On Sobriety, Part II

A year into my sobriety, I draw upon my past and look forward to my future.

Had you met me at a social gathering from 2009 to 2022 - and followed that chronology - there would’ve been an increasing likelihood that I was drunk. At parties, weddings, festivals, and other events, I consumed alcohol before, during, and after the occasion. I started to challenge myself - how sober could I appear while being fully inebriated? I ended up drunk on beaches, on public buses, and on trains - the stories kept carrying me through to the next one that awaited.

After being raised in a dry household, I experimented as I arrived at college in 2009. I drank in dorm rooms, on the streets of DC, and in row houses filled with good music. I threw up in alleys - and in cars - after having animated conversations I couldn’t quite recall. I meandered around my college campus in the early hours of the morning. I arrived at church hungover and made it through the service. I drank entire bottles of wine alone, stirring with restlessness. I relied on liquid courage to express my true feelings; I grew more adept at hiding many levels of pain with drinking.

Drugs factored into the equation as well. I first smoked marijuana as a teenager, and I continued into my twenties. I sought the comforting environment it created - with just one other person or a group of people. I mixed drugs and alcohol; while I thought it all might create some charming sense of appeal, it cemented a deeper fog. I wasn’t nearly as alert, lucid, and responsive as I thought I was being.

I continued this behavior as I enrolled in law school. I heard presentations about how members of the legal profession struggle with substance use issues; I brushed it off and internally rationalized that I was far removed from any such cliff. I drank to cope with not meeting the academic standard I hoped to achieve. I attended bar crawls with other law students, drove to New Orleans for late nights-turned-early mornings, and navigated game days near Death Valley under the influence.

I took the bar exam and moved back to D.C. I learned that I passed in the fall of 2016, and I celebrated with a drunken night somewhere near K Street NW. I continued the celebration in New Orleans two weeks later. I started smoking cigarettes regularly; in my mind, I was still so very young - and could take it.

I made more friends; I drank more to match the expanded social network. I drank beers on patios and cocktails in swanky bars. I understood more deeply the seemingly intractable mistreatment of Black people in the United States. I drank to develop some sort of personal immunity from its effects. I moved to Texas; I achieved some sense of stability in my mind. I drank more; I tried harder drugs.

The pandemic came; I split my time between Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana. I drank surreptitiously. I returned to Austin; I ran for office. I drank leading up to the election; I drank when I lost. I took a ride near the edge. I used substances more recklessly; I sought stability from strangers. I moved around in a stupor; I was older - perhaps too old - but still intoxicated by the substances and the stories they brought.

I was called to serve as a deacon for my congregation. I began to see things with clarity, but a few lessons needed to still materialize. I stopped relying on substances as much; I fought to give myself grace. 2022 ended; the final points of instruction of that period of my life settled into my psyche.

Today - January 26, 2024 - I am one year sober - from it all. I move through the world with the wisdom that every experience of that thirteen-year period conferred upon me. I lead with empathy and know exactly why people drink and use drugs. I have a lens that is 360 degrees in scope. I still believe - more than I ever have -that every human being deserves housing, healthcare, and the education they seek - regardless of their substance use status. I will fight for that reality with each breath that I have remaining, energized by my sobriety.

I thankfully arrived at the conclusion that I am worth preserving.