In 2016, Ryan addresses a letter to Apricity, admitting he just experienced an urge to drink but chose not to because he thought of her. He decides to record his thoughts now so she can understand them when she is older, acknowledging that how she sees him may shape how she sees herself.

Ryan states two truths: alcohol is a big part of his life, and alcohol is a small part of him. He reflects that earlier he was haunted by the question of why he could not stop drinking, but later he realized the more important question was why he started.

He situates alcohol in a broad natural and historical panorama, noting that animals get drunk on fermented fruit and that humans have used alcohol for at least ten thousand years. He evokes centuries of practices, tools, and cultures tied to alcohol—agriculture, vessels, trade, celebration, and error—emphasizing its enduring presence.

Ryan describes how societies have balanced alcohol’s harms and benefits, citing sailors permitted or encouraged to drink to manage difficult duties. He distinguishes alcohol from addiction: some people must avoid alcohol to avoid addiction, while many do not need to. He likens alcohol to fire, capable of saving and destroying, and notes he might have been a good sommelier if he were not an addict, but he affirms he is an addict.

He imagines the first discovery of fermented fruit and the varied effects alcohol can have, calling fruits and sugars powerful yet neutral. He asserts that human thirst—especially the heart’s thirst for comfort—drives drinking, and that this quest for comfort is why he started.

Ryan closes with a hope for Apricity not centered on whether she drinks, but that alcohol will be an incidental detail in a life filled with comfort, one whose “aroma” endures through time. He signs the letter as “Pops.”