Sacrificing Spirits: The Peculiar Ritual of Dry January

'Tis the season for joy, not self-inflicted suffering

Liam M

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Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

The genuine issue with Dry January isn’t the abstinence; it’s the ill-timed attempt to suck the joy out of the post-yuletide wasteland. Why not try Dry April? The sun is shining; the flowers are blooming, and all the birds are happily singing. Wouldn’t that make sobriety slightly more bearable?

What about dry September? The kids are finally back in school, and you finally get a bit of time for yourself.

Instead, its dry January. You throw your alcohol into the trash to remove temptation. And stumble into the new year with all the grace of a flamingo on roller skates. For some reason, we believe this is a noble endeavor.

I get it, moderation is key, but Dry January feels like the overeager friend who jumps into your life at the worst possible time. Life’s wisest rule isn’t the cliché “everything in moderation” — after all, who can resist Oscar Wilde’s clever addition, “including moderation”? And dry January is like that hyperactive friend who chooses the most inconvenient moment to crash your party.

It’s like starting a juice cleanse seconds before Christmas dinner — a noble suggestion, but seriously, have some timing, mate!

It’s cold, rainy, and depressing. You’ve got less money, you’re packed on a few pounds, the weather is terrible, there’s about 8 hours of daylight, and you need to return to work. Why would you torture yourself by quitting alcohol?

Instead, you choose to sacrifice your sanity to the supposed god of self-help. If it is the season to be jolly. Why torture yourself?

If you want to try sobriety, do it during a better time of year. Preferably summer.

Now, let’s chat about the cozy haven of winter pubs in the England — the stained glass, the roaring open fire, the fatty tasty foods and the fellowship of red-nosed comrades seeking warmth from the cold of life and each other.

Trying to give that up in the name of Dry January is like turning down a golden ticket in the Chocolate Factory.

Dry January, we appreciate the sentiment, but perhaps find a cozier spot on the calendar…

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Liam M

I grew up as a black bag, but now I identify as human. Top writer in; cryptocurrency, finance, sobriety, addiction, & bitcoin