I’m in New Orleans for two birthdays and a meeting on Wednesday. This trip overlaps with an HR conference that I’m not attending My career is messy, my personal life is all over the map, and I’m massively hungover from drinking too much.


How much did I drink? Well, after weeks of relative weeknight-sobriety, it doesn’t take much to tip the scales on a Monday night. The good news is that I was surrounded by friends. The bad news is that those friends now have stories where I express my frustration with my weight by literally screaming.

My throat is sore.

But I’m employing the seven-seconds rule of regret. Feel awful? Say something stupid? Freak out at a bar and feel disoriented because you think you’re stranded and left alone while everybody else boards an Uber?

Don’t give it more than seven seconds of thought.

A ridiculous night of drinking with a ton of other drunk people doesn’t mean anything. And those awkward, crazy, drunken moments are proof that we’re all human and flawed. I’m more than a vodka cranberry and a glass of champagne. (Well, maybe two.) And so are you.

So everybody who has an epic drunkfest in life should get over it. I’m off to run and have breakfast. The seven-second rule is a gift from the universe. I hope you use it, too!


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