This year is not my first Dry July. Or at very least, attempt at Dry July. Last year I got about two weeks in before I had a glass of wine. I can’t remember the details: there were lots of people saying “Not drinking? Why do you want to do that?!” Maybe an argument. At some point I said, “Sod it.”
Some time last week, I got to my usual wine o’clock, which is somewhere between 6 and 8pm. I felt a craving. “I normally have a drink around now. I’d really like a drink.” Then I did something I’ve never been able to do before. I let the feeling go. I made dinner, put my son to bed, and didn’t feel the need to act on the voice.
I don’t know exactly what is different to last year. The whole texture of refusing alcohol is different. I’m not trying to silence an incessant voice. I let it speak. I let it go.