What It’s Like to Party Sober (and Actually Have Fun)

Dance Marathon at Salon Amador, Medellín, Colombia – A sea of movement, music, and pure connection. No alcohol, just people dancing their hearts out at 9am. The definition of pure unadulterated fun.

I went to a sober dance marathon this morning. Yes, you read that right—a dance marathon. At 9am in one of Medellín’s top techno clubs. It was a Saturday morning, the kind that normally screams slow coffee and cats in sunbeams, but there I was, surrounded by beautiful people, pulsing music, and the electric hum of a city that feels alive even when the rest of the world is sleeping in.

And for the first time in forever, I felt something I’ve rarely felt in a nightlife setting: completely normal.

I looked around the sea of smiling, sweating humans, all moving without shame or substances, and thought, welcome to my world, bitches.

This event was genius in its design. We all downloaded the Strava app to track our steps and compete for “most distance danced.” No drinks. No drugs. Just cardio, techno, and dopamine on tap. By the time we hit the second hour, people were dropping in and out of their own little worlds, and I was in mine, brimming with gratitude.

Because this? This is what I thought I’d have to give up forever when I got sober.

Can You Still Enjoy Nightlife After Getting Sober?

The night has always been my sanctuary.

I basically hit puberty in a warehouse, dancing under the rich tapestry of moonlight, strobes, and lasers, where my sweat felt like baptism and the bassline was therapy. The night was where I could disappear and reinvent myself all at once. It was where I first tasted freedom, first explored my identity, and first dared to love myself enough to admit I was gay (thanks, ecstasy!).

The night gave me everything: friendships in every city I stumbled into, summer flings that burned fast and bright, a sense of connection that felt bigger than me. I found catharsis on the dance floor. I found pieces of myself in the music, in the laughter, in the eyes of strangers who saw me before I could see myself.

One of my biggest reservations in early sobriety was having to forfeit the night. I knew the night would be one of my greatest losses.

There’s this stupid little saying I always used to here in recovery rooms:

“If you don’t want a haircut, don’t hang out in the barbershop.”

And look, this saying exists for a reason. It comes from a good place. In early sobriety, you have to protect the hell out of yourself. Your sobriety is a fragile newborn that needs swaddling and supervision. Baby yourself. Avoid triggers where you can. Build a system for what to do when one surprises you. Because in those early months, perhaps even years, you are not yet bulletproof, and pretending you are is how people relapse.

Even the Big Book of AA talks about how, in true recovery, we eventually “recoil from alcohol as if from a hot flame.” That day comes, but not at first.

So yes, I nodded along when old-timers in the rooms tossed out this “barbershop” cliché, but inside I was thinking, Fine. I’ll accept this… for now. I knew in my gut this would not be my reality forever. I didn’t survive addiction just to exile myself from the very spaces that made me feel alive. I didn’t get sober to trade my life for fluorescent lights and lukewarm LaCroix. I had festivals left on my bucket list, a dream of Burning Man, and thousands of memories still waiting to be made.

I was determined to reclaim my night. Someday.

My First Time Going Out Sober (and Feeling Like Bambi on Ice)

After one year completely sober, I was visiting my family in Arizona and thought, I’m ready. It was time to test myself in the wild.

I knew exactly where I’d go, a dodgy bar downtown that I loved for its drag shows. I texted my ride-or-die friends (none in recovery, but all fiercely loyal) and told them to expect play-by-play updates. If anything felt off, they’d be my lifeline.

I walked in like I owned the place and lasted exactly... 27 minutes.

No, I wasn’t tempted. Nor triggered. I was just fucking awkward as hell.

I watched a drag queen perform for fifteen minutes. I made a few awkward laps around the bar. I forced myself to pee like 3 times, clinging to a Red Bull as if it was my emotional support beverage.

I felt like a newborn deer wobbling around, my legs made of glass. But it was also a quiet victory. I left with my intention set:

One day, I will be able to walk into any space—day or night—and feel completely comfortable in my skin.

That seed took years to grow, but it did. And this morning, in a sober techno marathon in Medellín, I realized: I really have arrived.

Sober Nightlife Is Its Own Superpower

There’s something about being sober in a bar, festival, or club, that almost feels like a flex. As arrogant as it sounds, one of my favorite things about being sober is this:

I’m kind of amazing from the first moment you meet me.

There’s no waiting for the buzz to kick in, no awkward “warming up” to connection. I’ve already arrived as my highest, most alive self—at 9:02 am, thank you very much.

Meanwhile, everyone else is chasing the state I wake up in. They’re two hours and fourteen drinks away from meeting me where I already live. And honestly? I think I make some people uncomfortable because of it. They usually circle back after a few drinks, though.

I’ve also realized a hard truth that would have killed me in my twenties:

Some people are just so damn painfully boring. Like without a single interesting molecule.

I used to drink to make people interesting. I used to dumb myself down, dim my inner wattage by half, just to vibe with the room. Now I don’t.

The result? I attract the other real ones. The people who are living fully awake. They always find me. We gravitate toward each other like we’ve been waiting our whole lives to say, Oh thank God, someone else is here!

Sober Fun Is Real, and It’s Beautiful

This morning, dancing sober in Medellín, I felt it: the magic of fun that doesn’t require a little baggie or a flask.

It was proof that joy doesn’t require intoxication. That you can sweat, move, laugh, and belong without numbing a single nerve ending. “Sober fun” is its own kind of high, the kind that follows you home and tucks you into bed instead of leaving you on the bathroom floor, or worse, in the bed with a stranger.

Do I sometimes miss the unpredictability of my old nights? The “Where will we end up?” thrill? Sure. Now the most suspense I get is “Which telegram conspiracy theory video will I fall asleep to tonight?”

But I wouldn’t trade the life I have for anything.

We Need More Unadulterated Nights: Why Sober Parties and Alcohol-Free Nightlife Matter

This morning was a revelation. We need more spaces like this. More sober events that are alive with music, beauty, and connection. More reminders that joy, in its purest form, is accessible to all of us.

I spent years thinking I had to surrender the night to save my life. Today reminded me that I never lost it—I just needed to reclaim it on my own terms. And It really took about 4 years into my recovery journey before I truly mastered the art of knowing how to party sober.

And in that crowded club under the Medellín sun, moving in sync with strangers who were as awake as I was, I felt something bigger than joy.

I felt home.