On Transition

I bought my first ever cauliflower on a crisp fall day less than a week ago. I did so with genuine excitement and a desire to see how this new ingredient might transform my next meal. I had never dreamed I would be excited by brassica oleracea and, in a moment of epiphany, I realized that this simple vegetable purchase marked a clear transition in my life. On the way home from the grocery store I picked up a six-pack of Wind and Sail dark ale to celebrate the new man I’d become.  

Once I had prepared my brave new dish I poured myself a cold glass of celebration. Wind and Sail from Barley Days Brewery is a busy beer. I found the mess of dark, sweet, bitter flavours caught me off guard and left me considering whether my 13 dollars had been well spent. I needed a second opinion. I wanted to be able to pass my glass over to a friend so I could ask “what do you think?” But these days I drink alone.

I took a bite of my steamed cauliflower. It was sustenance. Something less interesting than taste. A bland nothingness that amounted to bare nutrition. It offered no solace. It fed my body but did little to buoy my soul.

Then I had my second epiphany of the day. This will be how the next phase of my life plays out. I have gone from sharing drinks, often too many drinks, laughing with friends in a crowded apartment, to cracking a solitary beer over a solitary meal.

We are all always changing. Every event in our lives makes us different people. These changes open doors more often than they close them. But that doesn't mean we shouldn’t shed a tear for who we were, or breathe a sigh for who we’ve become.      

Comrades unavailable, I decided to enjoy my beer— some things don’t change.

Conor Rochon

Conor is not an alcoholic. He is an engaged and passionate person who does about half as much distraught navel-gazing as this blog would suggest. He has an aptitude for communication and a passion for storytelling. When he finds he has free time he plays silly games and enjoys good beer.

Twitter | Google+ | LinkedIn