There are times that I don't think I'm going to make another evening without a Heinkekin.
There are other times when I forget I ever drank at all.
And then there are times when I not only remember that I drank, but I can recognize and be grateful for everything else I have instead.
Times like this: the other day I was cleaning out the flowerbeds along the patio lattice. The mulched leaves gave off a rich, loamy smell and the daylilies were springing up like party favors. The kids were playing some game that involved running in the grass and were striken with attacks of the helpless giggles. The wind chimes were jingling in a happy little breeze.
Not much right? No; it's everything.
When I drank, it was my life. It eclipsed all the subtler, quieter moments with nerve-jangling moments marked by pizazz and drama. You need a lot of drama in a moment to get a drunk's attention.
Now that I no longer drink, I have discovered the rich, incredible depth of just a simple afternoon, puttering in a spring garden in the yellow sun. It took several years for my wracked chemistry to settle down enough so that I can appreciate times like these, but now I revel in them.
And I am grateful.