Still sober? Somehow, it seems we’ve lost the delicate balance between discipline and indulgence. Perhaps it’s time to rediscover it.
January has just started but it's already weighed down by resolutions, such as sticking to Dry January: Those 31 virtuous days without alcohol that seem to inspire every amateur ascetic to broadcast their enlightenment to the rest of us. Their skin glows, theirs sleep rivals that of a baby, their mind is as clear as crystal.
Of course, the concept fits perfectly into our present day that glorifies even the faintest signs of self-discipline. Who would we be today without a gratitude list to complete before breakfast, a meticulous skincare routine, a daily meditation ritual, and a color-coded calendar that accompanies us from one appointment to the next—always organized, always self-optimizing, moving in endless circles like a forgotten suitcase on the baggage carousel? Sisyphus, who was punished by the gods with an eternal, futile task, would be thriving in this climate.
Yet the real question remains: why? Certainly, it feels good to have control over your life—and perhaps even better to be proud of it. But in this self-congratulatory culture of abstinence, aren’t we chasing a promise that was never meant to be fulfilled? Abstention for abstention's sake. It’s a bit like asking a child why they’ve scribbled across the walls again and hearing the simple answer: because I felt like it.
Don’t get us wrong—discipline is admirable. It’s commendable to set a goal and see it through, and there’s nothing wrong with avoiding what doesn’t serve you. But something has gone astray. In celebrating the supposed health benefits of going dry, we risk losing sight of something fundamental: We don’t drink, ideally, for health reasons—but because of the joy it brings.
We all know that excessive alcohol consumption can pose health risks. It can lead to psychological, physical, or social harm. Therefore, there needs to be a balance between indulgence and discipline. And that seems to be the problem. The editor-in-chief of Zeit Magazin, Sascha Chaimowicz, published a text as part of Dry January entitled "Why I love alcohol but no longer drink it." In it, he describes what convinced him to stop drinking altogether five years ago, despite his love of wine. He had to negotiate with himself every week how often he would allow himself to drink and how many glasses he could have. This behavior took the fun out of drinking alcohol for him.
Understandable, of course. But isn’t there also a certain joy—even a quiet pleasure—in the act of negotiation itself? In deliberately saying no to something you crave, only to later savor it all the more when you finally say yes?
Pleasure lives on contrast. If you eat caviar every day, it soon loses its magic. It's the opposite for those who reserve it for a special occasion. And if you’re mentally counting down the days until you can drink again, it might be time to pause until doing the math no longer feels necessary. When reaching for a glass isn’t a routine, but a conscious choice, that’s true pleasure—and, in its own way, a kind of restraint.
If you find yourself on a café terrace, lucky enough to catch a rare ray of winter sun and savor a perfectly chilled Riesling, you are, for that moment, blissfully missing out—on obligations, on reality, on the weight of the world. Given the headlines lately, that hardly seems foolish. Besides, enjoyment isn’t just good for the soul; when it’s genuine, it also benefits your health.
