"A few thoughts on a decade of sobriety," he wrote. An insightful, honest, wise and searing article. Wow. As an adult child of an alcoholic, I found John DeVore's insights helpful:

"I’m going to celebrate a decade of sobriety by eating a vanilla sheet cake. I could decide to toss back a couple of gin and tonics if I wanted. It’s a free country. I hope I don’t. But that’s the deal. It doesn’t matter how bad or good it gets, I can always choose oblivion. I can open the airlock and get sucked into space and just float, forever, in darkness. I mean, alcohol can be pretty magical that way."

"Here’s what 10 years of sobriety has taught me," he continued. "Sometimes saying “I’m sorry” isn’t enough. Your pain isn’t as profound as you think it is and that’s a good one to know. Drinking doesn’t make you interesting. You were angry before the booze and you’ll be angry after you stop. Sobriety taught me love is giving it all and expecting nothing in return. There you go. Free wisdom."

"Sometimes when I’m asked how I did it by someone who is clearly struggling I tell them some people drink too much and should drink less. I tell them that sobriety is the best thing that ever happened to me but I get it. Life is hard and alcohol is cheap plentiful palliative care. I tell them there is hope, though. You don’t have to be a smelly emotional maniac if you don’t want."

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Personally, I don't like alcohol because it dehydrates me and gives me a headache. It's not worth it. Just a half a glass of wine- with lots of water- makes me feel tired and headachy the next day.

Luckily, my body skipped the alcoholic gene from both sides of my family.

At age 19, I got drunk for the first time. Michigan had lowered the drinking age to 18. Naturally, college students threw drinking parties on every dorm floor.

Naively unfamiliar with drinking alcohol, I let students press me into downing 2-3 glasses of sweet red wine. The room was spinning. Collapsed on my dorm room bed after locking the door (at least part of my brain was working).

The funny part

The next day, University of Michigan dorms only served one meal at noon on Sundays. Apparently they believed parents would magically appear and take us out to dinner.

Painfully hungover, I dragged myself downstairs for the noon meal. Bright lights hurt my eyes. Nauseated with a pounding headache, I stood in line and got my food tray.

Sitting down, I gazed at the mashed potatoes. They looked tantalizingly like a pillow. Laid my cheek in the mashed potatoes and fell asleep. Awoke to a circle of students laughing and pointing at me.

The humiliation and hangover convinced me to never get drunk again. Stuck to it.