I had a strange dream last night, a drinking dream. That hasn’t happened in a long time.
In my dream I was with a very good friend. It was an indeterminate special occasion and we were sitting in a nice place in deep leather chairs. We were both having a martini, and as I was drinking it I was aware that I was breaking my streak, doing something I wasn’t sure I wanted to do. But in my dream the pull was strong. Not the pull of the drink itself, but the pull of the moment. Wanting to have a drink with my friend to celebrate that special moment.
I began to feel terrible about my decision. In my dream, I began to wonder if this would lead to more drinking, if I’d have a hard time getting back on a sober path. I went back and forth between thinking it was no big deal to terrified thoughts that I would be off the wagon for a long time, struggling to get back on.
I woke up greatly relieved. It was, after all, just a dream.
I felt lucky to wake up sober. I lay in bed on my side, then felt a warmth against my back. I slowly rolled over to find that my sweet seven-year-old son had snuck into our room and into our bed in the night, and was sound asleep between me and my wife. He knows he’s not supposed to do this, but it’s so darned cute that I can never be mad for long.
This morning I just gave him a hug and kissed his forehead while he slept. Then I got up and started my day, heading to work while my wife and son slept soundly, peacefully.
I’m so fortunate. I’m so lucky to have these people in my life, to have a home, a job, friends. And so happy that I finally discovered what I long believed to be a hoax, a sham: it’s so much better without the drink. Peaceful. Calm. Grounded.