Reflecting on the past 13 months without alcohol has been eye-opening and feels like writing a new chapter in my life. I've navigated through this time, moving from a 9-month commitment to a year and beyond, still firmly on the path today.

For those acquainted with me now, it's known that alcohol was slowly losing its appeal to me and touched my lips less and less.

Those who remember me from my younger years would recall a stark contrast. Back then, weekends were synonymous with heavy drinking and late-night pizza feasts at 2 AM—a routine as regular as clockwork.

Yet, something shifted in my early thirties. The appeal of drinking diminished, and the frequency of nights out gradually waned to an occasional trickle.

The change crept in slowly: the idea of enjoying a drink weekly seemed pleasant, but even moderate consumption began to disrupt my sleep and leave me feeling subpar the next day.

Drinking, once a source of enjoyment, transformed into a burdensome ritual amidst a culture seemingly revolving around alcohol. The societal expectation to drink during social gatherings became more apparent, with every decline met with strange looks from waiters and peers.

It reached a point where the cons of drinking starkly outweighed its few redeeming qualities, leading me to my current journey.

When my wife became pregnant, I pledged to join her in abstaining from alcohol for the entire term. Some may view this as sweet, but she saw right through it—it was a convenient excuse to quit drinking altogether, a habit I'd grown to dislike.

Contrary to what some might expect, abstaining wasn't a challenge. My confidence—some might say cockiness—rendered peer pressure ineffective. So, I'll skip recounting all the drinks I've declined and bring you to where I am now.

Here I am, 13 months sober and contemplating if I'll ever have a drink again.

Most are curious about what it's like to go without alcohol, asking how I feel and, more indirectly, what I do for fun without it.

The truth is, I feel great. Yes, my body aches from years of hard training and questionable life choices, but that's a separate issue. Mentally, I'm in a fantastic place. I doubt I could manage the demands of my career, training, working on ReWild America, building a homestead, spending quality time with my family, and still having fun if I hadn't made this change.

Speaking of fun, it's been redefined for me. The adult version of fun—dinner, drinks, bar-hopping—no longer matches the childlike wonder I now seek. I find joy in adventure, building and creating, and in those simple pleasures like waking up with the sunrise and ending the day with a meal cooked over an open flame.

There was a time when I believed I needed a few drinks to dance freely, but I've since learned to hit the dance floor sober and uninhibited. Because, again, who cares if you’re a crappy dancer without alcohol if you’re having fun.

For those considering sobriety, I encourage you to take the leap.

I won't delve into the adverse effects of alcohol on your health—that's for another time. But the benefits I've realized over this past year are significant:

• Savings on dining out. Those pricey cocktails do add up.

• Improved sleep quality.

• No hangovers. Even minimal drinking affected my next day.

• Better health—I've dodged illnesses, especially those that followed drinking nights.

• Enhanced mental clarity and presence—a gradual but noticeable change.

• Reduced inflammation.

• Healthier skin and a more youthful look.

• Increased energy for meaningful activities.

• Relief from the social pressure to drink. Declaring "I don't drink" simplifies things immensely.

While my relationship with alcohol was once casual, I understand it's a profound struggle for many. If that's you, recognizing the issue is the first crucial step.

My goal isn't to stand on my high horse here and decry drinking but to share my experience with those curious about life without alcohol.

Sometimes, I do miss the casual enjoyment of a Friday night margarita, but the positives of a sober life far outweigh that fleeting pleasure. The fleeting fun I once associated with drinking pales in comparison to the profound freedom and benefits of sobriety.