This Conga Line Was Heading Toward A Cliff. That’s When I Knew I Needed To Stop Partying.

LOWER EAST SIDE—I had always enjoyed partying, but I knew someday this habit might turn for the worse. When this conga line started walking over the edge of a cliff, I knew my days of partying had to stop.

When you get to your late thirties, most of your friends have quit the party scene to pursue love, start a family, or bolster their career. Unlike them, I never had a reason to leave the scene. At 37, I’d spend five nights a week just hopping from club to club to meadow to ravine. Sometimes parties would last until the dawning hours, and we’d go out of the city and frolic in the rolling hills of Long Island. The inclines were usually manageable, but I knew that someday they might be more than I could handle.

Those days of hill-scaling were some of the greatest times in my life, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Cupid-shuffling up a steep hill with a great group of friends is the greatest feeling in the world. But when you get to the top, suddenly you begin to question the choices you’ve made. You’re on top of the world, but the only way down is to follow a conga line off a cliff.

As the conga line headed toward the edge, I knew that I couldn’t live this life any longer. So I deviated from the line, taking everyone behind me along. I walked back to the nearest subway station, seven miles away, and went straight to my bed. I had one last molly orgy before kissing the lifestyle good-bye for good.