BOOZE ON THE BRAIN Written by Sydney Jones
T
he conversation is always the same. I’m traveling for a series of whiskey-related work functions. The few days I’ve been in this new city have been peppered with sampling events, cocktail hours, and scheduled dinners. The people I’ve encountered are friendly and gracious, and naturally curious about my job. “You make whiskey for a living?” Yes, I do. “Oh, that must be so much fun!” Yes, it can be. I love it very much. “So you get paid to drink all day?” Not exactly, is my reply, as I stand before this person, holding a halfsipped drink in hand. They regard me skeptically, amusedly. I smile and participate in the standard joke; yes, of course, I’m a professional alcohol sampler. It’s not a bad gig; it’s easy, really. At the end of this exchange, I’ll subtly leave the cocktail in an obscure corner of the bar. I try not to finish drinks while I’m working. And yet, despite my best efforts, a shot of bourbon is handed to me. The group surrounding me waits expectantly with glasses in hand, and I toss it back while simultaneously reaching for my water. What I don’t talk about with consumers is the mental toll these conversations take. In retrospect, I’ve never talked about it much in general. There is guilt that floats in the air, like a balloon on a string. Sometimes, it feels as if the string is tied around my neck, and with each deprecating comment I make about my job, the knot tightens a little more. Some days I do drink for a living, and it feels ridiculous to complain. Most days I make whiskey, which could potentially contribute to a person’s alcoholism. The guilt balloon continues to bob over my head. My alarm rings at 5 a.m. the following morning, and I groggily pull myself out of the W W W . ARTISANSPIRITMAG . C O M
hotel’s bed to prepare for a much-too-early flight. The headache this morning is noticeable and familiar, the same throbbing that comes standard issue with the dehydration and sleep deprivation that characterizes traveling. As I brush my teeth half asleep, one of my distillers calls me with a work emergency, and the anxiety hits my chest like a baseball bat. The problem is talked through to the best of my ability on the phone, and a few minutes later I’m in the lobby of my hotel, glassy eyes staring through the front doors searching for my predestined Uber. As I wait, the intrusive thoughts start coming, fueled by my tiredness. I can’t fix everything, but I feel like I should be able to, even from afar. Do I even deserve to be head distiller, anyway? I deeply love distilling alcohol. I truly believe that this is the calling I was meant for in this life. Distillation is equal parts science, mystery, and magic, and it brings me inordinate joy. And yet, my passion for my job sometimes comes at a price: depression, anxiety, burn-out. Imposter Syndrome, alcoholism, and a skewed work/life balance. Long, isolated working hours, coupled with very little pay, for many. These are all commonly reported symptoms of the much larger issue of mental healthcare within the distilling operations world. Problems that have been shared with me by industry peers, and which I have personally experienced over my career. If I tell any of my friends and family this, one of three things will happen: They will scoff, they will dismiss, or they will overreact. Maybe they’ll even question why I do this work; Is it really worth it? In a former life, before discovering the wonder of making whiskey, I was on a set path to
The Dream Job’s Unspoken Cost become a social worker. My degree is in psychology, and my life goal for many years was to work in the mental healthcare field. For years now, politicians and the media have been halfheartedly raising the alarm in regards to the mental health crisis our country is currently facing. A tragedy splashes across the headlines and the easy scapegoat is always “mental illness,” without galvanizing any meaningful problem-solving. A global pandemic and recent socioeconomic conditions have created a perfect cocktail of circumstances that have significantly spiked reported rates of depression and anxiety. The alcohol industry is far from immune to this phenomenon. With my educational background and my own personal mental health struggles, I’ve been wondering: Why are we, as distillers, not talking about these issues more? It’s no secret that alcohol is a depressant. Depression, anxiety, poor sleep patterns, and judgment lapses are all symptoms of chronic alcoholism, all of which can create a stressful and dangerous work environment for a distiller. When the boiler breaks or the still is acting up, the urge to reach for a shot of booze to calm frazzled nerves can be as tempting as a snake offering an apple. Oftentimes, we as alcohol professionals don’t even realize the potential cost of this type of crutch. I’ve had the privilege of being active in a new organization called The Society of Spirit, which is aimed at providing peer-reviewed education, resources, and community to distilling professionals. Within the society’s Discord server, I created a channel for mental health conversations, a place where one could commiserate with others over the mental strain that comes from running a craft distillery. In the relatively short period of time that it’s been active, the responses have been overwhelmingly positive. Not only are distillers acknowledging that there’s a mental health 77