It’s now four months
since I had my last sip of alcohol and in truth, I’ve found that not drinking
has been relatively easy. What I’ve found much more difficult is telling people
that I’m a non-drinker. It seems that I have identified so strongly with being
a drinker over the years that I have had to not only give up drinking, but have
also had to let go of a large piece of my persona. I’ve been confronted with
that new reality on this two and a half week trip to the US that has taken in
Austin, Boston and New York, the former and latter of those destinations being
scenes of some extremely excessive drinking in the past. Boston has only missed
out on that fine distinction because I’ve never been there before. It’s true
that I have travelled for work previously and held off drinking until after a
major piece of work has been completed or I have delivered my presentation, but
somehow this seems very different. Temporary abstinence for a short term goal
has not affected how I think about myself. Au contraire, that has helped me
firm up the self-discipline part of my identity which I’ve always known lurks
there somewhere and occasionally rears its head in times of need. On this trip
I was presented with many opportunities for drinking. On arrival in Austin I turned down
cocktails with my awesome AirBnB hosts Kevin and Bob in the form of free
prickly pear margaritas at the documentary film festival that they took me to.
And then again at the Art Erotica exhibition where the price of admission
included drinks. In fact there seemed to be a regular procession of drinking
opportunities that I had to shoulder arms and let boringly go through to the keeper
like Geoffrey Boycott on a particularly dour day. All in the name of playing a
longer innings I guess.
When I came to Austin
three years ago, I discovered a fantastic bar called the Spider House. A couple
of post work drinks in there one evening led to me becoming acquainted with an
ex-US army medic named Mike and a current army truck driver who, when she
wasn't doing the army thing, was a burlesque dancer. Two of my favourite things
are meeting new and interesting people and drinking with them, so I was in my
element. Add eating the food to those two activities and there you have my
raison d’être for travelling. I consumed a number of drinks
with them over hilarious conversation, accepted an invitation from Kat to have
a little choof with her in her car, and continued on jovially into the wee
hours. I seem to recall sitting in my rental car scoffing down a kebab and talking
on the phone excitedly to Tori around 3am, waiting an appropriate (?) time to
sober up before driving home. Madness! The next day when my alarm woke me up with
the subtlety of a formula one car roaring through my bedroom and a hangover so
stonking that it could have fuelled that car, I somehow dragged myself to the
shower and then dragged my sorry arse to work. As shit as I felt, I could still
somehow be productive(ish) in this state. I’d done it before. I knew how it
went. Invariably I’d survive the day and it would all seem worth it. Through
the haze of it all, somewhere just above the nausea, I felt the glow of fulfilment
from a life lived large. Often I could even back it up again the following
night.
On my first night in
Boston, I went to a seafood restaurant that my AirBnB host Nancy had
recommended, taking a seat at the bar which is always a good place to meet some
people. Alongside me were two women and a guy who were drinking and laughing
and having a great time together. After a while two of them disappeared,
perhaps for a cigarette, leaving their friend at the bar. I thought I’d strike
up a conversation with her and it was only really then that I noticed how beautiful
she was. Seemingly of Japanese ethnicity but with a full American accent, long dark
flowing hair and a radiantly beaming face. I felt my heart skip a beat when she
leant over seductively towards me and asked if I liked tequila. “I love tequila
but I’m now a non-drinker”, I stammered back, feeling the words plummet from my
mouth like a cartoon anvil dropping off a cliff. She and her friends were
drinking skinny margaritas and they were clearly having some kind of effect.
When they returned she continued to flirt overtly with me, hanging on every
word I said, however stilted my conversation felt to me. Plunging forward
towards me encouragingly as each reply floated from her lips. Seemingly
disinterested now in her original companions. Wasn’t the temptation of tequila
enough without having it offered to me in this way? It sure looked enticing but
I could sense the danger on a whole lot of levels. I felt like Ulysses, who had
himself tied to the mast of the ship so that he could take in the beautiful
appearance and songs of the sirens, instructing the crew that no matter what he
said or how he pleaded, they were not to allow him to go to the sirens as there
he would inevitably find his downfall, smashed to bits by the rocks. I didn’t
have a mast, or in fact a ship, so instead I just chained myself to a tonic
water and sobriety, and hung on for all I was worth.
The next day I went to
the baseball at the legendary Fenway Park in Boston with Gabrielle, a colleague
who was organising the conference that I was in town to attend. She had also
invited along Vik and Dave, a couple of her company’s customers, both who
seemed pretty keen to consume large numbers of beers during the day. There was
a possibility that they could also become my customers if I played my cards
right. In days gone by I know that strong bonding with them would have ensued
over some nice frosty beverages. I was always in my element in those
situations, both erudite and charming. Clearly somebody of intellect with whom
business was desirable but also somebody who was fun to be around. But now I
was the non-drinker in their midst. Is it possible to be a drinker and have any
respect whatsoever for non-drinkers? I’m not sure. Maybe if they are alcoholics
who need to keep away from the demon alcohol lest they fall back into binges so
extreme that they arrive home five days later with no recollection of what has happened
in the intervening days only to find that their wife has kicked them out, initiated
a restraining order on them and thrown all of their clothes on to the street. These
people shouldn’t drink and I respect them for being able to abstain. But short
of that, people that choose to be non-drinkers…well... I’ve just never quite
got it. And now I am one of them. I found a need to tell stories of drinking so
that my new acquaintances didn’t think it was for some quaint puritanical
reasons that I wasn’t joining them in their revelry. I openly discussed cancer,
but that made me feel less than whole. Like I wasn’t drinking because I was
mortally wounded when in fact I feel and am fine. I began to question myself as
to why I wasn’t drinking. The doctor hasn’t told me not to drink. He just gave
me an open message of holistic health and strengthening of my immune system. And
when I asked him specifically about alcohol he said that I’d have full kidney
function so drinking is not actually a problem. Gabrielle’s father lost a
kidney about fifteen years ago and that didn’t diminish his propensity for
heavy drinking sessions, stated Vik with unbridled admiration. He was a larger
than life character they said. I felt lesser. So why am I not drinking? Wouldn’t
it be ok, even a good decision, to have a couple of drinks now in this schmoozy
situation that could benefit my work opportunities? It seemed like good
business sense to have a drink. Take one (or two) for the team, so to speak.
And it was then, while sipping on a gin and tonic (without the gin) with the
others after the baseball, that I realised what the danger is for me in
drinking in these (and other) situations. And why I needed to stick to
abstinence. “If I start drinking with you folk”, I proffered, “what will
inevitably happen is that you will all finish up around eleven and go back to
your hotels. I, on the other hand, am more than likely to then go out and
explore this new city in which I find myself. I will convince myself that it’s
still only early and that I only need five hours sleep in any case, find a bar
and some other drinking companions with whom I will share drinks and stories
before arriving home in who knows what state around 2am, not even considering
that I have to get up and make it in a decent state for the conference tomorrow”.
It has been my way on many an occasion, so I instantly knew it to be true. That’s
why I’m not drinking. Down that path holistic health does not lie.
I love Keith Richards.
While acknowledging that he is like a superman in his consumption of alcohol and other substances and that us mere mortals couldn’t possibly emulate the feats of that man of
steel, I have had my moments where I too fancied that I could fly. When asked his
view on the fact that Ronny Wood had given up drinking, Keith said that he
respected his decision but that he didn’t see Ronny quite as much now as he had
in previous years. I’d always thought from the way he said it that this was
Keith’s choice, but I know now for sure that it’s Ronnie’s. If you don’t want
to be tempted into drinking, then best avoid those situations where temptation
abounds. I survived Boston with my sobriety and fidelity intact and as always I
felt good for managing to stay strong. And so onward to New York, a city that
has seen some of my finest excesses.
The conferences felt
pretty successful, with my presentations being well received and with me having
had the opportunity to converse with some potential customers and with some key
HPE personnel. But the post-conference drinks were problematic. The people
there were all from the Tandem Computers world. This was a company founded by a
beer loving man who mandated that on every Friday afternoon, at every Tandem
office worldwide, staff would be provided with beer by the company. And here was
I not having beers with these people. It felt like a handicap. Something that
would have been an easy common denominator but was now missing. I felt more
like I was dividing by zero, essentially undefined or at least not defined in a
positive way. I guess this is something I will have to get used to. The
advantage I suppose is that you are the clearer headed person in the room. But
to the drinkers who are having a raucous time, I know that doesn’t really
matter too much.
With all the work completed
I had two full days and three nights to spend in New York City. Birthplace of
my father, the town in which Jazzy was conceived (sorry Jazz if you're reading this) and the current or former home of several relatives and friends. And
a place I hadn’t been since a couple of months before the twin towers were
taken out back in 2001. I'd finished the work part of my trip and was now on holiday in one of the world’s great cities and
a prime drinking one at that. The bars are plentiful and open late in New York.
This has always been my natural habitat for meeting people when I travel to the
US. Rock in, sit at the bar, order a drink and start talking to the person
alongside. It never fails and anything can happen from there. And often has. But
ordering a tonic water doesn’t really feel quite as conducive for launching
into a fun filled night of chaos. On the Saturday evening I wanted to watch the
Cavs and the Celtics in game six of the play-offs so ventured in to a bar local
to where I was staying in Greenpoint. I ordered a tonic water and the barwoman
said to me almost in shock, “Is that it”?! “I guess so”, I mumbled. I drank it
slowly and watched LeBron rip the Celtics apart. As the game unfolded I struck
up a conversation with the guys alongside who were also watching the game. “LeBron
or MJ?” I questioned. A passionate conversation ensued with a feeling that if
the Cavs got up this time then perhaps the scales had tilted in LeBron’s
favour. I’d had a nice time chatting with them but when the game finished I said
my farewell and left the bar. There didn’t seem to be much point hanging around
if I wasn’t going to have some beers with them. It was my last night in the US,
but if truth be told, I felt pretty exhausted. I’ve had a great time but it’s
felt like a long trip. And going through a whole trip without drinking has been
new food for a lot of thought. I made my way over to Martha’s Country Bakery on
Bedford Avenue. If I couldn’t have a beer, at least I could have some pie.
