Navigating My Friend's Journeys Into Sobriety — A Puzzling Expedition
More and more of my friends have gone sober. Recalibrating our friendships has been a unique experience.
Once upon a time, it was rare to meet an adult who abstained from alcohol; today, however, this is rapidly changing. Over the last decade, shifts in health consciousness and our growing addictions to technology and smartphones have fostered (not necessarily a good thing) a new reality where alcohol is no longer seen or needed to create meaningful connections. Today, I find myself with five close friends who no longer drink — a stark contrast to ten years ago, when I doubt I could have named even one. As I navigate my friendships during this transition — a shift I fully support — I find myself pondering several questions about how our connections evolve within this changing landscape of alcohol culture.
Let’s get to it.
For starters, one of the first things that comes to mind when I think of drinking and its prominence within our culture is from an interview I did in June of 2021 with UBC Professor Edward Slingerland. He joined me on my to discuss his then-new book, Drunk: How We Sipped, Danced, and Stumbled Our Way to Civilization. The central thesis of Professor Slingerland’s book was that, as a species, we evolved through cooperation and bonding, much of which only transpired because of our predilection for drinking. It was the drinking that helped loosen us up, thus fueling the cooperation needed to grow and adapt as a species. But the thing is, back then, what were used as so-called “social lubricants” were moderate, low-alcohol wines and beers. The alcohol content in them was of low quality and quantity. What we’ve altered and changed since is the evolution and invention of distillation (higher-proof spirits like vodka and tequila), which, as you can imagine, has transformed and advanced how we consume and act while under heavier doses of alcohol.
Here’s a quote from Drunk that aptly describes our current relationship with alcohol:
“An alcoholic beverage typically provides calories but little nutritional value, and is made from otherwise valuable, and historically scarce, grains and fruit. Its consumption impairs cognition and motor skills, damages the liver, kills off brain cells, and fuels ill-advised dancing, flirting, fighting, and even more louche behaviours. In small doses, it can make us happy and more sociable. But increased consumption quickly leads to slurred speech, violent arguments, maudlin expressions of love, inappropriate touching, or even karaoke. While getting completely wasted can induce ecstatic experiences of selflessness and group bonding, it also often leads to vomiting, injuries, blackouts, ill-advised tattoos, and serious property damage. And let’s not even get started on hangovers.” — Page 6.
With this excerpt in mind, what I find remarkably surprising is that Professor Slingerland’s book came out precisely as the tide for non-alcoholic drinks and going dry altogether started to gather steam. It was as if he wrote his book to combat the ensuing wave of those wanting to go sober, knowing of the possible social consequences this produces. For context, according to , 2023 represented the lowest per capita consumption of alcohol in Canada, as drinking has decreased by eight per cent since 2008. Within that same report, 50 per cent of Gen Z and Millennials have cut back on drinking altogether. As a result, alcohol sales have across the country, while the sale of low and no-alcohol alternatives is on the rise. I’ve discussed as much on several past episodes and
This brings me to my personal angle with this idea, that I now have five close friends who have gone sober in the past few years. Each has done so for varying reasons, though all have held firm that their drinking days are now over for good. An example I’d like to share is about one friend I have in particular who quit drinking with productivity and being less hungover as a father in mind. He’s someone who prefers getting up early in the morning, so those nights of five or six beers had their number in his eyes. Initially, it took him a bit of getting used to the idea of being in a bar as a sober person and what that entailed. He’s still a little uncomfortable, as he sees the idea of ordering anything other than a soda water as a waste of time. I’ve tried suggesting the many delicious non-alcoholic beers B.C. now produces at his disposal, which no matter what I say, he continues to politely decline. In his eyes, though a non-alcoholic beverage may taste good, the idea of drinking something that “tastes” like a beer but isn’t actually one doesn’t appeal. For me personally, losing that connection of going to a brewery with him and being excited to have a few beers and good conversation together has, sadly, lost its charm in a way. His interest in that sort of thing is long gone. I get it, and I’ll never push the idea, as it's been an adaptation I’m more than happy to accept, though there is a part of me who wishes I could have the odd beer with him. I feel bad about thinking this at times, but I think it’s because it was how he and I initially connected. We worked together when we first met, and after a long shift, we’d go out for snacks and a drink. It was never much more than two or three, but that activity was really fun, and I enjoyed how it forged our friendship.
To contrast my thoughts here, I do concede the joys of evolving friendships, no matter how they happen. I’m happy for my friend and the choice he’s made. But I often wonder how or if our friendship would have started or evolved had we not initially bonded through after-work drinks and food. Would we have built that bond despite the absence of alcohol? Probably, but I’m not sure.
This is partly why I wanted to write this column, as it appears that drinking, for all its history, relevance, and importance within our society, seems, at present, to be a slowly dying pastime. Therefore, with all this in mind, one question perplexes me: If we’re to look at Professor Slingerland’s book and its overall narrative as it relates to drinking specifically, is a drop even a good thing?
Even as I remark on the changes I see and witness within my friends, I can’t help but always wonder if pulling away from alcohol will hurt how we socialize as a society going forward. The irony of such a thought is how much growth I’ve seen within the non-alcoholic drinks sector at my bar and within the broader community, which in a way somewhat contradicts a bit of Professor Slingerland’s book thesis that a little imbibing does aid in our collective being more open and social with one another. The clear rise of this sector shows that for a new brand of consumer, young people, for the most part, drinking really isn’t of any interest. But even as I write this, there’s a reality of our situation as a society that we’re tipping further and further away from each other.
According to the Canadian Centre on Substance Use and Addiction, , with health and mental clarity cited as the top reasons. Meanwhile, , and the non-alcoholic beverage market in Canada is projected to . These aren’t just blips – they’re structural shifts in how we relate to alcohol and, by extension, one another.
At the same time, Canada is grappling with rising levels of social isolation. A 2021 survey found that 13% of Canadians aged 15 and older report feeling lonely “always” or “often,” a number that jumps to nearly 25% among those aged 15 to 24 — the same age group leading the charge away from alcohol. People living alone, especially, are more vulnerable: 24% of them report frequent loneliness, more than double the rate of those living with others. These figures suggest that as our habits around drinking shift, so too may the informal social spaces — bars, parties, communal rituals — that once helped buffer against
Social connections are not just beneficial but essential to our well-being. According to the (CDC), strong social bonds can help protect against serious illnesses and diseases, including heart disease, stroke, dementia, depression, and anxiety. Conversely, the absence of these connections can lead to increased risks of mental health issues and chronic diseases.
In this context, the decline in traditional social drinking venues may have unintended consequences. While the move towards reduced alcohol consumption reflects positive health choices, it also necessitates the creation of new avenues for social interaction. Without intentional efforts to foster social bonds through alternative means, we risk exacerbating feelings of isolation and loneliness, particularly among younger demographics already reporting high levels of these experiences.
Therefore, considering all this, if, as Professor Slingerland argues, alcohol has long served as a biological shortcut to trust and social cohesion, then this cultural retraction poses an open question: What takes its place? Are we, as a society, about to lose an unspoken catalyst for closeness – or are we simply transitioning to a slower, more intentional mode of connection? Probably a bit of both, but I’m not sure.
Maybe our evolution away from alcohol isn’t a loss, but an experiment in something more sustainable – an attempt to rewire how we bond, without relying on the crutch of intoxication. The data tells one story. The emotional experience of that shift – especially among friends – tells another. I guess we’ll see.
