Counting Down Vs. Counting Up: 100 Days
Whenever I took a break from alcohol there was always an end date. A light at the end of the tunnel. A reward for this unimaginable feat. I counted down to the day that everything would return to its regularly scheduled program.
Life could continue on as it had: shiny, bubbly, juicy, hazy and boozy. I kind of pictured it as stepping back into the full color version. The lively life. Parties —with the occasional predicament my loosened lips got me into. Wednesday night gimlet soirees attended by a grand total of one while I prepared dinner. Many many many wine nights on the couch Hulu and Netflixing (those are verbs now, right?). Cocktails before and after dinners out with house wine in between. A well earned Greyhound after a long afternoon working in the garden. The fun stuff. The good life.
My dry spells were hard evidence that I had it all under control. They were something to endure, maybe even white knuckle, but I deemed them necessary. I had to wade through the sludge of daily laundry, grocery runs, dusting, dirty toilets, dishes and carpooling without the exclamation point at the end of the day. It was a test I was determined to pass. A surefire way to prove to myself, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I did not have a problem with alcohol! I did not need it. See? I can quit for a month! Even two! Shut up brain!
It was the great countdown Charlie Brown. As the days of the first two weeks clicked by it was always easier. To live clearly. To go without. To get up in the morning, refreshed and ready for the day. To get more done and have more time because I had more energy. To be happy.
Then the switch flicked…
Right about the time I was getting down to day 7, I’d start thinking of what my first drink would be on day 0. My mouth would water a bit. I’d feel the craving in my chest, a weird longing, that was actually physical and not induced by a shirtless Hemsworth brother. (TBH this still happens every once in a while) I would ponder over the long list of spirits forward aperitifs I could indulge in, in the very near future. And please know, that when I say ponder, what I really mean is, peruse Pinterest for an indeterminate amount of time and take deep dives down rabbit holes of mixology blogs on obscure liqueurs.
So…when I decided to give up the bottle for???who knows how long— I thought the key was: count up! Let me get more days! More time! Celebrate big numbers! rather than smaller ones!
So!
Many!
Exclamation!
Points!
I! Must! Be! The! First! Person! To! Think! Of! This!
I wanted to go beyond the border of one month. Make it past 30 days. Maybe even 60! Who knows! Let me feel out 90 and, on the off chance I’m not sniveling in the time out corner like an Emo toddler, perhaps even hurdle into 100 days! 100 Days!!!!!!
Could it be? Could I do it? Did I want to?
I was game to give it the old college try.
Now let me state here, and be crystal clear, that I am well aware of sobriety milestones. My brother was in NA and AA when I was in my teens, my grandfather was an alcoholic, and I attended Al-Anon meetings for a few years in my twenties (I’ll get into the irony of that another time, because, yeah, there’s a lot to unload there A?) So, please no scolding, I know I did not invent counting up. I know my chips.
At any rate, as I was saying: Counting up would be a whole new frontier for me. Dare I say: even exciting? I very meticulously counted the days out in my planner and put my, previously mentioned, rose gold heart stickers, on 30, 60 and 90 days. A few days later I added a larger, two tone, silver and purple heart for 100 days. It seemed like a big deal so I went big. And purple. And silver.
When I taught Kindergarten we celebrated the 100th day of school. In September on the first day, all the bright primary colored bulletin boards were clean and bare and ready to be plastered with helper and reading charts, artwork and math papers with big gold stars. The 100th day of school seemed so far away. And then it would sneak up on us as we counted them in circle time each morning. One day onto the next. Building up to this momentous day of celebration. 100 DAYS! WooooHooooo! In that time, those little funny, sticky, smart 5 year old beings went from being strangers to occupying a huge space in my heart. That experience taught me what can happen in 100 days. So much learning and loving and bonding to be had. Big discoveries about our planet, and the galaxy, dinosaurs, our five senses, musical instruments and animals on the plains of Africa to name just a few. And the quiet times: the hush in the classroom and tiny tears of heartbreak as I read the chapter where Charlotte, loyal friend to Wilbur and skilled spinner of silk words in the web, dies. 100 days can be glorious and gorgeous and primed for miraculous growth.
So, in my mind, it seemed apropos to count something that was undeniably way harder and did not include snack time, nap time or a new box of crayons. (I bet now you’re connecting the dots of stickers in my planner huh? Nailed it)
100 days. At day 5 it seemed so far away. So far. A stranger. But I’d learned it would come in a flash. Counting up. Day upon day. It would be here before I knew it.
Now—Full disclosure: I hadn’t put any rose gold heart stickers past 100 days. Didn’t even think about it until roughly day 86, at which point I was really feeling myself (cue Beyonce) and googled how to count past 90 days sober and was told it’s now monthly. This wasn’t a huge surprise, totally makes sense. But you know when your friend has a baby and they insist on telling how many months the baby is? So you end up doing this ridiculous math in your head every time like: 28 months = two years and a couple…what the heck? Are we still doing months? Why are we still doing months?? For goodness sake he just asked to nurse with a full sentence! Lets give him the benefit of the doubt and round up to 2 1/2 years! BUT: then you have your own baby and every month is this huge milestone of wonder and delight in your mind so—dang straight my kid is 32 months old!
That’s how it felt with the stickers. I diligently marked each month to the end of my planner, which doesn’t even finish out a year of sobriety because my calendar starts in September (reflect back to last paragraph = teacher). So the whole process was not nearly as titillating as the maiden sober sticker voyage, but it just now occurred to me that I could slide in some big two tone silver and purple stickers for day 200 and 300 because — I am in charge of my own planner and stickers so I can do what I want to! It’s my sober baby and I’m going to celebrate All. The. Milestones.
I haven’t said, out-loud, to anyone, just how long my #sobercurious #soberliving #soberwoman #teetotaler plan is. I have only admitted to myself that I am 100% sure this should be forever. But FOREVER seems like an awfully BIG word so to lull my near phobic fear of failure I am choosing not to say it outside my head…Except in written form on this very public website. Again with the irony.
Last week my husband took off work to celebrate my 100th day. On my request we cruised up the coast to see Griffith Observatory. Even though it was cloudy and the views weren’t quite as spectacular as touted, and the building itself was closed because: COVID, (insert angry teenage eye roll) it was wonderful. We had lunch at Tartine, a renowned bakery I’ve been dying to go to, and the Margherita pizza was absolutely worth the 2 1/2 hour drive. And you know what the best thing was? Usually, a vacation-y day date like this would have been accompanied by at least one glass of Chardonnay with lunch, if not three. After all: isn’t day drinking the epitome of holiday vibes? But guess what? I’ll give you one wild guess? I soaked up all that LA sunshine and smog and sourdough bread and was deliciously happy and oh so clear headed all day long. It was amazing.
I am officially a counter upper. I guarantee: counting up is 10,000 times better than counting down. I don’t ever want to go back to counting down. Because, in the long run, drinking is the punishment, not the reward.
It took me about 106 sober days to figure that out.
Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose. (Friday Night Lights)
Jennifer