There’s something to be said for it.
That extra drink.
That tiny puff.
Getting that second puppy that is going to make sneaking your first small dog, and thereby both dogs, into places like grocery stores or writing conventions that much more difficult.
One Too Many can be…just enough.
Sure, some kinds of One Too Many are more *costly* than others…like finding your own personal tipping point with six different dates at a time.
Yes, that implies that five—yes, five was the appropriate number of dates at that particular moment. The stuffy can call this slutty. (And they will.) I call it wonderful. I’m convinced that a spree of such proportion is an important developmental stage, like crawling or the tantrums that every child must go through.
And sure, man #6 that had me drop each and every last one of the previous five. Because while you may dream of a swarthy German man in a Prada suit who will fall in love with you overnight, the reality of that is quite different, I assure you.
But damn if a good old fashion lesson learned when you find yourself weighing the pros and cons of getting a restraining order isn’t worth tumbling down the mountain sometimes.
Besides, how do you know that you’ve reached your limit unless you’ve butted up against it, road rash and all? Unless you’ve crested your personal threshold like a surfer aching for that perfect wave against all reason and against all odds. Until you’ve lost your balance—just a touch.
No one may even notice. They’re too self-absorbed/getting sloshed/consuming their own men like so many Cinnabons/busting ass in their business and burning out to see you almost twist your ankle—proverbially speaking—while you’re riding on the cusp of One Too Many.
Or, you might make a fool of yourself in the process. GASP! Someone who is busy having Not Quite That Much may think you oafish and garish while peering through their thin veil of superiority, but there is something to be said about the vivaciousness that comes from the realm of One Too Many.
Really, what we most want, is to feel our vitality bubbling over, exuding, to grab hold of a devil-may-care attitude and shake it like dog with a rat in its mouth.
This relentless vivaciousness is why everyone's addicted to sugar. Sugar is concentrated glucose. Glucose turns to energy, which in turn becomes life force. Nothing wrong with going for more life force.
(Until you are riddled with cavities and a raging case of candida.)
We mistake wisdom for trepidation. We value moderation over exuberance. We are so utterly terrified of making mistakes that we don’t go for it…
But here's the kicker.
That “it” ain’t just another slice of pie or overpriced cocktail at a rooftop hotel where you “pay for the ambiance”.
That “it” is in everything you do.
Your comfort with risk spills over into every aspect of your life, be it fun, work, money, what you say in conversations. Or not. What you whisper to yourself but dare not share. Or act on. Whether you talk to that stranger who makes your FEEL SOMETHING and maybe just maybe could become a meaningful connection. That thing you can't afford, but will help you get closer to that dream you can't help but chase.
Who knows? You. If you are willing to bump uglies with One Too Many.
When you know you limit and dare to stretch it, question it, see what happens and if it is, indeed, your actual limit or still your limit after all these years, you gain an acute kind of awareness that Just Enough won’t grant you.
The fountain of youth? The babes of the world can have it. Personally, I want a fountain of vitality, and so yes, that will include the occasional glorious moment of calculated and meaningful excess.
(And maybe me stealing your phone and deleting any incriminating photos.)
So cheers! Clinkity clink! Here's a toast in honor of finding your personal edge and exceeding it. Just enough.
There’s something to be said for it.