Drinking Has Taken Me Places

But now I’m going home

Over the hills of western Pennsylvania. Photo by author.

Oh, the places I’ve seen and the drinks I’ve drunk.

I know the difference between a lager and a pilsner. I know what hops are used in most IPAs and love a good, resiny double IPA. I love Belgians and Lambics, Marźens and Oatmeal Stouts, sours and saisons.

I prefer bourbon over scotch because I don’t like the peatiness of scotch, and I’ll drink a good Irish whiskey over a Canadian any day. I prefer gin over vodka simply because of the fresh flavor, and I’ve had enough Macallan 18 to know it’s amazing.

I know my way around a bottle of wine, and know that I prefer dark, smoky, dry cabernets or pinot noirs over fruity pinot grigios or chardonnays.

I know what cinnamon whiskey, Yukon Jack, spiced rum, and 1800 taste like. I know how to properly prepare and drink a Snake Bite and an Irish Car Bomb.

I’ve even been in handcuffs in the back of a police car on my way to jail.

And I don’t miss any of it.

As valuable as all those life-skills are, they no longer serve my needs. It’s disturbing to try and sum up all that consumption because it really sounds like a lot. And I guess it really is. Alcohol has taken me to some amazing places. It is part of my journey whether I like it or not.