"Just One"

I went out with some moms that I have gotten to know over the year. We made this date two months in advance to celebrate the end of another school year.  We all wore the outfit we loved, but for one reason or another felt uncomfortable wearing out in public. For me it was that pair of black Madewell overalls that fit snugly over my hips, thighs and booty.

As per custom at most restaurants, one small church-pamphlet sized menu with black font was presented for the four of us to share. The conversation commenced about the different drink options and how the combination of flavors would taste. One friend ordered Pinot Grigio, another Rose, the third a sake juice box (yes, that’s sake in a juice box with a straw!), and then it came around to me. I had already happily ordered sparkling water and poured it into my highball glass on the table, but instead of passing, I ordered a glass of unfiltered sake off the happy hour menu.

I sipped on the 1.5 ounces of sweet liquid for over 3 hours. When the third round of drinks were ordered for the other women at the table, there was a comment made when the attention came to my tiny ceramic sake cup that had an imperceivable amount missing. I held the child sized glass in my hand, giggling about how I quit drinking 99.9% of the time 2 years ago. One mom said, “and she works out at 5 am, too.” Mostly they mumbled about how in comparison they felt they had a “drinking problem” or “a high tolerance” or “its a night out with the girls”.

The past several days I have been in a super funk. I can’t put my finger on it, because it’s bigger than that. It’s more like a heavy wool blanket or a ominous storm cloud. I postponed the inevitable dissection of why I ordered a drink at dinner. It’s not like this was the first time I’ve taken a few sips of booze since I quit nearly 2 years ago.  Why was this different?

Was I doing it to try to fit in, to appear “normal”, to avoid the “discussion” all together, to make others comfortable, to push the boundaries of what it means to have a choice around drinking, or because I really just wanted the taste of sake again?

It was probably a little of all of them, but now as I’m carefully picking apart the event, delicately analyzing behaviors, what I am most saddened about was a missed opportunity for me to show up exactly as who I am.

I am that woman who doesn’t drink because I drank too much for too long.  I am the woman who joked about her high tolerance, and would sing about how much I loved wine.  I am the woman that once I removed alcohol from my life, I managed to do extraordinary things, with extraordinary women who also want to disrupt the way our culture idealizes happy hour.

I missed the opportunity to tell my story. Not because I was trying to change or shame the woman present, but because I chose to attend dinner with these fabulous women. To show up and to be present for them. To be vulnerable. To make mistakes, and say something inappropriate or awkward. To share an experience.

My “just one” wasn’t about the Sake at all.  It was “just one” more moment I could have been who I am.

For all of you who have had a “just one” moment. What did that “just one” really mean?