Adios Las Vegas

Reflections on sobriety two decades removed from jackassery

I love this idea of returning to places that you visited in the past with fresh eyes. 

It’s easy to think that this only applies to memories long forgotten in the past (literally in this case here for me). The reality is that this change happens every day of our lives. We tire of the same grocery store, the same job, the same routine. One day all is good and the next its not, like a spider tickling your arm hair until you finally notice. 

The big ones, the trips back to places in our past, are much more pronounced in their impacts. It’s why certain people, places, and things trigger us. It’s not exclusive to addiction by the way, though it just feels poignant from where I sit overlooking the Sphere. 

It’s visiting family or friends you haven’t seen in ages, or returning to your high school or college reunion, and both sides assuming that the old version they knew of the other is still relevant. 

We’re discounting the changes and the progress that we’ve made. 

That’s how I feel about Las Vegas. 

Over twenty years removed now from the last time I came here drinking, the lights look the same and the slots sound the same. Technology and “progress” abound, but if your eyes are open, it’s still the same place at its core.

A place for the dreamers, the schemers, and the in-betweeners. 

I didn’t place a bet. 

I didn’t want a drink. 

I went to bed at 10 pm and woke up at 6 am. 

In ID only am I the same person.

If you’re wondering about the title, I didn’t title it Leaving Las Vegas for a reason. 

The movie, if you’ve seen it was an Oscar winner for Nicholas Cage, who played a drunk whose goal was to drink himself to death in Sin City. To say the movie is painful to watch for me is to sugarcoat it. 

I’m not here bent on self-destruction anymore. 

Such is the beauty of time from the people we once were. The longer it is, the easier it is to forget who that person was, but I don’t think we should forget, because to do so would rob us of something important; the ability to see how far we’ve come. 

I still remember the good times with my best friends, but I’d be just as happy to come here now with them and see a show or go for a hike. More so, because I’ll remember the specifics and not risk life, limb, or reputation in the process. 

Adios Las Vegas. 

Maybe we’ll never meet again. 

If that’s the case, thank you—for the good and the bad, the spicy and the bland, the forgotten and the remembered.

I’ll also thank you for taking my money then and giving me enough sense to keep it now. 

EO