What Did I Miss?

February 3, 2026

I was at the grocery store today and met an old colleague of mine. A nice guy.  We worked at the same company for 25 years or so. I hadn’t seen him in ages.  Somehow, in our conversation we started talking about the concept of dry January, and the fact that I annually participated and just successfully completed this year’s wagon ride.  He asked if I had rushed right out for a cocktail on the first day of February.  I had not. I didn’t recall him being much of a drinker, but you never know.  I did notice he had a bottle of wine in his grocery cart. 

Over the course of our exchange, he made it quite clear that he was not a drinker, and he didn’t see the point of a dry January.  “Why not just make it a dry 2026, or dry lifetime, for that matter,” he proclaimed.  With an air of pride, he avowed that he, “rarely drank, and I wouldn’t miss it at all if I permanently quit”.  “I just don’t see the point”, he added. Then enquired, just as a part of the conversation, “Did you miss anything not drinking in January?” The question surprised me a little, I’m not sure why. But I just stood there, for what seemed like an eternity but was certainly only a few seconds, pondering a reply. But in just that flash of time I manifested a long string of thoughts.

I thought about how I missed that glass of wine I often have while cooking dinner. How I missed a beer with my pizza or hot wings while I watched a game. How good a glass of red wine would have tasted with that steak the other day, and how a Negroni before eating Italian food is just the best thing. Or how Mexican food to me, without a Margarita, just didn’t seem the same.

There were a ton of things I missed!  Simple things. I missed just sitting a bar with a frosty, cold beer in front of me, pausing a moment in anticipation of that first drink as pieces of ice slid down the side of the glass. I missed the way that icy beer would feel when the first gulp cooled your insides, all the way from your mouth to your stomach. I missed putting salt on my bar napkin, so my beer didn’t stick to it when I picked it up. I also missed that feeling, like you’re getting away with something, when you have a couple of beers at lunchtime.  

I recalled that there is nothing that can compare to the anticipation I feel when I hear the sound of a Martini being shaken. And how could I forget the special feeling I get going into my hangout bar and having them start my martini, or start pouring my beer, before I even get to my seat. Yes, I really missed those things.

I missed the people that I normally drink with, and the conversations that only seem to happen after a couple of drinks. That mix of nostalgia and camaraderie that only alcohol can illicit. I really missed that. I missed being able to smile quicker, laugh easier, and listen with more intent.

I missed the feeling of comfort I get from going into a place I’ve never been before, pulling a stool up to the bar and ordering. I missed talking to bartenders I’ve never met before. Or talking to one that I have known for so long I consider them a friend. I missed sitting next to a stranger at the bar and talking comfortably about anything. Often finding out we have a great deal in common, or nothing at all, but that it didn’t matter. I missed how interesting other people become when you’re having a drink or two

I even missed karaoke night, or just a jukebox, singing along, loud and proud, to songs I’ve heard a thousand times, and thinking that today, I sounded pretty good. Who wouldn’t miss that feeling of comfort you get in a dive bar full of people, knowing that we are all in the same boat. No matter who we are, or who we become, when we are outside of it.

But for me, it really comes down to one simple thing. Yes, there is one thing I missed the most throughout my self-imposed dry January. The fact of the matter is, drinking alcoholic beverages makes me feel like I wish I felt without drinking, but never do. Call it a flaw in my character. But that’s who I am. And that’s what I missed in a nutshell.

Yes, as odd as it may sound, I thought about all of those things in just that fraction of a moment. And then I replied, “Not a whole lot really”. I figured, if he had to ask what I missed, he wouldn’t have understood the answer anyway.   

After we parted ways, I continued to reflect.  I started thinking about how being a drinker frequently has a stigma attached to it. Often times it is justified.  Alcohol can cause problems when it’s not respected and not consumed in moderation.  And there are too many people that go way too far. Not unlike so many other things in a human life that can be, and are, abused.

Regardless, I still think it’s sad that so few of us are courageous enough to admit that alcohol has positive impacts on them and their lives. That an occasional drink or two adds joy and depth to their existence.  I believe that this is likely the case because alcohol can frequently have so many negative consequences for people that abuse its power. It’s all about context.

In a world with so much negativity, with so much reliance on pharmaceutical solutions to mend a broken soul and assuage mental illness, in a world where socialization can be a solution for so many of society’s problems, many still choose to ostracize alcohol use. A social elixir, if there ever was one. At least for many of us.   

I’m not saying we should glorify its consumption, beer commercials do enough of that.  I just wish that we could recognize and consider that there are benefits of its disciplined use, instead of just focusing on the adverse impacts of its misuse. Alcohol has its place. It also has its price. Anything worthwhile usually does. For me, I participate in “Dry January” as a reminder of the joys that food and drink bring to my life.  And how I never want to take this for granted.  Nor spoil it, by indulging too much, too often, or in a way that negatively impacts someone else.  Something I wish every drinker and non-drinker could embrace. Cheers!