Micky Beisenherz on abstinence from alcohol and the German drinking culture

The German language is home to wonderful words for those who love them. But the word “dry” won’t love you back. A boring word that doesn’t have much positive association with it – unless you’ve just fallen into the Havel at 4 degrees. Dry is a synonym for: parched, fruitless, even boring. A month like this is what everyone who is now passionately throwing themselves into what is commonly known as Dry January is looking forward to. Dry January. A mass movement, a collective term with an almost marathon-like character. This is about doing something create. The almost impossible: staying sober for a month, i.e. abstinent. Avoiding alcohol as the base of the New Year’s pyramid of plans.

The timing could hardly be better. Since you were practically permanently sedated from December until the New Year, the idea of ​​taking a break is quite appealing. Until the middle of the month, roughly. Then again, the palate is already sending signals that it is missing the tingling sensation in the esophagus. And the first celebrations are already underway again. It’s not easy to stay away from hard liquor in a society where non-alcoholics have to explain themselves. “Thanks, I don’t drink.” – “What? Not even a champagne toast?” What’s wrong with that? Maybe he once killed someone while drunk. Anyone who refuses to do so makes themselves suspicious.

For example, my wife doesn’t like alcohol. She simply doesn’t like it. But because long explanations take longer than quick toleration, she camouflages herself with a champagne flute and nods in agreement every now and then. We live in an alkocracy. Not a girls’ night out, not a visit to the stadium, hardly a Christian holiday without a collective hardening of the synapses. It starts with the sacramental wine and ends with the handcart rally on Ascension Day. We won’t get together so young anymore!

The fact that people part ways at a much older age is due to the destructive effect of the material, which can be quite nice. That light mica. The (post)alcoholic exhilaration. Culturally, intoxication enjoys a good reputation, as it has reliably relieved excessive tension in times of war and crisis. Which sometimes means that actions under the influence of alcohol are less serious than when sober (“Yes, sure, Jörg did that – but that was during the Oktoberfest!”). The suspected connection between alcohol and lightness is one of the greatest dangers of all. How often has it been recommended to have a drink before a daunting task to relax yourself? If it works, the sip helped. If you fail, next time there will have to be two. It’s better to fail sober than triumph drunk.

The fact that schnapps flows through the veins of the people’s body is also evident from the fact that in almost every household there are wooden plaques in country house style with the inscription: “The Gin of Life”. And at the end of the year, weren’t our timelines full again with “I hate New Year’s Eve, the amateurs drink there too” posts? Next to it is a picture of the iconic alcoholic Harald Juhnke, who died in a nursing home in 2005 in a very uniconic manner.

The amateurs haven’t been drinking since New Year’s Eve. Possibly because their intoxication has put too much of a dent in the social fabric. But perhaps also because the awareness that the cell poison was recently dosed a little too heavily has returned.

For my part, I drank significantly more alcohol a few years ago. I have always tolerated a lot and still do to this day; in my world it was a positive term and not a medically critical condition. I also only drank in company. Unfortunately, I always had a lot of company. Or even more perfidious: I always liked to look for company with whom I would drink. Until one morning I thought: Significantly less would be nice.

Since then, I have enjoyed being fresh and clear on a Sunday morning in my bathrobe with a large cup of coffee. My life is becoming too short to hand it over to long hangovers. The body also thanks you; alcohol is known to have quite a few calories. What’s also nicer: the rush itself. Those who rarely drink experience the longed-for relaxation much more intensely. The longed-for spontaneous escape from the sobering realities that are already hitting home again at the beginning of the year. If “Happy New Year” was a pious wish until the second of January, a week later it is already a sarcastic remark. If you want to experience all the emerging crises soberly throughout the month, you really need a robust nature.

So here’s to liquid escapism.