There’s a significant difference between the lazy days I used to have and the ones I experience now. In the days before I made my commitment to sobriety, what I called a “lazy day” was really just a wasted day—completely unproductive and often filled with anxiety. It would usually begin with me coming to after passing out the night before, still drunk, gripped by fear and unease, with my next drink already waiting for me. After finishing the leftover booze from the previous night, I’d start to feel a bit better, but soon enough, the craving for another drink would take over. My day would then revolve around doing absolutely nothing, except sneaking off on covert trips to buy more whisky in small enough bottles to hide around the house. I’d spend hours zoning out to nature programmes narrated by David Attenborough, which I’d watched countless times before, only to eventually pass out again on the couch, and then stumble to bed later. Looking back, it’s clear those days were filled with sadness and emptiness.
Now, though, a “lazy day” has taken on a whole new meaning. I wake up naturally, without an alarm clock or an angry wife shaking me awake, at around 5:30 a.m. The first thing I do when I open my eyes is thank my God for another day. Then I lie there quietly for about 10 minutes, reflecting on three things I’m grateful for from the day before. Afterward, I move on to my usual daily routine (I’ll spare you the details), but once I’ve done my reading and morning tasks, I’m off to join the Sunrise AA meeting in person or on Zoom. By 8 a.m., I’m ready for my new version of a lazy day. Nowadays, what I consider a lazy day is simply being able to do things I enjoy, without the pressure of appointments, kids’ clubs, work, or a long to-do list from my lovely wife. These days are rare, so when they come around, I make the most of them. Doing nothing has taken on a completely different feel. Ever since I started practising meditation and writing, even when I’m physically at rest, my mind stays active—often filled with new ideas or the process of finishing a poem.
One of the best things I’ve done for myself is setting up a hammock in the garden. When the weather is nice, I love nothing more than spending time tending to the plants, then lounging in that hammock, watching clouds drift by and listening to the sounds of nature. Every moment feels full, even when I’m just lying there, soaking it all in.
When I reflect on how my idea of a lazy day has changed, it really shows me how far I’ve come on my sobriety journey in such a short time. I no longer let my mind wander into dark places filled with fear and pain. I don’t need to escape anymore by drowning those feelings with alcohol. Instead, I live in a world of light—beginning the moment I wake up to the sunrise, with the sun staying by my side throughout the day.
Lazy Days, Renewed
Once, lazy days were wasted, dark, and fraught,
A drunken haze, a fearful, anxious thought.
With trembling hand, I’d reach for morning’s cure,
A bitter draught to quell my rising fear.
The day would drag, a void of empty hours,
Consumed by cravings, chased by phantom powers.
A hidden bottle, a secret, silent theft,
A stolen moment, a life half-bereft.
Now, lazy days are filled with peace and light,
A quiet morning, a sacred, silent flight.
I thank the heavens for another dawn,
A new beginning, where shadows are withdrawn.
I tend my garden, watch the clouds go by,
And feel the sun upon my grateful eye.
No longer lost in darkness, fear, and pain,
I’ve found a solace, a new, clearer lane.
