Why drunk people are boring

The first thing you should know about sobriety is this: It will not magically solve all your problems, and it will create a set of new ones. Photo / Getty

The end of Dry July is here. For Alex McKinnon, it coincides with a particularly poignant personal milestone.

July 29 marked one year since I decided to quit drinking. It happened half by accident, half by choice, and came after a few years of half-hearted New Year's resolutions and attempts to cut back.

I drank for the reasons lots of people drink - to ease into unfamiliar social situations; to take the edge off my workday; to liven up a dull evening; or just for the enjoyment.

I never considered myself dependent on alcohol, but I began to feel uncomfortable with my reasons for drinking. Even when I had a fresh beer in front of me, I was anxious about where the next one was coming from.

Eventually, I got bored of feeling guilty every time I had a drink and decided to give up booze for three months and see how I went. I used Hello Sunday Morning, an app that lets you set goals and rewards you meeting them with meaningless but helpful points and inducements, like Candy Crush.

I was sceptical, but it worked. When the three months was up, I figured I could do three more. After a while, it seemed pointless to give up the progress I'd made.

I only stuffed up once, in January, when my new boss handed me a glass of what turned out to be Campari and soda. Eager to make a good first impression and terrified of rocking the boat at my own welcome lunch, I drank it without asking what was in it.

This was a mistake. When you go without alcohol for a while, the smallest amount can make you sway like a sock on a wonky clothesline. I spent the next hour trying not to fall over.

The first thing you should know about sobriety is this: It will not magically solve all your problems, and it will create a set of new ones.

Even when your friends get over the initial disappointment that you won't be getting soused with them anymore, there's a certain loneliness to being the only sober one at the party.

Despite drinking levels falling steadily over the last few decades, out-and-out abstainers are still quite rare, making up just 22% of Australians older than 13. That lack of familiarity can throw some people, and make those first interactions a little awkward to navigate.

Your tolerance for people will go down drastically. Drunk people have no idea how boring they can be, but if you do this, you will learn. If you aren't crazy about the people in your workplace, after-work drinks will become even more intolerable than they were before.

Most of all, you will miss the taste of your favourite drink. I miss beer. And red wine. And gin, surprisingly. Ginger beer and soda water are decent replacements when you're at the pub, but nursing a soft drink when everyone else has a cocktail in hand makes you feel like a kid at a wedding sometimes.

Now for the good stuff. I lost five kilos without doing a thing. For someone who hates exercise, that's a big deal. My skin is clearer, and I've lost that slightly ruddy look white guys who drink too much start to get in their mid-twenties.

I get a better night's sleep.

I have depression, and giving up drinking made the bad days rarer and easier to handle. Not having alcohol as a crutch has forced me to confront the anxiety I feel in social situations, and made me a better listener.

I've also saved an insane amount of money. Before I gave up booze completely, I spent six months recording how much I drank, and how much I spent doing it. I averaged about 30 drinks and roughly $135 a month, meaning my year of living soberly has saved me about $1,600. That's not enough for a house deposit, but it is plenty of avocado brunches.

There were lots of nights out where I was tempted to shrug, give up this weird, difficult experiment and order a beer. But the next morning, I never once found myself wishing I had.

Giving up alcohol is frustrating, confronting and troublesome. But it's absolutely worth it.