Modern sobriety is often characterized by deprivation. To abstain is to miss out, to forego. But the word “sober” and its Latin root sobrius mean “to be free from intoxication.”

It didn’t sound like deprivation to me.

So as I was struggling to keep my mental health in winter 2021, I recognized that having alcohol in the mix was doing me no favors. Trying to moderate my use of a toxic, addictive substance was taking more than it was giving. It drained my mental energy and physical strength. It was messing with my sleep, my focus, my guts… You get the picture.

I wondered, What would happen if I didn’t drink anymore? And in December 2021, I started an experiment and stopped drinking.

Turns out my life “without” this one thing is actually pretty abundant.

Quitting drinking—and the mental gymnastics that came with it—cleared some serious space in my life. Without the one thing, I suddenly had the wherewithal and confidence to regulate aspects of my life that could be regulated. Was I getting too much or too little sleep? Where was I feeling overtapped—and where was I less than content? Why was I swerving away from certain topics and toward others?

Looking back, I could see how I had gotten there. Alcohol aside, I had always struggled to find examples of moderation in action. There were too many contrary beliefs floating around: go hard or go home, right?

I was fortunate in many ways, but even the people who loved me most saw my strengths—determination, persistence, creativity—and encouraged them… to a fault.

Any strength taken to its extreme can become a weakness.

Some of the Classical philosophers talked about this idea exactly. They proposed the pursuit of a “golden mean,” the just-right amount of each virtue a person might have. A deficiency of determination, for example, might have made me flaky, unreliable, or listless. A surplus of determination might have compelled me to stay committed to things well beyond their worth.

(Any other recovering overachievers out there?)

There’s a Buddhist story where, in some versions, a teacher and student are traveling together. They cross a river, and the student proceeds to drag the raft they used along with them across the land. Eventually, the student can no longer ignore what a burden it is to travel this way.

“But we wouldn’t have been able to get past the river without it,” the student lamented, “and what if we need it later?”

The teacher smiled and said, “But the raft is for crossing—not carrying.”

Writing prompt

The extremes might seem like a straightforward place to live, but overindulging any one thing will demand a price. These choices throw us off-kilter; they diminish our capacity to manage other areas of life. A pendulum might swing back and forth between heights, but it can’t stay at those extremes very long.

I can see myself as a child, learning to ride my bike. There was plenty of wobbling and leaning and so many near-misses, but as I wove around and around the cul-de-sac where my family lived, overcorrections are what actually caused most of my spills.

Once I found the rhythms and got a feel for the ride, I could literally go with the flow. The lesson makes sense here, too. If you have to force it—white-knuckled, lock-jawed—it ain’t moderation.

This month’s writing prompt is in the spirit of a “Sober October” experiment. Where in your life do you feel off-kilter, “intoxicated,” or otherwise teetering on an extreme? Do some writing around this topic to get yourself started: “In my life,”

• “I would like less of…”
• “I would like more of…”

If your pen is resisting those lists, try a different approach: “To me, just-right feels like…”

Set a timer for five minutes, and see where your mind goes. Try not to judge or trudge. Just go. It’s just an experiment, after all.

My monthly intentions

• Word of the month: ease.
• Affirmation: I am allowed to relax.
• Color: burnt orange, suckers.