Butterflies in my belly. A sigh of relief. Pleasure. PURE Excitement.

These are all the "feels" I had when I thought of alcohol. I LOVED to drink...... freakin' loved it. I LOVED champagne. I couldn't wait to get it outta the fridge when guests arrived. Sometimes the anticipation was so great that I would drink a glass of cold, white wine out of a box just to tame the lion of wanting that champagne. Tequila was another love of mine. I would get the clear ones, fresh limes, salt. My mouth waters remembering. Having this passion, romance, this thrill around drinking made it seem impossible to even consider giving it up. So, why did I? Because loving something, not someone, so much that it brings me the highest joy to consider spending time with it (it, being a drink) is just scary. I would NEVER admit this while I was planning the beverage get-away. No way homey, I would never actually blurt out "ooohhhhh I can't wait until that girls night cuz I am dying to down 4 and 1/2 glasses of wine" but that is what I was thinking. I was always measuring the amount of fun I would have with the amount of flowing alcohol that would be present. Also, I would get anxiety if I thought there would "not" be alcohol at, let's say, a wedding or a Sunday Brunch, or if I was seated next to a non-drinker that would make my full glass feel shameful. I would have anxiety about whether the service would be punctual. Would the waiter be as urgent about getting us (me) refills as I was...? Would the other guests want another bottle for the table too? Would it be weird if I ordered two drinks at once, just in case the place was slammed... probably would be weird, so that would make me nervous. To combat that stress I would have a "get ready" drink while I "got ready". Sometimes, two. I had this fantasy, that if I had a couple before I left the house then maybe I would appear lazy about ordering a drink at first call. But that never happened. My drink antenna was always on high alert. And, if I had had 3 before I left the house, I would ride my bike or Uber. Then I would go all the way. Like, that would be license to get drunk.

 The addiction to the anticipation of the thing was almost as strong as the addiction to the thing. I wondered how I would survive without the carrot of wine out there. I was like a dog on a scent. What would happen if, one day, the scent was gone. What would I be "on". What then? Would it be just one long, boring, carrot-free, grey day? No scent to chase... one day, after the other, with nothing to look forward to? I thought so. Until I quit. Then, guess what happened? I found pleasure. The carrot was hidden in all the places I was rushing through to get to the carrot. After I resolved to get through the everyday without the buzz chaser. The Buzz was right there in the every day, in all the minutes I used to dismiss. Miraculously, I still had butterflies. I still felt PURE excitement. (Sigh of relief). It was just not for the same goal. It was for life, mornings, cuddling, yoga, talking with my bestie on the telly, coffee with friends, sleep, writing, reading, running, playing with my handsome hubby. All the "feels" for all the "realz". I won. Traded wine, for everything else. I can't tell you how pleased I am with this exchange. If you want to give up the booze for the Bright. I say YES!