Perhaps the hardest thing to accept for many of us is that life is only takes place in the present moment. Our past glories are gone and the future is an unwritten story we want to believe will be nothing but spectacular.
In reality, however, we’re as clueless as the next person what our future holds. But for some beer lovers, that matters little.
Perhaps this is simply the time we live in. A time when rarities and one-offs are at an all-time high. When the greatest beers we can muster are heralded flashes in the pan.
But instead of gobbling them up, we hold them tight. We wait. We plan. We hoard.
Many of you may have seen the most recent treatise on fallacy of hoarding beer, pointing out the callousness of buying, buying, buying and the failure to really stop and smell the roses. Or is that hops?
But here’s the thing: hoarding is our modern, inalienable right. While there are certainly those that give into the obsession around the world, the act feels uniquely, capitalistic American. Not for TV shows that highlight our need for MORE, but for the feeling of excellence that comes with a well-stocked cellar and bragging rights that come with it.
If you care to boil it down, you could argue that hoarding is about status – whether to ourselves or someone else – and the ability to measure up. It’s equated with the thought that more is better and better always means more.
More bottles. More ABV. More regard as some kind of master of a coveted dungeon that doesn’t hold monsters or traps, but a treasure trove of liquid bliss.
When we hoard beer, who does it benefit? Ourselves, of course. It makes us feel good. It makes us feel ready for the day we can relive our past glories.
In the end, however, all it does is offer us some kind of euphoria between our perfected nostalgia of yesterday and the inevitability of tomorrow. Ignorance may be bliss, but my glass is empty and today’s just getting started.
“Don’t drink to get drunk. Drink to enjoy life.” — Jack Kerouac