Chapter Nine - Ritual, Romance, and Regret

CHAPTER NINE

Ritual, Romance, and Regret

IF YOU ZOOM out far enough, alcohol isn’t just a substance. It’s a language.

We use it to mark moments.
We use it to connect, to escape, to celebrate, and to cope.
It’s a toast. It’s a crutch. It’s an invitation. It’s a goodbye.

We drink because we’re happy.
We drink because we’re sad.
And sometimes we drink just because someone else is.

This chapter isn’t about getting drunk.
It’s about why we choose to.

Alcohol shows up everywhere emotions do.

At weddings, it loosens nerves and launches toasts. It’s the champagne of new beginnings, a sparkly symbol of joy and union.

At funerals, it shows up in flasks and dive bars, standing in for grief we don’t know how to say out loud.
“To him.”
“To her.”
“To the good ones gone.”

We don’t always have words for feelings.
But we almost always have a drink.

The most universally accepted icebreaker:
“Wanna grab a drink?”

It’s casual. It’s safe. It has an exit plan.
And most importantly, it comes with low expectations.

You’re not saying “Let’s fall in love.”
You’re saying “Let’s both get slightly less nervous and see if we’re tolerable.”

That first clink of glasses is a social contract:
I’m here. I’m open. I might embarrass myself slightly, and that’s okay.

Sometimes it works.
Sometimes it ends in chaos.
But the drink, for better or worse, becomes the middleman between two guarded people trying to connect.

Then there’s the midnight emotional “I love you” voicemail.
The 17-line text with no punctuation.
The FaceTime request with 1% battery and 99% delusion.

Drunk love isn’t fake.
It’s disinhibited.

You might really feel that love. You might have always felt it.
But sober-you never said it because you didn’t know how, or you were afraid of what it would mean.

Alcohol doesn’t invent feelings.
It amplifies them.

So when the bottle says, “Tell them,” a lot of people do.

And then the morning says, “Oh no.”

Drinking alone is where the ritual shifts.
From social to internal.
From performance to processing.

A glass of wine after work.
A nightcap with a cigarette.
A bottle shared with no one but silence.

Sometimes it’s relaxing.
Sometimes it’s healing.
Sometimes it’s a red flag waving in your own kitchen.

The question isn’t whether you’re alone.
It’s why you’re drinking when you are.

We attach alcohol to occasions so hard, we start inventing occasions just to drink.

Saint Patrick’s Day? Green beer.
Fourth of July? Coolers full of light beer.
Thanksgiving? Wine and passive aggression.
Tuesday? $2 margaritas.

It doesn’t matter what the event is.
We just want a reason.

Because drinking without purpose makes you look like you have a problem.
Drinking with a “cheers” makes you look like you’re living your best life.

And sometimes both are true.

There are few things more human than this:

You’re hurt.
You don’t know what to do with it.
So you pour something.

Maybe it helps. Maybe it hurts.
But it’s familiar.

Alcohol becomes a container for what we can’t say.
Grief. Joy. Nostalgia. Confession.
It holds it all, even if just for a night.

The regret doesn’t always come from drinking too much.
Sometimes it comes from drinking at all.

Because you meant it when you said “I love you.”
You meant it when you toasted to the future.
You meant it when you whispered goodbye to someone who wasn’t there anymore.

But the world doesn’t always take drunk words seriously.
And that’s the tragedy.

Some of our truest feelings only come out when we’re too blurry to defend them.