Can we be friends if you don’t drink? The moment I knew drinking was an obligation.

I’ve made a friend.

She is kind and funny and smart. She has read everything. My new friend is disarmingly open and the cracks of her broken heart are lined with gold. She has untamed hair and a writer’s soul.

She makes it pretty damn easy to like her, and because of this, I was in too deep before I realized that there was a game-changing problem with my new friendship:

She doesn’t drink. Well, that’s not entirely true, she has five to six beers a year. So she drinks — in theory.

During a candid conversation, I told my new friend that, had I realized that she was a quasi-teetotaler from the jump, I probably would have pumped the brakes on getting to know her.

She was, rightfully, aghast at this admission.

“Wait! What? You wouldn’t have wanted to be my friend because I don’t drink that much? I am charming and funny as hell without booze.”

She’s right. She is.

I’m an a**hole.

And, yes, I like to drink. I was raised in my granddad’s dive bar. When I belly up to a bar, inhaling the stale beer and regret, it’s like going home.

Although I’ve never had a problem with drinking, my relationship with alcohol has always been complex. I like the warm smiles that spread across people’s faces after their second glass of wine. I like the ease that arms are slung around friends’ shoulders after cold beers on a star-filled Carolina night. However, I suffer from tremendous drinker’s guilt any time that I feel that I have been even slightly out of control.

As an admitted jerk, one who considered not becoming friends with someone she kinda adores because she doesn’t pound booze, it may be surprising that I recently stopped drinking during the week and have even cut back on most weekends.

I’ve found that cutting back on my alcohol intake almost feels like an act of rebellion. One of the few things that I like more than a Tito’s and soda, is being a grown-ass woman who does what she wants. Yet, when it comes to drinking, or more specifically not drinking, I fold like a day-old newspaper.

A couple of weeks ago, my college roommate was in town for work. We met for dinner like we usually do. Her hotel was having a happy hour with complimentary beer and wine. I didn’t want anything, but my friend grabbed me a beer. I drank it. At the restaurant, she ordered a bottle of wine. I drank two glasses.

I simply didn’t have the gumption to not drink.

In hindsight, that sounds downright ludicrous…almost as stupid as passing on a friendship with someone who I can see being friends with for years to come.

It’s the fear of judgment that causes me to drink when I don’t want to and it is also the same fear that made me worry about becoming friends with someone who mainly abstains.

However, passing judgment doesn’t seem to be her jam. I mean, she wears a shirt emblazoned with “Dirty Hippie,” and her hair is some wild, quasi-dreaded, crown of authentic and lovely messiness.

Perhaps passing judgment is my jam. Perhaps I had decided that despite all the signs pointing to her being cool as hell, that underneath her laid-back exterior, a prude laid in wait. Perhaps I feared she wouldn’t like me if she ever saw me in all of my charming inebriated glory.

I could argue that it is easier to bond over alcohol. Booze can ease awkwardness and loosen my uptight self up, but that argument is quickly discredited. She recently lost her mother. I’m a motherless veteran. We skipped right over the small talk portion of a friendship. I am at ease with her, even without a relaxing elixir.

Yet, much of our culture is associated with alcohol. It is a big part of Charlotte’s identity.

The only political issue that our city hasn’t seemed completely divided on in recent years was the “Brunch Bill.” That June, I joined my fellow Charlotteans by celebrating with a Sunday morning Bloody Mary after the Charlotte City Council unanimously approved the expansion of alcohol sales.

I can’t pinpoint it, but at some point, drinking became an obligation. And obligations are rarely fun-filled parties. It was as if I wasn’t allowed to be a woman or mom or Charlottean without downing a couple glasses of wine or locally-brewed craft beer each night. Movie theaters and grocery stores now have bars in them. I’m more than cool with it. I’ve drank in both of those establishments. It’s just that the pressure to consume booze has reached so many aspects of our lives.

I am thankful that my new friend was bold enough to tell me that I was ridiculous to write her off for something so trivial. It was a startling wake-up call for someone who likes to wax poetic about being accepting.

I’m going to keep drinking, there’s no doubt about that, but I enjoy not feeling obligated to drink every evening. I enjoy many aspects of it, including the taste. I certainly haven’t become enlightened. I’m going to drink, but I’m going to do it on my own terms.

Editor’s note: This story originally published on Dec. 13, 2017.