The Comma Club

Today, I’m celebrating 1,000 days clean and sober! This is referred to as joining The Comma Club.

For me, one of the most powerful aspects of living a sober lifestyle has been the clarity of mind that is now more accessible to me. My brain hasn’t been scrubbed clean, and my thoughts don’t always make sense, but I’ve gained a deeper capacity to sit with whatever comes up. I can allow my mind to take its long, bumpy route while remaining an observer. I know I don’t need to disconnect, numb, or flee from the ugly and uncomfortable parts. I can let the worst parts be seen, even shine a light on them, and still allow the uncomfortable feelings to be part of my experience.

This past summer, I had some significant sober firsts. One was attending a wedding sober for the first time. It took place in an incredibly beautiful tropical location on the Big Island of Hawaii. There were ocean views, gorgeous flowers, and passion fruit wedding cake. Malasada donuts and champagne were offered upon arrival before the 10 a.m. ceremony. There was an open bar, loud music, and a pool party. Weddings tend to have a lot going on emotionally and aesthetically, which can be overwhelming for the senses and the nervous system, especially for a sober person.

I planned ahead and drove a separate car. Of course, others would want to stay and enjoy the festivities, and I knew I would likely be ready to leave before they were. I stayed hydrated, drinking every La Croix available. As a sober person, being offered anything beyond tap water is a win, so I happily drank my body weight in bubbly water. I gave myself moments of space, taking time to sit alone in the living room or go for a walk outside.

The ceremony was heartfelt and moving. Friends and family gathered at the water's edge, with the ocean as the backdrop. A widow and a divorcee with teenage children were joining as a family. A friend played the ukulele and sang "Fools Rush In." Vows were read, and rings were exchanged. I was present and clear-headed for all of it.

Lunch and cake were served, and the pool party began. I surprised myself by putting on my bathing suit and going in the pool for a bit. The music got louder and the splashing intensified, so I got out—but I had gone in for a bit. Soon after that, I knew I’d had enough. I left the event and I went for a walk. Later, a small group gathered back at the condo for a BBQ dinner. I felt good. I’d had a great time and had been present for this special event.

The next day was really hard for me emotionally. I was exhausted and struggled to make decisions. A group of friends planned to snorkel at a spot I hadn’t yet been to, and it was supposedly very good. I opted out of the morning snorkel, and then felt as though I had somehow ruined the day by not going to what they called the “best snorkel.” I was on the verge of tears. It was our last day of the trip, and I felt frozen, unsure of how I wanted to spend the day. I knew I was in a bit of a nosedive, so I layed down and did nothing. Taking some time to relax, breathe, and just be was very helpful.

An insight I had in that moment was that I’d probably feel better the next day—and I did. I’ve come to recognize this pattern in myself. When the highs are high, the lows can feel much lower afterward. A big day of joy and happiness is often followed by a day of confusion and a need to rest. And then, perhaps, the next day brings more energy and peace. Allowing the energy to ebb and flow tends to be the way through challenging emotions.

The practice of allowing continues for me. A few months after the wedding, there was another marriage celebration to attend. On the day of the event, I was very tired. I felt drained and wasn’t really in the mood for a party. I forced myself to go—to practice, to show up.

As soon as I entered, I felt I’d made a mistake. The room was dim, and the music was extremely loud. It was an assault on my senses. I tried to make conversation, but I practically had to shout to be heard. Small talk can be hell, but shouting small talk? That’s next level. Conversations would start and then get interrupted—it wasn’t pleasant for me. I walked outside and was about to leave when I decided to take a slow walk around the block. It helped, and I went back in. I ate some food, had a chocolate cupcake, shout-talked with a few people I was happy to see, and then I left.

As I headed for the door, a friend grabbed my arm and asked if I was leaving.

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to dance?”

“No, I’m too overwhelmed.”

“Okay, I’ll cut a rug for both of us,” she said.

“I know you will,” I replied, booping her on the nose with a smile.

It was more practice for me, more information. It wasn’t as easy as it would’ve been if I’d had a few drinks, but I learned a lot about myself through the uncomfortable feelings. I learned I don’t like parties—just kidding, mostly.

Thank you for reading this. I hope you'll come back. I'll be over here.