half of sobriety, I went back. Why? Because a chapter closed before I was ready for it to. I couldn’t completely leave a life behind. Maybe because while it was on my terms, it was sudden.
I don’t celebrate any sobriety date. Not because it’s not important, but because I don’t remember the date. Not without looking.
It used to feel like I was counting down days, weeks, months. Ticking off boxes.
You know how I knew I didn’t need alcohol anymore? Not when I had my daughter. Not because of Duc. When I went to Vietnam, and I thought about drinking a Tiger beer everywhere I went.
I thought about it on every small stool I sat on, every bowl of mystery, every café, every sweat-drenched shirt. I thought about it at the beach. I thought about it in Saigon. Every time Duc’s dad would have handed me a beer.
I thought about memories with Duc. I thought about our wedding. The fun moments with family and friends. Romanticizing the past, and the alcohol that was such a massive part of it.
And every time I thought about it, I didn’t pressure myself. I didn’t think about health or family. I thought, if I want to have a beer, I can. But do it tomorrow.
And you know when I finally let go? When I got on the back of a motorbike with Duc. Riding around a city I love only in the way I can love her. The lights, the exhaust, the river, the burning coals, the beeps.
I was on the back of the motorbike that I once couldn’t get on without alcohol. When I realized I could feel Vietnam without alcohol, I knew that was the end.
Here I am not remembering my sobriety date unless I look. I told a friend a few weeks ago I hadn’t had a drink in three years. It’s actually two years, five months, and 14 days.
The fact that I don’t know, and don’t even care, tells you all you need to know.
March 17, 2020 might not be my sobriety date, but it holds meaning to me. It’s beyond alcohol. It’s beyond smoking. It’s Duc. It’s canceled flights to Vietnam because of COVID. It’s the world shutting down around me and having so many other cares in the world. It’s about overcoming anxiety. Learning to live for the first time in a long time.
It was an incredible time of growth, even if I took the inevitable steps back we’re sometimes supposed to take.
Sometimes life happens the way it’s meant to happen. At least that’s what I believe.
I couldn’t be happier with this version of life.