Abnormal in Liverpool – The Magic of Perception Without Drugs
In 1992, I spent a few days in Liverpool visiting my then girlfriend’s family. This was during the heyday of my enthusiasm for alcohol when my drinking habits would bother other people but didn’t bother me in the slightest. I still believed that booze provided a magical solution to all of my issues, and I was just as bothered by the people who didn’t know how to enjoy a drink as they were by me.
Heavy drinking was my normal back then. I worked in bar, and my social network was packed with acquaintances who were just as enthusiastic about drinking as me. I didn’t feel judged by them, and my behavior didn’t feel in any way out of the ordinary.
The trip to Liverpool was outside my comfort zone. It meant leaving my usual habitat where getting drunk all the time was not only accepted but encouraged to entering a world where my drinking was obviously abnormal. I had been with this girlfriend for about a year, and up to that point, she had seemed to accept my love for booze. Sure, I had said and done things while drunk that I’d later have to apologize to her for, but she appeared to accept it all in good spirits. I saw it as part of my Irish charm.
Things started to go downhill almost from the moment we got on the train to Liverpool. I felt uncomfortable about meeting strangers, so it seemed perfectly reasonable to me to drink as much as possible on the way there. My girlfriend felt strongly that I needed to be sober to make a good first impression. I won that particular battle, but her darkening mood should have forewarned me that I certainly hadn’t won the war.
The girlfriend’s parents picked us up at Lime Street Station. I noticed an inviting looking pub on our way to her family house in Walton, so almost as soon as we were in the door, I made my excuses and returned to the bar alone. I was only on my second pint, when my girlfriend hunted me down and insisted we return to her home. I only agreed because she promised that we would be going out to her parent’s social club in a few hours where I would be able to drink until closing time. I don’t remember much of that night, but I doubted I made a good first impression.
The rest of the weekend was strained. Her family went out of their way to show me the sights of Liverpool, but I just wanted to be in a pub. I had hoped that her dad would be more of kindred spirit, but after showing some early promise the previous night (he had ended up drunk as well), he turned out to be a bit of a lightweight. On the last day, her dad took us to visit the nearby town of Chester – a beautiful place, but the lack of alcohol in my system meant I felt unable to appreciate it.
That girlfriend didn’t remain my girlfriend for long. Meeting her family was meant to be a sign that we were getting more serious, but it turned out to be the final nail in the coffin. She dumped me as soon as we got back to London. Apparently, her mother had pointed out that my abnormal drinking could only mean disaster ahead. Of course, she was right, but it all seemed so unfair to me at the time.
I don’t judge this younger me too harshly. I just wanted to be comfortable in my own skin, and I didn’t have a better solution back then than alcohol (even though drinking was just as likely to leave me feeling morose and argumentative as it was happy). I didn’t know about stillness. I didn’t realize that there is an unshakable peace always available through that stillness. I didn’t see that perception is a choice. I didn’t understand how perception is transformed by this stillness into trust, intimacy, and wonder (it was these that I had been desperately seeking). The younger me was right in thinking that ‘normal’ life sucked, and there was something far better available, but the mistake I made was believing that the answer would come from a drug.
