New Year's Eve, 2023. My last alcoholic beverage. The plan was simple — stay sober for 2024. Fast forward to March 2026, and I'm still on the sober train. What started as a personal challenge has quietly morphed into a pretty decent lifestyle choice. Who knew?

Recent data suggests significantly more Australian youth are abstaining from alcohol compared to the early 2000s — back when I was hitting the town. So I'm not exactly a trendsetter. But it makes for interesting reading.

Growing up in the mid-to-late 90s, alcohol was a rite of passage. Towards the end of high school, parties were frequent and alcohol was freely available — just around the time that intense studying was required and focus needed to be increased, not diminished. Bonfire parties, girls, cheap grog, zero mobile phones and zero digital evidence. I'm grateful as all fuck about that last part, because we got up to some seriously questionable shit.

As the son of an Irish immigrant, alcohol was an ever-present in our household — but weirdly, I held out until the end of Year 12. Then I went to Ireland solo, and any remaining resistance was obliterated in spectacular fashion. From that point, weekends passed in a blur of alcohol-fuelled mayhem. I was the fucking annoying dude with the digital camera — personally, I thought I was cool as fuck. My friends regularly told me to fuck off. Today I have a treasure trove of quality memories from our misspent youth, and far too many random dick pics. Ok, some are mine. Well, the big ones are anyway. (Total lie. The zoom wasn't strong enough.)

Through my twenties and thirties, the shine started to fade. Back-to-back sessions became sessions requiring significant recovery. By my late thirties, a big night demanded days of bed rest, intravenous fluids and what felt like a priest reading me my last rites. My tolerance was never impressive — mid-strength beer and I could still spiral magnificently. Add the fact that I only have one kidney — and one ball, but that's a different essay (PS: it obviously works) — and my hangovers were akin to a genital fondling from Freddy Krueger. Not fun at all.

Having young kids accelerated the recalibration. When there's a reasonable chance a small energetic human is going to tear you from your alcohol-induced stupor at arse crack of dawn demanding full parental engagement, those extra drinks start looking very different. Did I always make the responsible choice? Absolutely not. I was never close to being a raging alcoholic, but I came home drunk more times than I should have, leaving two small kids entirely to an already sleep-deprived, energy-depleted stay-at-home mum.

Alcohol itself wasn't the sole reason for the decline and eventual dissolution of my marriage, but questionable choices while drinking would certainly have eroded trust. Staying out late when I said I'd be home. Paying more attention to other women than I should have as a married man. Neglecting to think about the burden my actions placed on my chosen life partner. Could I have made better choices? Fuck yes. I'll shoulder my fair share of responsibility — but it wasn't all on me. I loved being a husband. I loved being part of a team that was going to let nothing stand in our way. Turns out, in a large part, it was me standing in our way. I was blind to the damage my choices were causing.

One thing I am genuinely proud of though: I made a commitment to never be drunk in front of my kids. One of them recently told me they don't ever remember seeing me drunk. These days they'd be lucky to catch me with anything other than an alcohol-free stubbie. That one lands well.

So why did I actually stop? Mainly as a challenge. To see if I could. But honestly — I'm so fucking stubborn it was never really in doubt. Then I just kept going, because I didn't want to end the streak. And because I genuinely enjoy feeling good. Waking up fresh on a Sunday. Not spending Monday and Tuesday with a brain like soggy mush while my single kidney works its tits off processing the weekend's damage.

It also coincided with becoming an RPM instructor — a stationary bike class taught to choreographed music. Exhilarating, mood-altering and fucking insanely tough. I'd spend weeks building peak fitness, then obliterate it with one big weekend, turning up to teach a few days later feeling like a wrinkled, dehydrated grape at the bottom of a fruit basket. In short — fucked. That's no way to show up for a job you actually love.

Have I lost loads of weight? No. Attained spiritual enlightenment? Also no. Do I quietly judge the drunken fucktards wobbling out of the pub on a Friday night? Obviously. Is there also a tinge of envy? Yeah, a little. For fun Dan. Married Dan who thought he had it all figured out. The guy I was before life handed me my arse and forced me to make some changes.

Here's what's true though: removing alcohol has genuinely added to my life. Time not wasted sweating out a big night. Better health — I'm no longer pickling my one remaining kidney. Improved mental clarity and self-esteem. Better relationships with the people I adore. The list keeps going.

And I sit here now, while my kids raise merry fucking hell in the room next door playing some game that sounds like they're supposed to rip out each other's entrails, and I smile. I weathered that storm. I spent a lot of time looking inward, making changes that would benefit me and my beautiful children. I read, I journal, and I approach life from an entirely different place now. One that comes from gratitude. For what I had, yes — but also for all the little moments I get to experience now. I know what real love feels like, and I know what the loss of it creates. But I experience love daily. From my kids. My family. My friends. My dogs. It's all around me. And whilst I'm still single, I'm under no illusion that I'll find it again when the time is right. That person will just be a fortunate addition to an already amazing life.

Do I miss drinking? At times, absolutely. The drunken deep-and-meaningfuls with my mates about critical issues — Jessica Alba vs Alyssa Milano in their respective primes, why spaghetti bends when it's wet. Arm-in-arm with strangers belting out a song at full volume. Listening to stories from weathered Irishmen in dim-lit pubs about why everywhere else in the world is grand, but nowhere quite compares to the 'auld country. Those were good times. I'm not pretending otherwise.

But I've had those experiences. I've banked those memories. Now I'm building new ones — completely sober and fully present for all of them. Hanging with my kids. Coffee with my mum. Solo travel. Man-dates. Woman-dates. The lot.

And I can remember every single one. Because I wasn't drunk.

Will I drink again? Probably. But it'll need to be worth it. My current plan involves a boys trip to celebrate 50 years on this planet with my closest and most beloved degenerates.

That'll be a story worth telling.

Til next time, Dan

I'm writing about my journey on Substack. Feel free to join the ride

https://substack.com/@thesolodad