There once was a time when Jack Daniel’s was my faithful traveling partner. At the end of a day of meetings, when going home to my family wasn’t an option, I went back to a hotel room and a bottle of Jack, instead.
But everything changes in life, and over the past decade I’ve given up both television and alcohol. My business traveling has dwindled as well, and I’m glad to say that Jack won’t be traveling with me ever again.
The bottle shown here has maybe two shots left in it, and they’ve been fermenting in place for several years now. Part of me wants to pour it down the drain, to remove any temptation to renew old acquaintances. Another part of me–the part that’s winning so far–sees it as a victory of sorts.
So long as the last of the Jack Daniel’s remains exactly where it is, I’ve won out over the biggest foe of my lifetime. His name is not Jack Daniel’s, but the one that I write at the bottom of every check I ever fill out. And while Jack has remained who he always was, his old traveling buddy came around–I hope–before it was too late.