This is the third installment in a four-part series. Missed the first piece or second piece? Catch up now and check back next week for the final installment.
It’s a Wednesday night, and I’m sitting in a living room with weed elite: the Cannabitch herself, SDM Content Strategist Jackie Bryant. As someone who wants to loosen the grip of alcohol—and has lived with anxiety for over 20 years—I realized that perhaps it’s time I tried being “California Sober.”
Last week, after posting my second installment of this Dry January series to my personal Instagram, I began having a mild panic attack. I was terrified, scared of offending people. I was worried about betraying trusts and being seen as a poser—that sharing my struggles will show that I’m not dedicated or equipped enough to really go for full, month-long sobriety.
I felt weak. I felt ashamed. I felt thirsty.
My anxiety led me to Bottlecraft in North Park, where I ordered a glass of Field Recordings’ skin-contact blend. This glass is “strike three” in my month-long quest at teetotaling. I’m immediately disappointed but relieved. It did the trick at quelling my thoughts, even one sip in. But I can’t rely on alcohol to save me from my fears. That’s the whole point of this experiment. I need to make changes in myself that will lead to changes in my relationship with alcohol.
Today, I’m staring at a can of Wynk, a THC- and CBD-infused seltzer that brands itself as the “still-social way to stay technically dry” and wondering if this could be my path forward, away from alcohol. The brand comes in 2.5 mg or 5 mg doses inside a 12-fluid ounce can. Each has an onset time of 10 to 15 minutes.
Honestly, I’ve always thought of being California sober as cheating. How can one drug be allowed while the other can’t, and you still get to call yourself “sober?” It was a conundrum that made me a little judgmental, but I’m not a smoker. Despite growing up in Maui, the wowie never caught my attention. We all have our vices, and mine just wasn’t weed. But because of my lack of interest, I’m curious if this will be less tempting and remain an occasional activity, rather than a more compulsive one. It’s a lateral move, sure, but one that, as of now, I’m less apt to crave. Let’s just say, I don’t think I’ll be subscribing to High Times anytime soon.
“If being California sober is the thing that’s going to keep you safe and keep you alive, why not, right?,” says Dr. Katarina Thatcher of Monima Wellness Center, which values harm reduction for people who struggle with substance use. “But it’s also, once again, coming from the idea of: It’s not the substance that’s the issue. It’s your relationship with the substance that then becomes the issue, right?”
That’s where I’m at. It’s not the alcohol that’s the problem per se, it’s my savior complex that keeps bringing me back to it; thinking that it’s the only antidote for my anxiety. In these last two weeks of not really drinking, I’ve seen a noticeable difference in my concentration and overall ambition. Drinking less has let me see how much time I’ve wasted—and, thankfully, how much time I still have left to devote to myself and my future.
My relationships have been richer and more honest. Even my editors have noticed my writing becoming stronger. We all know there are benefits to not drinking, but experiencing them and having to reflect on them in real time has taught me that this substance is holding me back from becoming the person I was truly meant to become.
“Behaviorally, I think there’s almost no comparison, and there are medical studies that back that up,” Jackie tells me as I share with her my concerns about trading one intoxicating substance for another. “The way that alcohol and THC manifest in my own body and my own behavior are completely different, and I think that’s a fairly universal truth because they are chemically different intoxicants. Stereotypes are what they are for a reason, and the stereotypes of being drunk and behaving wildly versus being super stoned and more relaxed tend to bear out in real life. Both substances lower your inhibitions, but for different reasons and in different ways with different outcomes.”
Dr. Thatcher’s words echoed in my head all week as I reflected on my desire to drink. So, to knock me off my high horse and keep me away from the perils of consumption, I decided to delve into the Cali sober way, which means trading in weed in lieu of alcohol when those anxious cravings come—and hopefully use this alternative to wean my knee-jerk reaction to “need” something to curb the anxiety entirely.
Gummies sound fun, but I still love the act of drinking and all its social tie-ins, so I opted for a beverage. Founded by CEO Angus Rittenburg, Wynk launched in 2021 with a mission to help change the landscape of drinking and wellness in general. “People are so in tune with their health now,” Rittenburg says. “I think it’s revealing a lot about alcohol consumption that is scaring people, and for a lot of the sort of negative impacts of alcohol that you’re sacrificing to get that social buzz. These THC-infused beverages can fill that void without all of those downsides, but particularly calories and damage to your body—[THC] is not a poison.”
I opt for the 5 mg can to see how it might affect my virgin palate. My friend slyly grins as I crack open the can. I set a timer for 10 minutes. Here we go…
It creeps up on you, but subtly. The flavor is the biggest wow factor—it doesn’t taste at all like weed. While it’s not quite capturing the “juicy mango” flavor it’s purported to have, there’s a tinge of La Croix–like fruitiness amongst a robust mousse of bubbles that help mimic the feel of a White Claw or a soda-based cocktail. Basically, it goes down easily.
Fifteen minutes in and I’m feeling very relaxed. I’m glued to the TV and the ottoman that’s holding me up. I try to make a comment about the movie we’re watching, and when I can’t back it up with facts, anecdotal evidence, or logic, I realize I am stoned. Jackie calls me out. “Stony baloney!” she crows.
But, after the movie is over, so is my high. This was the perfect mellowing out that I needed. “So, with a 2.5 mg drink, we could have one and be ourselves … or we could have six and, just like alcohol, you could build the experience you wanted,” Rittenburg explains.
I realize I am a lightweight, but much like alcohol, one builds a tolerance. For now, I’ll stick with one 5 mg can to achieve my ideal chill. Unfortunately, Wynk is only available online in California (no retail locations as of yet, thanks to state regulations), so I’ll have to stock up to have one on hand for the occasional party or dinnertime wind-down instead of a bottle of wine.
Jackie texts me the morning after. “How do you feel?” she asks. Honestly, I feel great. I haven’t slept that well in ages and I was up-and-at-’em enough to do a morning workout, which is a marked difference from the sluggish lie-in that I usually have after a night of drinking. She presses me for more info: “Are you going to stick with it? Are you going to cut back for good?”
Those questions linger in my head all day long as I navigate social gatherings, time with family, and my own anxieties. This has certainly opened my eyes to other options that make for a seamless alternative to drinking, without any of the side-effects that come with it. Will I be exclusively Cali Sober? Doubtful. But I do have one more tool in my arsenal to avoid the pitfalls of maladaptive behavior, which could unintentionally lead to dependence.
My excursion in weed has taught me that I don’t revere substances. I revere calm. I seek peace. I want to trust myself, in my pure, unadulterated form—because, from what I’ve been told by family and friends, that woman is downright wonderful. But it’s really, really hard for me to do. I want to love myself without any help. Maybe this Cali Sober experience is the training wheels I need to get me there.
