After 4 Years of Sobriety, I Want A Damn Drink
Exploring if sobriety deprives me of pleasure and weighing the risks and rewards of relapse
It’s Christmas Eve. I lead myself on a run through Boston. Along the Charles River, through Harvard Square, south down Mass Ave., and along the esplanade up until Charles Street.
Near the Boston Garden, my fingertips begin to tingle. I remind myself to get better gloves and tuck into a cafe on Boylston Street for tea. It’s 11 am.
The table of 4 to my right is finishing brunch. They’re at the stage where the server has their card, and its owner is sending itemized Venmo requests. The omelets are gone, some hashbrowns remain, their coffee is cold, and the champagne bottles are empty. There’s still some orange juice left in their carafe. The server returns with their card and wishes them a happy holiday. Scarves wrap necks, hats cover ears, and the group exits. I leave shortly after them.
I travel home passively listening to a podcast. Something about the future of work. I undress, shower, slip into an all-grey sweatsuit tucked into a pair of red socks, and sink into the cushions that form the L on my couch. I’m sipping Jasmine Green tea, a cold second cup from the pot I brewed this morning, scanning pages of Range, a book advocating for…
