Photo by Caleb Shane Lollar Here’s the scene: I’m at a potluck with a pleasant melange of Asheville acquaintances. Lest the word “potluck” mislead, I have noticed that as I sail closer to thirty potlucks have become my demographic’s new house party so though the setting includes vegan casseroles and gluten-free sides, the atmosphere is less dinner and more low- scale carousing, “let’s get sort of drunk but still be functioning at work tomorrow” approach to partying. Since this is Beer City USA, local microbrews seem to be in every hand as people flit about. Conversation is frequently predicated on what beer one is wielding, and the lovingly illustrated labels of the craft brews remind me of coveted collector cards, a hand-held beacon of beer nerdery inviting impassioned debate between enthusiasts. People, perhaps accountants or carpenters or accupuncturists by day, reveal oceans of beer esoterica as they trade shop talk that makes my head swim: discussion of hop sources, spices, and brewing processes. Then, an astute someone notices something. “Where’s your beer?” The question is jolly, usually delivered by a red cheeked bearded fellow in flannel whose beer know-how is a point of personal pride. They want to help me out, supply me with some Asheville brewed ambrosia that will change my life or at least make me want to dance semi-drunkenly later before we all go to bed at a reasonable hour. Eyes turn towards me, considering my hands that are holding maybe a cup of water or, if I’m feeling lively, a root beer. This attention used to make me want to shrivel up and die, or just never socialize ever again. But I’ve mastered it, after nearly five years of fumbling through it: the fine art of coming out as sober in Beer City USA. That’s right. My name is Morgan Sykes and I am twenty-six years old. In March I will celebrate five years of sobriety. If you do the math, that means I have been enjoying parties, shows, after-hours work functions, and this new breed of potluck without social lubrication since shortly after it became legal for me to imbibe. That’s five years of being the sole sober person in many a room, five years of being outed as such, and five years of crash and burn trial and error to figure out how to proudly own my sober status. Let me be truthful. Being sober has been an occasionally awkward, weird, lonely ride. I have been figuring out in real time what my personal boundaries are, as in how much alcohol consumption I feel comfortable hanging around, and my realizations – positive and negative – have been in public. In the earliest days of my sobriety, I dreaded being offered beverages and then inevitably being asked why I wasn’t drinking, because I was trying on ill-fitting responses a la Goldilocks. Some of my answers were terrible. There was The Overshare, where I unfurled my struggles with youthful alcoholism in a way that totally weirded people out. The Declaration, where I went ahead and announced my sobriety preemptively in an effort to come out in front of any alcohol offers, which also triggered a lot of uncomfortable room-wide shoegazing. Then, I experimented with the Artful Dodger, where I danced around questions, declining offers of shots and beverages without bluntly revealing myself as the A-word. For those of you who know me, I am not talking about being an Asshole. Because I am, again corresponding with my yearly crawl closer towards 30, becoming fussier and more curmudgeonly. I am talking about being an Alcoholic. Because yes, I am an alcoholic. It is a blunt, ugly, misunderstood word. When I first tenuously busted it out in conversation, it hung gross and misshapen between me and the other person, like I had just squatted down and pooped on the floor in the space separating us and was asking for their appraisal. More recently, when I have described myself as an alcoholic, people have visibly recoiled. I have been asked why I call myself that. Why would I apply this scarlet letter to myself, seems to be the question. Well, as inconvenient as it is, I don’t have a choice. I am an alcoholic, and this word is the only way to convey my sobriety, since my choice not to drink is not religiously or ethically motivated. What this word means generally is that I do not have the power to choose once I start drinking. I cannot stop. What it means to me when I say it aloud at appropriate times to describe my sobriety, my available choice not to drink in the first place, is that I dissipate the attached shame. It is more dangerous the less air and light it gets. Putting it out there, to me, helps challenge some of the ignorance and misinformation about alcoholism. For me, it does not mean I am damaged, that I cannot go out, that I am not fun, or that you cannot drink around me. When I say I am an alcoholic, it can be shocking news, I know. It is frequently perceived as a heavy revelation, perhaps overly intimate. It can totally harsh any mellow. But, I like to call things as they are and this is just one fact of my life. Despite my frankness in this forum, I don’t tell everyone I am sober. A lot of the times, nobody notices or cares. While I don’t love hanging out in bars for no reason, I do love to dance. I have spent many a night at Asheville’s finest dance emporiums: with the requisite irony at the Barcade (RIP), at sundry Orange Peel shows, and as a sweaty spectacle at the Admiral. This is where I blow minds with my sobriety, as my dedication to dancing definitely triggers drink buy attempts that I must politely subvert. If someone boogies up to me and compliments my moves, I sometimes like to let them know my secret. The reaction is priceless, because people tend to require generous amounts of booze to get to my levels of sober shamelessness. People want to know how I do it. Here’s my trick: as far as anyone here knows, I am indeed wasted. It’s the sort of Jedi level mind trick one must master to walk the sober path. It’s all an illusion anyways. Drinking is really a mind game when it’s about social lubrication-- it’s just about you loosening you up to feel comfortable with you letting loose. There was a lot of you in that sentence, I’m sure you noticed – it really isn’t about anyone else. All that nonsense about, “I have to be drunk to dance/karaoke/feel relaxed at parties,” it’s all a construct. Nobody knows how drunk or sober you are, and while you’re guaranteed some awkward trial and error while you acclimate to navigating these situations sober, I prefer to make an ass of myself totally lucid because hey, nobody knows my blood alcohol level anyways and hangovers suck. So, what’s it like being sober in Beer City USA? Or, my favorite question, what do I do for fun? Well, a) it’s awesome being sober here and b) whatever I want. Asheville rules for a lot of reasons that have nothing to do with its nationally lauded craft beer scene. I spend an inordinate amount of time in our spectacular coffee shops, devouring pastries and downing unhealthy quantities of chai lattes. I mountain bike, trail run, and sweat my way through yoga classes. I eat a lot of delicious food and there are great bartenders in town who have taken care of me with really tasty mocktails while I’m out with friends. I dance, I attend shows. I write faintly cynical blog posts and try to fumble my way through all the same existential quandaries everyone else who is twentysomething is grappling with. And if I am to anticipate a natural question by my wonderful Asheville neighbors, why did I write this? I’m sure some people are weirded out. A bombastically public recurrence of The Overshare, if you will. But, my hope, if I can be said to have one in this realm, is that my experience can provide a context for beginning to fathom that being sober is not a life sentence of any kind. Being an alcoholic is not a scarlet letter. It is but one part of my total personhood. I am happy, I am as normal as anyone can claim to be, and I love living in this beautiful, strange place. Being sober in Beer City isn’t something that causes me distress or isolation since I am out and about, amongst my mountain dwelling, beer-swilling brethren at potlucks. PS. Should you see me out, say hi! And my drink of choice is a tonic with lime for the inquiring.