Learning To Enjoy Life Drink Free? [Raw Session]

0:00 - 1:25 - The Strange Part After Stopping

This is not really going to be the full story of why I stopped drinking.

I might talk about that more directly at some point, but that is not what this one is.

This one is more about the part after.

And I think that fits what I want this channel to be.

Slow Builds started with a lot of software, AI, investing, money, and building things.

That is still part of it.

I still care about those things. I am still building.

But the longer I do this, the more obvious it feels that the build is not only the app, or the portfolio, or the business, or whatever thing I am trying to make work next.

It is also the life around it.

Health, habits, family, travel, how I spend a day, and whether I am actually present for the things I say I care about.

So this video is not really a separate topic.

It is the same project, just pointed at a different part of life.

Because the strange part after stopping drinking is that normal life keeps going.

You still travel.

You still go out to eat.

You still end up at concerts, games, dinners, summer festivals, campfires, and late-night catchups with people you have known forever.

And then you realize how many of those normal things had alcohol quietly built into them.

Not always in some dramatic way.

Sometimes just as a default.

At a game, at a concert, on a trip, back home with friends, or sitting around outside in the summer, the drink can start to feel like part of the setting instead of a separate choice.

And that is the part I am trying to understand right now.

Not the big story.

Just the day-to-day shift of trying to enjoy the same world differently.

Because the hard part is not always stopping something.

Sometimes the hard part is figuring out who you are in all the places where that thing used to come with you.

1:25 - 2:45 - I Already Knew How To Do This

The funny part is that I did not always drink.

I went through all of university, and into my late twenties, not drinking.

And I still had the full school years.

Friends, downtown, parties, late nights, being around people, all of it.

I was not sitting at home avoiding life.

I was in the middle of it.

And I loved it.

That is what makes this strange now.

This is not me trying to learn some completely new skill.

I already knew how to be at a party, go downtown, stay out late, and feel like the night was worth it without needing a drink.

So part of what I am dealing with now is not just quitting something.

It is realizing that somewhere along the way, I forgot something I already knew.

I forgot how normal it used to feel.

I forgot that I was not standing there all night thinking about what I was missing.

I was just there.

And that is probably the version of myself I am trying to get back to.

Not some perfect version.

Just the version that could be in the room, enjoy the night, remember it clearly, and wake up the next day without feeling like I had traded something away.

2:45 - 4:05 - How It Got Wired In

Drinking came into my life more through the adult side of things.

Travel was a big part of it.

Client dinners. Team dinners. Work trips. Celebrations. Nice restaurants. Airports. Hotels. New cities.

At first, it did not feel like a problem.

It felt like part of the experience.

In a new city, at a good dinner, or out with a client or team, it slowly became part of the social rhythm.

And honestly, there were parts of it I did grow to love.

I am not going to pretend I hated all of it.

That would not be true.

There were nights where it felt fun.

There were dinners where it helped the conversation.

There were trips where it made the night feel bigger.

And I think that is why it got complicated.

It did not enter my life as some obvious bad thing.

It entered attached to good things.

Travel, connection, food, work, new places, stories, late nights, and that feeling that life was happening.

But over time, the thing attached to the experience started taking up more space than the experience itself.

It stopped being one detail inside the night.

It started becoming the thing the night revolved around.

And that is hard to notice while it is happening because, from the outside, it can still look completely normal.

A drink at dinner.

A drink at a game.

At a concert.

While travelling.

Around a campfire with friends.

All of that looks normal from the outside.

And for a long time, it felt normal to me too.

4:05 - 6:05 - The Hard Part Is Separating It

And I think the reason this has been on my mind so much lately is because of where I am right now.

I’m back home where I grew up, visiting family and friends for the summer.

There’s a big summer festival going on.

There’s a big holiday happening.

We’ve had late nights sitting around talking.

Seeing people I haven’t seen in a while.

Going around town.

And now I’m out camping.

These are all things I love doing.

But they’re also all things that, for me, would normally have drinking mixed into them.

Nobody has to tell me to drink.

Nobody has to put one in my hand.

It’s just part of what I’ve learned to associate with being here.

Being back home in the summer.

Seeing old friends.

Staying up late talking.

Going downtown.

Camping.

The festival.

All of it has this history attached to it.

And this time I’m doing those same things, but I’m not drinking.

And it does feel different.

I’m enjoying being here.

I’m enjoying seeing everybody.

But there’s also this part of my brain that keeps noticing that something is missing because I’ve trained it to expect drinking to be part of these experiences.

And I think that’s really the thing I’m trying to figure out.

How do I separate the experience from the drinking without losing the experience?

Because I don’t want to lose any of this.

And I actually noticed another version of this recently when I was in Miami.

I went to this old-school Cuban diner.

It felt local.

It wasn’t polished or built for tourists or designed to be posted online.

I had a sandwich, coffee, and dessert for around thirteen dollars.

And I remember sitting there thinking about how much I like finding places like that when I travel.

That’s one of the things I actually love about travelling.

Finding some little place.

Walking around.

Seeing something different.

Eating somewhere I probably won’t ever eat again.

The place itself was the experience.

And I think that’s what I’m trying to separate again.

Because I still love being home.

I still love the woods.

I still love camping.

I still love late nights with people I’ve known forever.

I still love travelling and finding those little local places.

Somewhere along the way, though, drinking got attached to a lot of those things.

Home and drinking.

Summer and drinking.

Camping and drinking.

Catching up with old friends and drinking.

Travel and drinking.

And now I’m trying to pull those things apart without losing the whole feeling of the thing.

Because I don’t want to become somebody who avoids home, or friends, or camping, or festivals, or travel because those things make me think about drinking.

That would still be letting alcohol define the experience.

I want to be able to do all of it.

I just want more of the place, the people, the conversation, the morning, and the memory.

Not less.

6:05 - 7:25 - The Drink Feels Like Part Of The Ticket

There are certain places where not drinking still feels strange to me.

Concerts and sporting events are obvious examples.

But I think the same thing happens here at home in the summer.

A night downtown.

A campfire.

A festival.

A late-night catchup with friends.

There’s this feeling where having a drink almost seems like part of the ticket.

Like you’re supposed to have one in your hand.

You hear the music.

You see people standing around.

There’s food nearby.

There’s a bar or a cooler.

Everybody falls into the rhythm of the night.

It just feels built in.

And the strange part is that not drinking can feel odd even when drinking doesn’t actually make logical sense.

Because if I step back from it, it’s a weird trade.

You make the plan.

You show up for this thing you wanted to experience.

And then drinking can blur the thing you came for.

It can take the sharp edges off the memory.

It can turn a good night into a foggy morning.

It can make the next day feel like something you have to recover from instead of something you get to enjoy.

And somehow, for a long time, that felt normal to me.

That’s the contradiction I keep sitting with.

The drink feels like it completes the event.

But sometimes it steals the event.

And I’m trying to stop treating the thing that steals the memory like it completes the memory.

7:25 - 8:45 - The Next Morning Always Told The Truth

The thing I keep coming back to is the next morning.

Even back when drinking felt normal, there were times where I managed not to drink.

And those mornings always felt different.

I’d wake up clear.

I’d remember the whole night.

I wouldn’t have to replay conversations and wonder if I forgot something.

If I said something weird.

If I annoyed somebody.

If I made something awkward.

Even if nothing bad happened, the mental checking was exhausting.

And on the mornings after not drinking, that whole layer was gone.

There was just this quiet relief.

Nothing dramatic.

Not like I’d done something heroic.

Just this steady feeling of…

I’m glad I didn’t give that away last night.

And that matters because it tells me something.

The version of me that wants the drink is usually loud before the event.

It starts making the case early.

The night will be less fun without it.

It’ll feel strange.

Everybody else is doing it.

This is just part of the experience.

But the version of me that’s grateful I didn’t drink is always there the next morning.

It’s quieter.

But it has a much better track record.

8:45 - 10:05 - The Memory Is The Point

I think part of the reason this matters so much to me is because I actually care about experiences.

I care about places.

Small details.

The kind of memories that aren’t huge life events but still become part of your internal map.

It’s that diner in Miami.

The old restaurants from past trips.

The woods back home.

The summer festival.

The weird late-night conversations.

The walk back through a place you know really well but somehow see differently depending on the season.

Those are the things I want more of.

And the older I get, the more wrong it feels to show up for those moments and then blur them.

Or attach them to a hangover.

Or lose the next morning.

Because the next morning is part of the experience too.

That’s something I didn’t always respect.

When I’m travelling, the morning matters because there’s a city to walk through.

Coffee to find.

Another local place to discover.

When I’m home, the morning matters in a different way.

It’s waking up where I grew up.

Being around family.

Having a clear head.

Not feeling like I’ve already spent the day before it even started.

And when drinking takes that away, it’s not just taking away health points or productivity or whatever people usually talk about.

It’s taking away life.

A simple version of life, but still life.

A morning I could have had.

A memory I could have kept.

A better version of the trip, or the visit, or the weekend home.

And I don’t want to keep giving those away casually.

10:05 - 11:25 - This Is Not About Becoming Boring

One thing I don’t want this to become is some boring version of life where the lesson is just…

Stay home and avoid everything.

That’s not the point.

I don’t want to avoid concerts, games, dinners, travel, camping, downtown, festivals, or late nights with friends just because those things make me think about drinking.

Because if I did that, alcohol would still be controlling the experience.

Just from the other side.

Before, it controlled it by being there.

Now it would control it by making me avoid things.

That’s not freedom either.

The better goal for me is to actually go.

Sit around the fire.

Walk around town.

Hear the music.

Have the catchup.

Eat the food.

Be with the people.

And leave with the full memory.

That’s the shift I’m trying to make.

Not from fun to no fun.

From blurred fun to remembered fun.

From needing the drink to complete the moment, to letting the moment be enough again.

And I know that sounds simple.

But it doesn’t feel simple when your brain has built a habit around certain places and certain experiences.

Because the trigger isn’t always stress.

Sometimes it’s joy.

Excitement.

Travel.

Music.

Nostalgia.

Or just a night that feels like it should be marked somehow.

And I think that’s one of the harder parts.

Learning how to let a good thing be good without adding the old default to it.

11:25 - 12:45 - Getting Back To The Old Version

What I keep thinking about is that I’m not trying to become a completely new person.

I’m trying to remember an older version of myself.

The version who could go downtown, be at a party, stay out late, and still wake up clear without feeling like something was missing.

That version existed.

So I know this isn’t impossible.

But it’s also not automatic anymore.

That’s the frustrating part.

Once something gets wired into your adult life, especially through good memories, it doesn’t disappear just because you understand the logic.

You can know the trade is bad and still feel the pull.

You can know the morning will be better and still feel strange at the event.

You can know the memory matters and still have that moment where you think…

This would be better with a drink.

So I think the work right now is repetition.

Not in some motivational way.

Just reps.

Go to the place.

Do the dinner.

Go to the festival.

Spend the night in the woods.

Have the non-alcoholic drink, or the soda, or the coffee.

Stay for the experience.

Leave with the memory.

Wake up clear.

And then do it again.

Let that become normal again.

Because normal gets built through repetition.

For a while, drinking became normal because I repeated it in enough places.

Now I have to repeat something else.

12:45 - 14:05 - The Real Trade

The real trade is becoming clearer to me.

It’s not just drink or no drink.

It’s whether I want the familiar version of the night in the moment…

or the version of the night I actually get to keep.

And I think I want to keep more of my life.

I don’t want to pay for a game, plan a dinner, travel to a city, come home for a visit, or sit around with old friends and have the main memory be the drinks.

Or the foggy ending.

Or the rough morning after.

I don’t want to wake up and start auditing my own behaviour.

Trying to remember if I forgot something.

If I said something weird.

If I made the night worse than it needed to be.

What I want is actually a lot simpler than that.

I want the clean morning.

I want to remember the walk after dinner.

The coffee the next day.

The strange local place.

The actual conversation.

The thing I paid to see.

The reason the night felt worth leaving the house for in the first place.

For a long time, I think I treated drinking like it made those experiences bigger.

Now I’m starting to wonder if the experience was already big enough.

The place.

The people.

The music.

The food.

The city.

The woods.

The story.

The memory.

Maybe all of that was enough.

And maybe the work now is just learning how to trust that again.

14:05 - 14:45 - Closing

So that’s where I’m at.

I’m literally out camping while I’m thinking about this.

I’m back home.

It’s summer.

Friends and family are around.

There’s stuff happening.

These are exactly the kinds of moments where drinking used to feel like part of the experience.

And I’m trying to experience them differently.

I’m not finished with that.

I don’t have some clean answer.

I’m just trying to change the default without shrinking my life.

I still want to do the things I love.

I just want to keep the whole experience this time.

Because I’m not trying to make life smaller so I don’t drink.

I’m trying to make the experience bigger than the drink again.

And maybe that’s the part I forgot.

The drink was never the whole thing.

The memory was.