I was never a huge boozer. I didn’t plan my life in my teens or in my 20s around raging keggers or getting wasted. When I finally started drinking in earnest, I didn’t get the hype: it was fine, but what was the big deal?
And then I found bourbon.
The more I tasted and the more I learned, the better it got. Good alcohol is great chemistry, and bourbon is arguably the best example of that. There is corn and other grain and water and sugar and fermentation and distillation of all kinds and technique in the crafting of bourbon…but what may really be the defining influence on a great bourbon is the white oak barrel in which it’s aged. The inside of the barrel is charred to varying degrees, and then the bourbon is stored in it. For years. The longer, the better. White oak, fire-charred interiors, and time. Older is better.
I love getting older.
I. LOVE. IT.
I don’t love it in an “ironic hipster” way, I love it in the truest, most literal way I could possibly convey. A youth riddled with doubt and angst and fear felt unending. Little League and elementary school were great, baseball cards and nintendo were fun, and let’s be honest, having no bills or real-world responsibilities was Fantastic. But these things didn’t, in and of themselves, define my childhood.
What aging has proven to be is constant and consistent revelation that many of the things I believed – or was taught to believe – were either far less consequential than they were represented to me, or I was far more capable of navigating them than I expected. The impact of these revelations has had an exponential impact. The older I’ve gotten, the greater access to peace I’ve found. This is not to say that I live a life of perpetual peace, or that the stress and its impact on me isn’t something real and serious. On the contrary, the challenges of life have swung a heavy bat the last few years. The peace I find that comes with age is a mosaic peace, made up of tiny tiles and pieces and shards of experience, knowledge, understanding, self-awareness, and acceptance of my strengths and weaknesses alike. The grey in my temples, and in my beard, are my white oak, and the internal charring has been provided by life itself.
From Left to Write 