The aroma of freshly brewed coffee battled with the memory of a pounding headache in my head. It was a Sunday morning, usually reserved for lazy mornings fueled by caffeine and the Sunday paper. But this time, the decision loomed large: coffee or alcohol, gone forever.
The past few months had been a blur of deadlines and late nights. My solace, a well-aged scotch, had become a crutch. The hangovers, once occasional nuisances, were morphing into unwelcome roommates. But coffee, my morning muse, wasn't just a my recovery jujitsu, but also the fuel for my creativity. Giving it up felt like giving up a part of myself.
It wasn't a personal decision as I would hate to give up on any of them voluntarily. But it was a medical advice. The doctor had dropped the bomb on me a few days ago
"I'm sorry Mr Yellow, but your results came in and you have to make away with either alcohol or coffee. The combination of both isn't good for you anymore." those were his exact words and I remember them verbatim because it sounded like the day my life hit rock bottom.
"But why sir? I mean, they're both a perfect combination, alcohol as the poison, and coffee as the antidote" I said trying to make him see reasons with me.
"But you can't be deliberately taking poison and antidotes at will, it's detrimental to your health" he fired back, sounding fed up.
But to me, I still did not get it. These were two of my best friends, my two companions that helped me get through life and it's turmoils. Alcohol helped me relax and forget my bad days and experiences, while coffee helped to jerk me back to life and ignite my creative sparks.
I weighed the pros and cons. Coffee withdrawal promised headaches, sluggishness, and a foggy brain – the enemies of a writer. Alcohol, on the other hand, even though comforting, was a thief. It stole nights of restful sleep, replacing them with fragmented dreams, headaches, sluggishness and a heavy body. It blurred memories and dulled my sharp wit. Without coffee, itt would be disastrous.
Then, a memory surfaced. A younger me, without the cares and worries of this world, brimming with ideas, pouring over a steaming cup of coffee, the world a canvas waiting for my words and a splash of my creative ideas. The joy of creation, fueled by the gentle buzz of caffeine, was unmatched. I couldn't lose that.
I peeled off the duvet as the sun peeked through the blinds, I had made my choice. With a deep sorrowful breath, I poured the scotch down the drain, the amber liquid swirling goodbye. It wasn't easy, it was like losing a long time friend over a minor disagreement.
The first few weeks were a battle against fatigue. But slowly, a new rhythm emerged. My mornings were clear, my focus sharper. The ideas flowed, fueled by a quiet determination, not a jittery dependence.
There were social adjustments too. The after-work drinks with colleagues turned into sparkling water dates, and even though I was mocked, it was just as stimulating, minus the next-day regret. I rediscovered the simple pleasures of a clear mind – the joy of a sunrise hike, the satisfaction of completing a chapter without a caffeine crash.
Giving up alcohol wasn't easy, but it was necessary. Coffee, my muse, remained. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was mine. And in that imperfection, I found a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder that true creativity thrives on clarity, not a crutch.
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