Fine, let’s talk about it.
“Keven, you must drink a lot?”
“What’s it like being surrounded by alcohol all the time?”
“I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself if I had your job.”
“You’re a sinner, and you should repent for dealing with the devil’s hooch.”
Now, now—settle down, everyone. Let’s talk about it. Except for the last person there, these are good points and fair questions. What is it like dealing in spirits so often? Well, it can be a challenge because, yes, it takes considerable restraint not to shoot back a shot of whiskey every time my boss says something dumb, out of touch, condescending, or passive-aggressive, but it’s also been a bit of exposure therapy.
My job isn’t much like yours, where when you get home, the last thing you want to do is read an email, make a call, or coach your boss through a fundamental function of his job—you can tell, I don’t like my boss very much. When I get home, it’s not like I look at my bar and say, “God damn—I couldn’t possibly make another cocktail right now.”
In fact, I generally have a rule—especially after a long shift—the last cocktail I make for the evening is for me. And then that’s it. Of course, I make that cocktail at home when I’m ready for it. But after that, if I want another drink, it would be whiskey—neat or on the rocks.
“Sounds like you still drink a lot, Keven.”
“The devils got him!”
Somebody get that guy out of here. Anyways, yeah, sometimes I do, but it’s all under a learned and watchful eye. If you’re criticizing me, chances are I’ve done it tenfold, examined it, and come out the other end with a conclusion.
And that’s the key: harsh self-examination.
Alcoholism runs in my family. There are branches of the family tree that have shriveled up and fallen away because of it. I am estranged from certain family members because of it, too. But just because it runs in the family does not mean that I should force myself into complete sobriety. In fact, it is a great cautionary tale; it helps me keep my balance. If I feel like I’m veering too far into the abyss, then I make the necessary adjustments. I cut back, I change my habits, I take a look at why I’m drinking heavily. I look for the root cause.
And if I find I’ve had a heavy hand with the bottle and it is becoming a pattern, then I look to break the pattern. I stop. I abstain. I take a moment of sobriety. But even this has to be done just right, and let me explain how.
Get rid of that damn carrot.
“Carrot? What carrot?”
Lots of audience participation in this one, I love it.
The carrot at the end of the stick.
Oftentimes, when we practice abstinence regarding alcohol or vices, we give ourselves a window of time to get through. It becomes a challenge. The best examples of this are Sober-Tober or Dry-January. We tell ourselves we will stop drinking for a month to make sure we’re not addicted. To make sure we have control.
And if you can make it through the month, good job. I mean that. Some people can’t. But the problem comes from the subsequent month. What do you do? Some people play catch-up. The drink hard and fast. And suddenly, in my opinion, all that hard work is undone. For what is one month of sobriety compared to eleven months of hard drinking?
So when it comes time to check your vices and your habits, do not give yourself a carrot. Focus on breaking the habit and actually break the habit.
I’ll give you a personal example.
Many years ago, I was an egregious smoker of marijuana. I smoked constantly and in all forms. I always had weed on me and in all forms: joints, flower, oil, dab pens, and edibles. It was awesome.
But one day I realized that all I wanted to do was leave the office—back when I worked for a law firm as a Case Manager—and go home and smoke a bowl. A one-time thing, no big deal. But the realization was that I felt that way every day. My whole day was built around smoking that bowl. Wake up, get dressed, go to work, get through it, and then come home and smoke. My whole day was built with that in mind.
That’s when I realized I had a problem. And there’s something in the smoking community called a tolerance break—it works the same for alcohol—where you take a break so that when you come back, it hits all the harder. Frequently, that break is a week, a week and a half, or a month. That wasn’t going to be enough. Anyone can suffer for a month just to prove they’re not addicted; in that, addicts are strong.
I knew it needed to be longer. So I made a declaration. I would not smoke for a whole year. Now, that is a long time. That is how you break a habit.
Eventually, that year was up, and guess what happened? I was free. I had no interest in returning. I didn’t smoke weed for five years. One day, I came back, but my habit, my heavy hand on the matter, was gone. And at the time of writing this, I have once again given it up indefinitely. It was that easy.
And so that’s my point: if you find yourself over-indulging, don’t quit cold turkey with the goal of returning one day, because when that day comes, you’ll slip right back into the habit, and you’re back where you started.
The goal is to focus on breaking the habit. If you can break the habit, then you’ll set yourself free.
On new indulgences
So, on breaking that habit, you’re going to find new things to fill that void. That’s up to you. It can be anything; you’re your own person with your own interests. But, I think you’ll be surprised by what you discover and what you inspire in other people.
And I have one final example on the matter. As I said, alcoholism runs in my family. My father didn’t catch the worst of it, but he—mostly for religious reasons—has become sober. It’s a wonderful thing.
One day, I was sitting with him, and we were talking about what he drinks. He told me that when he’s out on the road, he stops in for a bite to eat and asks the bartender or waiter for a specialty drink. He asks them if they have jalapeno behind the bar or in the kitchen, and if they do, he asks them to muddle it into a glass and fill it with lemonade. It’s sweet, tart, and delicious.
That, of course, sent me down a rabbit hole of drink curation. This time, a drink for my father or for people like my father. I’ll give you the specs quickly.
Lee’s Lemonade
2 oz Lemonade
1 oz fresh lemon juice
.5 oz jalapeno-infused agave
.5 oz Giffard’s N/A Pineapple liqueur
Method:
Combine ingredients into shaker tin, shake hard, and before you strain it into a glass, prime the bottom of the glass with a touch of grenadine, put fresh ice in, and then strain the drink into the glass. Top with soda and sliced jalapenos for garnish.
Now, if you have my cocktail book, How an Author Drinks, it appears in that collection under the title Literary Lemonade, but this is the drink’s origin. It belongs to my father. And as a funny aside, the first time I invited him to try this drink, I was eager to impress him with the addition of the N/A pineapple liqueur, but when I told him, he said, “Ah, when I make it at home, I put pineapple juice in it. Well done.”
He beat me to the punch, but oh well—like father, like son.
All of this is to say, keep a watchful eye on your habits. They can sneak up on you, and your mind has a way of convincing you that everything is fine, everything is justified. But please be careful, check yourself from time to time.
Life is hard, and we all have ways of getting through it, but for your sake, for your friends, and for your family, don’t make it any harder than it needs to be. The best way to escape a tough day is with a long conversation, a quiet moment, or a fun night with those you love. That’s a kind of indulgence that’ll never come back to bite you, and it’ll never give you a hangover.
Anyways, whether you’re drinking or not, cheers,
Keven D. Stehl
