This town is pretty drunk. I know there are plenty of drunk towns the world over, but sometimes the dominant factor that alcohol is around here is almost suffocating. Drink cuz you’re happy, drunk cuz you’re sad, drink cuz you’re bored. Better bring beer to the softball game. Of course we’re going to the bar after the funeral. Naturally the volleyball league is at the bar. Somebody posted a list of the 20 Most Hungover Cities in America on the Book a couple of weeks ago and the last 15 years of my life was listed, so maybe I’m not completely crazy in my feelings. It’s just the overall attitude about alcohol around here that is troubling. A DUI arrest is like a right of passage around here. I actually heard someone say it was just her turn since everybody does it. I know people who willingly ride with people who are shitfaced drunk because there appeared to be no other way to get home. Balls.
Don’t get me wrong. I still like to enjoy a Buckler. I still like to go out and socialize sometimes. I make a living by serving people and plenty of what I serve includes alcohol. This isn’t a rant about banning booze. I promise. There is a place in some people’s lives for a glass of wine with dinner or a drink after work. I accepted long ago that I wasn’t one of those people and I would have to learn to live in their world.
The interesting part about being a sober person that hangs out in bars is witnessing the pervasive, nasty way that chronic alcoholism has a hold on some people. I am well aware that I could hit the door at any time. And sometimes I have to because sometimes it’s just too much, like the anger I feel building when I see someone laughing at a woman who is so drunk she pissed her pants. Just another day for the bartender. I guess we all have our own normal. I couldn’t help but wonder if that wouldn’t have been me if I had stayed on my path. There but for the grace of something divine I am still trying to fathom.
But this rambling does have a point. Sometimes you have to stay close to the monster, just so you remember that it bites.
There were moments this fall when I was ready to say fuck it. Drinking is just so much easier. It’s less interesting, less rewarding, more disappointing, more expensive, well you get the point, but it’s easier in that moment. That’s sort of what drinking was for me, an easy way to say fuck it and not have to deal with anything. I don’t question why I was lucky enough to learn to live without booze at a relatively young age. Sometimes I wonder how, but always decide it’s a fruitless convo and I should put the energy into being grateful I am where I am right now.
I have had more conversations with old drunks that I can count. Those people have some damned regrets. Things they wanted to do with their lives, messed up marriages, you fill in the blanks. The thread that is always woven into the story is the loneliness. The 60 year old always wants to go back and tell the 30 year old to not let that girl get away. The 60 year old can’t get back the time with the kids since the kids are grown up now and learned to get along without. I guess in the end all we want is to be loved.
I think you gotta let your soul shine, as Chef Boy would say, in order to really be loved. Too much of anything will hide that light, my friends. The key here is hide, not extinguish. I don’t think anyone is ever a lost cause. Sure, the habits do get harder to dissolve the longer they go on, but then I’m just back to hope. ☺
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