Passing by a bar, I had a momentary pang of jealousy watching people pick up that cold amber liquid that somehow let them put down the worries of their days.

Once I was like that, or so I thought.

But then I never put the glass down for long. Afternoons of escape would become weekends of craziness and regret.

Eventually, I found a way to put it down for good. I did not know what that would take, but today I see that it means I feel it all without relief and need to find other ways to deal the hammers and pulleys that never relax. I have to talk it all through until I can see the part of me that I am responsible for — and the part the world has that I can do nothing about.

It isn’t easy. It’s not always fun.

Yet the regrets are fewer and the possibilities bigger.

And so I hope I always find myself passing by the bar. And passing and passing and passing.