It's time we talked about alcohol. Not around it—about it. The Other Nick had questions. I agreed to answer them honestly. That's all this is.
How would you describe your relationship with alcohol right now?
Seasonal, mostly. Coming out of winter my mood lifts, and the drinking becomes less dependent, I would say more measured. Right now I feel better about it than I have for some time. It’s still there—more present than it isn’t—but the regret is less. I feel more like I’m playing it rather than the opposite—which is where I wish to be. It fluctuates with emotions too, and with voids left by damage alcohol has caused. Not wanting to dampen the optimism. Just saying. In two words, it’s like: spring cleaning.
What’s the most significant thing alcohol has cost you?
Relationships. One that lasted close to thirty years. The most recent—a second try.
Was alcohol the cause, or was it more complicated than that?
That’s a complex question, and probably not for here. But, I would say yes to the alcohol.
The second relationship—the influence of alcohol was at the root. Becca and I came from different drinking cultures, different beliefs around it. We could never fully reconcile both. We took turns standing on each other’s side of the fence, but never committed to either. It would have been easier for me to concede. I didn’t. Not fully. That’s the heaviest regret: why not? I guess that will be with me, always.
Our marriage was different. We drank together from the start—both young and loose, travelling, playing cricket, being paid to do that. Then children arrived. Michele retreated into a mother space, and did an amazing job. I stayed in mine. That’s where the tension started and simmered for a long time. Again, the heaviest regret. Cricket gave me so much, but then took equally.
160-odd posts into ADS—has writing about your life changed anything about how you see those relationships, or yourself in them?
I still view ADS as an individual commitment, but yes, it’s given me space to look at my behaviours and failures in both relationships, stuff that’s been running rings around me for too long. I’ve said this ADS is for an audience of one. But then it isn’t. I truly value the support of readers, in a quiet, in-the-shadows way.
More directly—I see my relationship with alcohol differently. More in front of me. More like a two-way mirror. The relationships that matter most right now are with my son and daughter, and past that, my wider family and friends. I’m trying to be more visible and there for them, for everyone. I see a clearer picture of myself. Regrets remain—but at least they are free to be open and roam. And hopefully soon, I can lose them.
ADS—a selfish adventure or something else?
Individual commitment is closer. I didn’t leave room for the gap. The gap between the urge and the act—we’ve talked about that before, right? Turns out it applies to self-reflection too.
If you could say one thing to the version of you that was drinking in a way that cost those relationships—not advice, just one thing—what would it be?
Liberate the regrets. Set them free to roam and wait to cut them down. And leave that previous life behind—it was an unrealistic existence. Get with the rest of the world.
Both Michele and Becca encouraged—strong word, but begged me to do that. I should have listened earlier.
Last one. What does a different sober actually look like—not the ideal version, the real one, right now?
Again, it’s a commitment I haven’t broken. I believe it’s helping me. A friend asked last night if I’d keep writing after the 365 days. I said—more likely than not. What do you think?
Everyone owns a story. Everyone walks with a past, a present, and a future. Why not tell it. That’s what we’re doing here.
And if I’m honest—we’re writing a book. A day at a time, in plain sight, 34,000 words so far. Some posts won’t make it. Many will. I could never sit down and write a book. Here, we’re doing it without noticing. It’s never too late—I try to tell myself this every day.
The book: I’m writing it for my children. For Michele. For Becca. Family and friends. For anyone, just a book that can sit patiently on a shelf, waiting to be picked up, opened, and read. Five minutes at a time.
And lastly, for Mr John Wheatley—my English teacher—who must have been so frustrated by me.
Pay more attention in Mr Wheatley’s class. You might write better when you eventually grow up.
Here we are, John.
Nick
P.S. I said today might get serious!
