A daily reader on stillness, sobriety, and presence.
“Why write a book on sobriety?”
“Aren’t you worried what people will think?”
“Who am I to write a book… let alone one about not drinking?”
These questions came from others, and — if I’m honest — from the back of my own mind while I was writing, publishing, and releasing this book into the world.
Let’s get into it.
Why write a book on sobriety?
1. Because the book I needed didn’t exist.
In early sobriety, you hear one thing over and over: take it one day at a time.
If you try to imagine staying sober for life, it feels like staring up a vertical cliff face.
The phrase “I Will Not Drink With You Today” came from the r/stopdrinking subreddit — a simple expression of solidarity. A shared promise: just today, we stay sober together.
It felt natural that a daily reader could anchor that mindset.
But the only one I found leaned heavily on the “higher power” narrative — too much prayer, too much outside dependence. The same reason I could never fully connect with the rooms. Even when they insist a higher power “doesn’t have to be religious,” the Bible verses and group prayers say otherwise.
I wanted something grounded in philosophy, presence, Stoicism — something anyone could read, regardless of spiritual background.
So I began journaling. Essays started pouring out. One day, two days, a whole week at once. Eventually… 366 entries. A full year, plus one.
Voilà. The book I couldn’t find finally existed.
2. Because I needed to “dynamite-kaboom the bridge back to drinking.”
Catherine Gray wrote that line in The Unexpected Joy of Being Sober, and it hit me like a freight train.
I’d had a year and a half of sobriety once before, then talked myself into drinking again.
Not this time. This time needed permanence.
Publishing the book was my dynamite — my irreversible choice. How could I write publicly about not drinking… and then go back? I needed to remove the escape hatch.
The book was my commitment to myself:
I’m living a more intentional life now.
I’m choosing alignment, not anesthesia.
I’m using my time on things that serve my values and my mission.
Aren’t you worried what people will think?
In the beginning, absolutely.
My wife got hit with a lot of questions about me, and she stood in that fire with so much grace. I’ll always be grateful for that.
And yes — the fear was real.
I worried people would assume: “He must’ve been an alcoholic. He must have problems.”
But once I started sharing publicly, that fear didn’t survive contact with reality.
People reached out.
People opened up.
People told me my writing helped them get through booze-soaked corporate events or rethink their relationship with alcohol.
None of that would have happened if I’d stayed quiet.
If you missed my last post on not being afraid anymore, it’s here:
https://randomdrake.com/2025/10/27/im-not-afraid-anymore/
Who am I to write a book… let alone one about not drinking?
Honestly? Anyone can write a book. That’s one of the most empowering things I’ve learned through this process. There’s no committee granting permission.
I’ve been blogging for 18 years, writing privately even longer, and some of my work has appeared in places like Sky News and Huffington Post.
Writing isn’t new for me.
Sobriety isn’t new either.
I lived 18 months alcohol-free before. I wrote about it then, too:
https://randomdrake.com/2021/06/30/5-things-ive-learned-about-myself-and-alcohol-in-9-months-of-sobriety/
This time around, sobriety clicked into place because I finally aligned it with my values and my personal mission. When I looked at who I wanted to become, drinking didn’t fit anywhere.
My life is clearer, calmer, better in every dimension now. The choice feels obvious every single day.
So this is me now.
I’m sober.
I wrote a book about it.
I read excerpts online for others who are sober, sober-curious, or simply trying to improve their relationship with themselves.
I built a free website so anyone can read the entries.
I send out reflections, post videos, and share the message across the internet.
And I made myself one promise:
If a single stranger bought my book, I’d consider it a success.
That happened.
So yes — by my own definition,
I am successful.
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