Promises. Guarantees. Assurances.

How many times have we committed to doing things, but not right now,  soon, of course, but at another time?

How many times have we put our ironclad word on a direction for our lives, only to find that rubberclad or elasticclad are more accurate descriptors of our word?

How many commitments have we failed? How many guarantees ended up as casual avoidance?  How many assurances result in “I hope no one notices that I’m not doing this anymore?”

I’m guilty.  I like to think that I have an extremely high follow through on edicts and pledges compared to most.  But I still fail.  I still waffle and vacillate.  And I still exclaim boldly, only to half-heartedly dedicate myself regarding my prideful boasts.

I most often find myself violating the self-bolstering imperative when it comes to beer.  I like to try many different kinds of beers.  I travel far and wide to discover uniqueness.  I search high and low for rare and exotic flavors.  I share and exchange in the interest of trying new beers.

And then I place them in a cabinet.

Its true, I admit it.  I seek out new, exciting, and potentially delicious beers, and I put them on a shelf.

Why?

Well, if I have only one bottle, then I consume that bottle, its gone; and it would take considerable effort to track it down again.  (Alternatively, the brewery gets bigger, the distribution larger, and the beer I initially sought so diligently for, becomes available en masse.)

I’m saving it for a special occasion.  This is a mildly valid approach, depending on your circle of friends and what they appreciate.  But, when you have more than, lets put the limit on, twenty special occasions, it’s time to generate your own special occasion, one where you simply enjoy that delicious beer.

I want to share it with my friends.  Again, I say this is valid, to a point.  Waiting longer than six months to share that special brew, though, means its time to reconsider your special friends, or how rare that brew really is.

I just need a few more, or I need multiples.  If this is applicable, drink the one you have first, then decide if you need more.  Not trying a beer because you need to have a backup is truthfully, an absolutely stupid pretense.

My point, and humble admission, is that I am guilty of all of these.  Yes, I am reaffirming that I am guilty of all of these errors of judgement and beer etiquette.  The worst of it all, is that I’ve committed these transgressions multiple times.

What do I have as compensation for this incomprehensibly poor decision making?

I have a litany of bottles that I’ve ogled and never tried. I have an unreasonable collection, that is more that I could hope to consume.  I have beers collecting dust that I had forgotten that I even owned.

I have mountains of good intentions, a bevy of delayed enjoyments, and an expanse of avoided discovery.

The problem with all of this stored potential, is that no one can promise me tomorrow.  No one can guarantee what will happen to me when the sun rises.  No one can remove the insecurities I have when I lay down to sleep or the trepidation when I rise.  No one can hold my hand, clinch it firmly, look me in the eye and say, “I promise you, tomorrow will be like this.”

Ergo, I am making an effort to purge myself of bad, hoarding habits. I am thinning the “cellar” and experiencing what I should have already been enjoying.  I am pulling the singles that I have yet to try, and yes, in spirit of consideration, I am sharing generously with friends.

Tonight, I am enjoying a beer that was given to me by someone without the hoarding/cellaring hangups.  He wanted to drink what he had, didn’t want to cellar, and was given to share as much as possible.  In our brief time together we shared great beer, had incredible laughs, and a carefree sense of being. We drove around singing with the windows down and the music way up, listening to old rap song and random pop hits.

Sadly, at this very moment, he’s on a hospital bed, in critical condition.  Thankfully, it seems he will pull through. He was assaulted and stabbed multiple times.  I truly doubt at this moment, that he has any care in the world for a beer, he is probably simply willing himself towards another day.  I sincerely wish him the best, and wish him the swiftest recovery.

How fragile are we? How tenuous is our grasp on our world?  How much sense does it make to stash and hoard things that we aren’t willing to give, share, or even delight in for ourselves?  How much sense does it make to pointlessly promise and to not follow through?  Why would we bury our enjoyment away?  Why would we wait for the safe, logical opportunities to have new experiences?

Why would we live afraid?

Humbly yours,

J