As someone who’s spent a decade working in NYC media, I’ve experienced the best and worst of the party lifestyle. I might be poor (like I said, I’m a journalist), but eking out a living writing about pop culture means there’s always a party or a publicist with an expense account nearby.

But my five- to six-night party schedule had started to take its toll. Weight gain, unusual sweating patterns, constant headaches, an empty wallet… It wasn’t looking pretty. When offered the chance to go all Morgan Spurlock for a month, I thought it might do me a world of good. I didn’t think it would be that hard; I had already completed a strict weeklong fast over the summer on my own accord, and my assignment guidelines (10pm curfew, a maximum of one alcoholic drink per day, no hanging out with more than five people at a time if booze is involved) seemed reasonable.

“Oh, so you’re going to be like us for a month,” said more than one of my married-with-kids friends. “Big deal.”

“That’s stupid,” said my girlfriend, more succinctly.

And so I embarked on my month of detox. Fortunately, a very hurting Red Bull/vodka open-bar the night before my project started helped persuade me about the power of sobriety.

First, I decided to replace “fun” with constructive activities. I jotted down 25 things I wanted to accomplish while on leave from revelry, most of them involving mind expansion (museums! volunteering!) or tackling annoying projects I had pushed off for years (transferring my balance to a new credit card with a low APR!). And for the first week, I did pretty well. I exercised more, cooked every night, woke up at 8am on weekends… I felt constructive.

But there’s only so much bill paying, apartment cleaning and lifestyle enhancement one can do before hitting a wall. I got tired of explaining why I couldn’t go out (and hearing “I could never do that”). My project list went untouched; apparently, I’d never be in the mood to “volunteer” or “finish my Christmas shopping in November.” And when I ran into drunken friends, I noticed something: When you’re sober, drunken people are assholes.

Come early December, when I finished the project, I was more than ready to go back to my old lifestyle, with a few caveats. I liked how, for 30 days, my cramped apartment was clean, the kitchen was being used, and I was sleeping comfortably. My work production had skyrocketed, and my stress levels decreased. Most satisfying, though, was that I looked great—going down two pants sizes will give anyone confidence.

Overall, I learned to appreciate the quiet moments in New York, but also learned to savor the loud ’n’ boozy ones that much more. Now I know I can choose either way and be happy—which is a sobering lesson in itself.—Kirk Miller