Isn't It Romantic?

I had dinner with someone last night that I haven't seen in a very long time.  Someone I did and did not want to have dinner with because the last time I saw them, it did not end well. Most of our relationship, which started at age 13, has been challenging.  I went to dinner because I needed closure.  Closure for a relationship that had been a significant part of my life. 

I spent the time since our last conversation picturing what it would be like to run into them again.  Fantasizing about what I would say, how I would act, how I could show them that I had gotten on with my life and how I had healed.  Reminding them that in our last conversation I said I never wanted to speak to them again….by speaking to them again.   Telling them my story.  In other words, I was spending way too much time and brain power romanticizing a meeting that may or may not ever happen.  I needed to let it go.  So I agreed to dinner.

Our first conversation in over four years, however, began with them trying to remind me of the good times we shared.  How, if things had been different, we would now be traveling and enjoying life.  Planning for retirement and doing the things we always dreamed of together.  As they drank their wine (alcohol was a major player in our relationship) and I explained that I no longer drank, they said, "See, we could have gotten sober together."  Surreal.  That was the only word I could come up with as I listened to the tale they were spinning.  Because it was a tale.  A very good fairy tale.  Did we have some good times?  Yes.  Was most of our time together spent in a drunken stupor making stupid decisions?  Arguing and playing cat and mouse games with our emotions?  Also yes. 

Alcohol has often been compared to being in a bad relationship.  When we decide to stop drinking, it is very easy to romanticize what our life was like when it still included alcohol.  The vacations we had that would not have been complete without a cocktail on the beach, the amazing sex, the romantic dinners by the fire on a snowy night.  Birthday parties, weddings, funerals, a hard day at work, dating, pretty much any scenario I could come up with, as I explored my history and as I looked forward in my life, included alcohol.  Nothing seemed complete without a drink in my hand. 

One day, I saw the reality of the life I had created.  If I kept drinking, none of those beautiful scenarios would happen because I would not be around to see them.  Alcohol was slowly killing me.  Killing me physically, but, and more importantly, it was killing my soul.  My life had been reduced to sitting on the couch every night, glass in hand, watching reality tv ("The Voice" was my favorite; closet Adele here)  where others were stepping outside their comfort zone and doing their best to make their dreams come true.   Spending time thinking that only other people had the opportunity to live their dream.  Alcohol kept me comfortable in the delusion that my dreams were unachievable.   I counted myself out without even trying.  Alcohol was not contributing to my life, it was robbing me of my life. 

Research shows that up to 50% of our memory is false.  We alter our story, the one we tell ourselves and others, to support our emotional memory of what actually happened.  If it was terrible, the story is embellished in the negative.  We want empathy from listeners.  I used my story to justify why I drank.  Banking on the "if you had my story, you would drink too" mentality,  Doing my best to garner sympathy, particularly from those I had wronged with words and actions while drinking.  I believed I could justify my reason for bad drinking behavior if I could convince myself and others that drinking was necessary to forget the things that had happened to me.  

Sitting at dinner, I was getting the other side of memory.  The part that picks and chooses only the positive side of the story, and completely disregards why that person or situation is no longer a part of your life. My father used to say "other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"  Our conversation was focusing only on the play, not who got shot along the way.  I realized that If I was still drinking, I would have easily been seduced back into the dream. The romance.  Back into something that no longer served me and, over most of my life, had completely disempowered me.  Sobriety was giving me the gift of seeing the memory, and the reality of the current situation, for what it was.  Something that indeed had its beautiful moments.  Had helped me learn more about who I am and what I want, or didn’t want, out of life.  But something that I now needed to let go.  I no longer needed to fantasize or romanticize  random encounters where I could prove to them that I had survived.  I was proving to myself that I have survived and, in letting go, I could now move on and thrive. 

I am now freeing up the head space I had devoted to dreaming about what I would say to someone I said I never wanted to speak to again. I had let them go in my day to day reality, but was still romanticizing what they might mean in my future life.  It was similar to the headspace I gained when I no longer had to manage the one thing that was strangling my existence - alcohol.  They were both holding me back with thoughts of  what role they might play in my future.  Now I see that the space I was giving them was simply fantasy. A romantic notion that someone or something outside of myself was going to save me.  But sobriety has helped me see that my life is my own.  No outside rescuing necessary.  I am in charge of my destiny and it starts with no longer romanticizing the good while justifying the bad.  I have learned what I needed to learn from both scenarios.  Time to move on.