Three years. Zero hangovers.

My longest relationship yet is sobriety.

Hallo fellow learn-it-all 👋 Greetings from a Swedish tiny house in Almere, the Netherlands. This piece of land was created and officially became the 12th province called “Flevoland” in 1986, ten years before I was born, so 39 years ago. The Dutch are land-making geniuses. Most of this country is below sea level. Enough Dutch fun facts, let’s dive into letter 277. I’ve got some exciting news to share. :)

~~~

Peasant Wedding Dance by Pieter Brueghel the Younger, 1614 (a print hanging in my family’s bathroom)

“Without it, I am healthier now.”

“But are you happier?”

I didn’t have an immediate answer to my uncle two months ago.

Now I do.

But first, some context.

Four years ago, my past self at age 25 would’ve fallen off her barstool if she knew I was 1095 days without an adult beverage. How the heck would she manage?

Back then, drinking was my main hobby. Weekends were for brewery tours and bar nights. In college, I was Jenny V: the sailor girl who could double-fist beers and still rally after a darty (that’s day-partying, if you’re not fluent in frat slang.)

But then my adventurous spirit called, and I moved to Hawaii.

There, I wanted to be healthier, so I tried “mindful drinking.” I’d only drink if I planned it 24 hours in advance. One or two nights a week, never from peer pressure, definitely not even if a date was buying.

Then three years ago, I lived three weeks in the Netherlands with family.

A wedding prompted me to leave my dream life in Hawaii to circumnavigate the globe.

A few weeks before the 26-hour flight that kicked off my wedding tour, I couldn’t breathe. Elephants sat on my chest while surfing. Despite my conviction that I needed an inhaler for newfound asthma, the doc came back with other news. She handed over two prescriptions: hydroxyzine for anxiety and naproxen for costochondritis. After that diagnosis, drinking felt riskier than ever.

Drinking became a variable that could derail my life.

At the first wedding, a couple beers blurred my night. After that, I vowed to be stone sober for the rest. My college friends assumed I was Jenny V. Turns out altitude-high, Jen in Colorado, can still dance like the drinks were flowing.

At the fifth and final celebration, I caved. On Frenchman Street in New Orleans, it felt strange to be sober and rude to turn down the groom’s specially mixed mason jars of cocktails.

The next morning, airport security dinged at me, aggravating my headache even more. TSA pulled me aside because of my metal cowboy boots. Standing there, fuzzy-headed, I wished I hadn’t given in.

That day, August 29, I quit mindful drinking and went completely dry.

For someone who’s never dated anyone longer than three months, three years sober is the most committed I’ve ever been.

I don’t make it a focal point. Sobriety doesn’t need to take center stage. I still let loose, connect, and be courageous.

So what have I learned?

I used to drink to make friends. To belong. To relax. To play. To dance. To approach people.

Now, I’ve learned ways to do all these things without alcohol as my accelerant.

Drinking was my highway to happiness by numbing my sensitivity.

But why silence a superpower?

Instead of cracking open a cold one, I bond with people over shared interests.

And the biggest perk? Life feels real now. I feel more alive.

Alcohol’s an afterthought. It’s one less toxin, one less thing on my grocery list. I’ve been solo traveling the past year now. I cannot fathom making my safety a top priority and having alcohol also in the picture.

Sometimes, the idea of a shot sounds alluring. Some liquid courage and an easy blur.

But now I feel things. I feel everything. Deeply. I’ve always been sensitive, crying over grades less than perfect. Drinking dulled that sensitivity, let me tolerate the noise of city life, too much stimulation, and the drama of indecent people. Now I leave early when I’m drained. I rest without blaming a hangover.

There’s no “I was drunk” to excuse regretful texts. No shitty sleep or shallow bar friendships. Without Captain Morgan, a Moscow Mule mug, or Belgian beer, I face the highs and lows of life head-on.

Will I drink in the future? Maybe a glass of champagne at a wedding. Maybe a NA beer after an athletic event.

But for now, I’m on cruise control and enjoy being the DD.

Alcohol blurred life.

Now, without it, it’s brought it into focus.

~~~

If you liked this, I’ve written about my relationship to alcohol over the years:

🌟 Letter 45 from a learn-it-all 🌟

🍹Letter 107: Thoughts from a Former Binge Drinker

🚱 Letter 128: My Breakup with Booze

🍾 Lessons From One Year Alcohol-Free

~~~

Onto some other nuggets of the week:

❓Question to think about

What’s one “habit” (or vice) you’ve redefined for yourself?

🎧Listening

Sober Up by AJR feat. Rivers Cuomo (from the band Weezer)

[Verse 1]
Hello, hello
I'm not where I'm supposed to be
I hope that you're missin' me
'Cause it makes me feel young
Hello, hello
Last time that I saw your face
Was recess in second grade
And it made me feel young

[Chorus]
Won't you help me sober up?
Growin' up, it made me numb
And I wanna feel somethin' again
Won't you help me sober up?
All the big kids, they got drunk
And I want to feel somethin' again (Oh, oh, oh, oh)
Won't you help me feel somethin' again?
How's it go again?

The use of reflection in their music video is playful and I love it. If you wanna give it a 3:49 watch.

🔍Word to define

Chutzpah: the quality of audacity, for good or for bad; extreme self-confidence.

Etymology of the word: It derives from the Hebrew word ḥuṣpāh, meaning "insolence", "cheek" or "audacity".

The original Yiddish word has a strongly negative connotation. It was used to describe someone who has overstepped the boundaries of accepted behavior.

However, the form that entered English as a Yiddishism in American English has taken on a broader meaning. The vernacular was popularized through use in film, literature, and television. The word is sometimes interpreted—particularly in business—as meaning the amount of courage, mettle, or ardor that an individual has.

Example: In the movie “Crazy, Stupid, Love”, the Steve Carrell character only makes a comeback as a divorcé after mustering some chutzpah with some help from Ryan Gosling’s character, new shoes, fewer straws, and a little liquid courage.

🌟Quote to inspire

“I don't do drugs. I am drugs.”

—Salvador Dali, found via Rolf Potts book called Vagabonding

📸Photos from drinking days 3 years ago

📸Photos of the Week

Photo 1: I never knew falling into cat-sitting as profession would lead me to living with apple tress in a Swedish tiny house.

Photo 2: It’s fun when other friends also don’t drink alcohol, and we can celebrate 115km of cycling with 0.0% Peroni in hand.

🙏Shoutouts

• To Pablo Picatso for supplying me endless entertainment as he rolls around with his white flubby tummy.

• to the tomatoes, pears, and apples that I’ve been harvesting in the garden. They bring me joy.

• To the sound of rain hitting the leaves. And to one less task to do for the garden.

• To Allison my other sober friend redefining fun without wine :)

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I am grateful you chose to fill part of your day here.

If something in this letter resonated, press the ❤️ , leave a comment, reply to this email, or reach me at vermetJL@gmail.com. I love hearing from you.

Keep on learning 😁

Tot snel 🌺 🌺

Too da loo :)

Jen

P.S. I coach writers. I guide them to find their voice, build a writing rhythm, and have fun hitting “publish.” Learn more at workwithjen.ink

P.P.S. You’re invited. If a friend forwarded you this, welcome to the learn-it-all crew. Sign up here to get the next letter.

P.P.P.S. I wrote a book. Letters to My Life is my favorite way to share my writing with you (and it keeps your screen-time stats down). Grab your copy here.

P.P.P.P.S. Here’s what you missed. Last week I wrote about biking across holland.