On Drinking
I quit drinking. I’ve quit before, too.
I’m not an alcoholic, mind you. I just started drinking on my 16th birthday and never stopped.
I’m at 16 weeks and counting. I wish I could say the hard part is over, but the hard part is around 5 o'clock every day.
It was never an addiction. I could go whole days without drinking, no biggie. And I definitely never did anything stupid…except a few motorcycle accidents. Oops.
My favorite poison? I’m a red wine or beer guy…but rosé is great. And I like sake. Champagne may be my favorite (lookin’ at you, Dom). Okay, I’ll say “yes” to a good G & T or a dry Gray Goose martini with 3 olives, but only occasionally…so…yeah, mostly wine and beer.
Drinking was never a problem. I mean, I woke early, I always got my work done. I’ve been a good father and provider. I hit all the professional goals that I set for myself: exhibitions, museums and loving fans. I exercised regularly and ate healthy. I never had hangovers, except in my art school years (but that’s what college is for, right?).
My New York heydays were intense. My first boss and creative mentor, Paul Bacon, taught me about auto racing, jazz and literature—everything I needed to be a designer. He also taught me about good wine and drinking. My clients and CD’s, too, were hard drinkers. At lunch we put a few bottles away then went back to work. It was de rigueur. (WTF?)
I didn’t need to drink to be creative. It was just a lovely push start.
It put me in the “goofy” mood. The you-know-what-would-be-REALLY-fuggin’-funny??! mood. I could be playful, go to the wrongest ideas and whittle a subject down to its essence and find the truth (in vino veritas!).
In my book Feck Perfuction, I wrote, “The reason so many wonderful ideas and beautiful sketches are born on bar napkins is that you are IN A FUCKING BAR, not at your job, not trying, not working, not forcing your brain through a grinder. Your sense of mirth and play are in an altered state.”
There is a reason history is replete with artists who drink—or worse.
Creativity itself is an altered state. It’s letting go of reality and what other people think, entertaining the absurd and seeing it as the answer. You have to be bold to allow yourself that kind of freedom. It can be hard to do for ourselves; drugs and booze can make it easier.
It’s easy to romanticize a bad habit, too.
I always imagined myself in the cafe lifestyle, like Hemmingway’s Paris in the 1920’s.
It started at lunch in a little NYC or Brooklyn cafe, drinking with my assistants over a burger or pizza. Or just me and my sketchbook at the bar with a few glasses of wine.
Afternoons you could find me working at a bar—and I did get a lot of work done. In my coffee table tome, Victore or, Who Died and Made You Boss, I even thanked all the restaurants and bars in Brooklyn for giving me the elbow room to write. Drinking had a leading role in my life.
Most of my friends were high functioning alcoholics (sorry guys, it’s the truth—not me, cuz I’m not an alcoholic). And the rest were bartenders and restaurateurs. They were a trapped audience behind the bar so they had to listen to me and look at my sketches. They liked me. Or maybe they said they did cuz I tipped well.
I am not an alcoholic. And drinking was not a problem…but I was always trying to stop.
I used to promise myself every morning to not drink that evening. But evening came and there was always a damn good reason: to forget the world, to take the edge off, because the kids were…kids. Or maybe I just wanted to drink.
I often made “NO” lists. These were all the reasons not to drink: it was fattening, expensive, made me feel sad or lonely and because I said “No.” I would pin these lists to my fridge where I could ignore them properly.
It’s hard to stop drinking.
Not only because it was a strong habit, but it’s hard to go anywhere and NOT drink. We live in a drinkie society. There’s a strong pull to drink socially and all the time. It’s always present and acceptable. It’s “the one drug you get looked at as weird for not doing” as they say.
Finding adequate substitutes is a challenge. I don’t really mean non-alcoholic beer (Pro Tip: Sam Adams makes the best replica so far), I mean a good reason to quit, something stronger than the habit. For me it was love. I love my wife more than I love alcohol, so I stopped drinking for us.
I’d like to tell you that the world is brighter or that I sleep better or that my senses are sharper. I really don’t feel that much different (though my wife will tell you she notices differences in me—and maybe in time I’ll notice them, too). Creatively I am still at the top of my game (Duh) so maybe my artistry and audacity doesn’t come from a bottle.
The 5 o'clock bell has dulled, but I still get a wistful pang when I see someone on the telly with a glass of ‘83 Mouton Rothschild.
I miss it.
I didn’t really quit, cuz I’m not an alcoholic. I just stopped drinking forever.
So, Cheers! Here’s to being aware of ourselves, our habits, and what’s acceptable for us as individuals and not just what the world constantly tells us is okay.
We’re creative, after all. We get to make our own damn rules.
James
Want to hear more on this subject?
Check out our podcast, The Right Questions. We dedicated a whole episode to just this, on the day we celebrated 6 months of sobriety.
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