One of the oddest social questions people ask is why I rarely drink. Not whether I want a drink. Not what I’d like instead. But why. As if there must be some dramatic backstory.
“No, really. Why don’t you drink?”
The assumption seems to be that there has to be a reason. Maybe I’m a recovering alcoholic. No. Maybe alcoholics run in my family, and I want to be careful. Yes, but there’s more to it than that. Maybe I had some terrible experience (aside from not showing up for work one day while in college, no). Maybe I’m on medication. Yes, but who isn’t as you get older and none say I can’t drink. Maybe I belong to a religion that forbids it. No.
The full, larger reason is much less interesting. I simply don’t drink very often. That’s it.
What I find interesting is that people rarely turn the question around.
Why do you drink? Now there’s a question. I actually did turn it around on someone who asked why I don’t drink and the puzzled reaction I got was priceless. He never did answer me.
Most people aren’t drinking because they enjoy conducting a detailed tasting analysis of the subtle notes in a craft IPA. They’re drinking because it helps them relax. It helps them unwind after work. It helps them forget about deadlines, bills, politics, traffic, family drama, or whatever else is rattling around inside their heads.
In other words, they’re looking for exactly the same thing I am. The only difference is how we get there. Some people pour a glass of wine or go for a walk. Some people read a book or spend an afternoon fishing, playing golf, going for a drive, or spending an hour or two in a coffee shop talking with friends. We’re all trying to accomplish roughly the same thing: take the edge off life for a while.
I have nothing against people who enjoy a drink. Have one. Have two. Enjoy yourself. What puzzles me is the assumption that anyone who doesn’t drink much needs to explain themselves.
Nobody interrogates the guy ordering a gin and tonic or a beer. Nobody demands a detailed justification from someone enjoying a glass of red wine. Yet order a club soda, iced tea, or coffee and suddenly you’re being cross-examined like a witness in a courtroom.
“Come on. There must be a reason.”
There is. I don’t feel like drinking. That should be enough.
johnberkovich.com 