I did not stop drinking because alcohol had taken over my life.

That is the first thing I need to say, because people often assume there must have been some dramatic collapse, some hidden addiction, or some rock-bottom moment behind a decision like this.

That was not my story.

In many ways, my experience with alcohol was a positive one. I enjoyed it. I appreciated it. Some of my best moments were tied to it.

I loved visiting microbreweries with my wife and discovering new beers together. I loved the atmosphere, the creativity, the whole experience. I loved good conversation over a good drink. I loved the easy laughter that often came with it.

I also liked what alcohol did for me socially. I tend to talk more after a drink or two, which my wife certainly does not mind. You would rarely find me on a dance floor without a little liquid courage first.

And yes, there were times when I appreciated the calming effect too. After a stressful day, or in moments when anxiety was pressing in, a strong IPA, a rich stout, a good margarita, or a simple shot of vodka could take the edge off. Nothing reckless. Nothing extreme. Just enough to make things feel a little lighter.

There was also something almost sacred, in its own small way, about sipping tequila or whisky by the campfire and looking up at the stars.

So no, I did not quit because alcohol had become an obvious problem.

Which raises the question:

So why stop?

Because I began to realize that something can be good, enjoyable, and even meaningful in its place, and still not be something you need to keep.

More than that, I began to sense that this was about desire.

Not mainly about discipline.
Not mainly about health.
Not mainly about money, although both health and finances have certainly benefited.

At the deepest level, this became about what I wanted my desires to be doing.

A transfer of desire

The simplest way I can say it is this:

I wanted to take the pleasure, comfort, anticipation, and relief I often associated with alcohol and turn those desires toward God.

In other words, I chose to fast from alcohol.

Not for a month. Not as a challenge. Not as a New Year’s resolution.

As a lifelong reminder.

A reminder that, as much as I enjoy discovering a new microbrewery and tasting a really good beer, I want to find greater joy in discovering God and tasting His goodness.

Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Psalm 34:8

A reminder that, as pleasant as the loosening effect of alcohol can be, what I want even more is to be loosened by grace, by freedom, by the presence of God at work in me.

A reminder that when anxiety rises, I do not want my first instinct to be numbing. I want to learn, however imperfectly, to bring that anxiety before God. To pray. To ask. To trust. To discover whether His peace can go deeper than my coping mechanisms.

Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.

Philippians 4:6

A reminder that just because something is good does not mean it is necessary.

What happened when I tested it

A couple of months after stopping, I decided to experiment. I had a few beers with friends.

The company was great. The beer was great. And as I drank, I remember thanking God for the gift of good beer and good people. But I also remember thanking Him for being better.

That night, I did not sleep as well as I had been sleeping. The next morning, my brain felt foggy for the first few hours of the day. It was not disastrous, but it was noticeable. I had not missed that feeling.

That experience reminded me that there were physical benefits to letting alcohol go, in addition to the spiritual reasons that first led me there.

The moments when it still pulls

There are still moments when drinking feels like the obvious thing to do.

Certain evenings. Certain celebrations. Certain campfires. Certain meals. Sometimes it is not even a craving in the intense sense. It is just the feeling that this moment would naturally go with a drink.

And sometimes, if I am honest, it is hard to watch other people enjoy something I used to enjoy so freely.

But those moments have become part of the point.

They have become invitations.

When I feel that pull, I often pray something simple and quiet:

God, take this desire in me and turn it into a deeper desire for You and for Your will.

That prayer does not make me instantly mystical or immune to longing. It just helps me remember what this choice is really about.

Not a rule for everyone

Maybe this sounds strange to you.

Maybe you think I am overspiritualizing something ordinary. Maybe you think I am taking the God thing too far. Maybe you feel a little unsettled by your own relationship with alcohol. Maybe you are already building a theological counterargument in your head.

Fair enough.

I am not saying everyone should do exactly what I have done. This is not a universal command. It is a personal conviction.

But I do think it is worth asking what role desire plays in our lives.

What are we reaching for when we want relief?
What are we leaning on when we want comfort?
What do we instinctively turn to when we want to celebrate, soften, escape, or feel more alive?

Those questions matter.

A question worth asking

So I am not really writing this to persuade everyone to stop drinking.

I am writing it to encourage reflection.

What might you set aside, not because it is evil, but because fasting from it could expose something deeper?

What might you give up, not as punishment, but as a reminder?

What desire in your life might need to be redirected rather than merely managed?

Because sometimes the most powerful fast is not from something bad.

Sometimes it is from something good, so that you can remember what is better.

A simple prayer

Lord,
Show me what I reach for too quickly.
Teach me what it means to hunger for You more deeply.
Take the desires that pull at me and reshape them with Your grace.
And help me remember that no created thing, however good, can replace Your peace, Your presence, or Your goodness.
Amen.

Reflection prompt

What is one good thing in your life that may have become more necessary to you than it should be?