When I first quit drinking, I often joked with myself that I’d picked a fine time to get sober—there was so much I could cry into my bourbon about. But isn’t there always?
I didn’t talk about it at first. I wasn’t sure how I felt, and I didn’t want to make a big declaration in case I quietly slipped back into old habits. There was no rock-bottom moment. Just a quiet morning, another sluggish wake-up after a nightly glass of wine, when I decided: that’s it. I’m setting this d
