Can I Maintain a Social Life Sober?

Sobriety. What a concept! Sounds like a lifestyle reserved for recovering addicts and those unbearably happy people who say shit like “Why do you need drugs? Isn’t life just one great trip already?” But there’s a third, often overlooked category of people who choose not to booze. You don’t hear from them often - you mightn't have known that they even exist. But you would’ve seen them, whether you realised it or not. They’re a discreet bunch who like to hide in plain sight. They were at that party you went to last weekend, and the gig you saw the weekend before that. They are the teetotallers among us who live life sober because, well, ah, they just don’t want to drink. Cbf mate. Not into it. Yeah, nah. 

This article is part one of a two-part series. Part two will come out in September, once I have completed six weeks of complete sobriety. That’s right, folks, I’m going dry. If that doesn’t sound like a big deal, then you don’t know me. Six weeks will be by far the longest that I’ve gone without a drink since I was fifteen years old, which means I’ve been drinking like a fucking fish for an entire decade. Quite a sobering thought, really. If this sounds like a quarter-life-crisis to you, then you’re absolutely on the money. 

Here’s the thing: For about three years now, alcohol simply hasn’t been doing it for me in the way that it used to. At the beginning of my whistle wetting career, drinking was something that I considered to be exciting and rebellious. It gave me the confidence that my scrawny, anxious ass sorely needed. As the years have worn on however, drinking has turned into something of a monotonous bore. To be honest, it’s gotten a little depressing. “Three years!?” I hear you cry. “Alcohol's been depressing you for three whole years, and you’re only just now doing something about it?” It’s true. I could’ve done something sooner, but despite inherent laziness being the root cause for most of my life’s (many) failures, I think there were some other forces at play here. For better or worse, my social life revolves around drinking. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I honestly don’t know what my friends and I would do if we weren’t drinking. Go for a walk on the beach? Play a board game? The last time we played Monopoly, one friend didn’t speak to me for two weeks. 

Whichever way you crumble the cookie, alcohol is a huge part of student culture in New Zealand. Some say that student’s binge drinking preferences are a part of healthy experimentation; a key stage in progressing into adulthood. Others argue that it contributes to setting a dangerous cultural precedent that influences the way we approach alcohol for the rest of our lives. “Some students could not even understand why you would consider drinking in moderation,” says Dr Kirsten Robertson, an academic from the University of Otago. “For them, alcohol is used as a tool to get drunk. You either drink to get drunk or you don’t take part. Drinking in moderation was seen as a waste of money and unnecessary calories.” 

Recent Massey graduate, Eden, has observed that that binge drinking doesn’t necessarily stop when graduates leave university. “Some of my friends and peers have left uni, gotten jobs that they don’t really like, and have realised that the world is kind of a shitty place. For some, alcohol has become a total dependency,” she says. Eden believes that New Zealand’s alcohol problem is a symptom of systemic issues such as gender and wealth inequality. This essentially means that most of the work government, councils and universities have been putting in around liquor licensing are nothing more than band aid solutions. “For young men, alcohol allows them to express themselves in a way that society doesn’t allow them to sober,” Eden says. “Not to mention the people who drink as a way of coping with the shitty hand they’ve been dealt by society.” 

Current student, Sam, thinks that all of the negative press around student drinking culture is “a bit over the top. Students are going to drink no matter what you do, so you may as well provide them safe spaces to do it in,” they said. Both Eden and Sam agree on one thing: Drinking is at the centre of nearly all of the social activities that students engage in. “Oh absolutely. If you can think of an activity, then there’s at least one student who’s done it drunk,” Sam says. “I wasn’t immune to it at all,” says Eden. “My friends and I probably drank enough to hospitalise a small village during our time at uni.” 

So back to my conundrum. If I give up drinking, the benefits are obvious. I’ll save money, I’ll save calories, no more hangovers, my nicotine cravings will subside and my sleeping pattern could improve. If giving up alcohol just meant giving up alcohol, a lot more people would be doing it. But what the fuck am I supposed to do? What about my social life? There’s no way I’m going to convince everyone to take part in this ludicrous challenge alongside me. I’m in this shit alone. 

I’m actually not sure I’m ready for this. I still have eighteen beers to my name. Do I try to drink them all before Monday? Or do I hang on to them, while they look up at me seductively every time I open the fridge? I think I’m going to have a HUGE weekend to mourn the end of my ten-year streak of getting on the piss. My mum told me I need something to replace alcohol. I remember reading somewhere that smokers trying to kick the habit should send a tweet every time they have a nicotine craving. I’m sure that was bullshit, but I need something like that to believe in. My brother, who doesn’t drink or smoke tells me that his vice is cream buns. That’s a no go, as part of the reason I’m doing this is to get healthy. Maybe I need to get into kombucha. I’ve never tried it, and I definitely don’t trust it, but it could be a good place to start. 

Being honest with myself, like all difficult obstacles I face in life, my only strategy is to wing it. If you're reading this on Monday, August 9, it will be day one of my sobriety. There’s a long road ahead; a road paved with FOMO, boredom, loneliness and excellent sleep. I’ll see you in six weeks' time when you’ll find out whether this borderline alcoholic can survive (or thrive?) in a life free from the booze. Wish me luck, God knows I’m gonna need it.