I love bars. And I love going to them alone.
I’m not a drunk. I’m not trying to pick up men. I’m not bat shit crazy. I’m not lonely.
I just love bars.
Of course, there is stigma attached to going to a bar alone. A 28 year-old woman sitting at the bar by herself? Instant reaction: “WTF?! What a LOSER!” Over the years, a lot of assumptions have been made about me. The above gives you an abridged list of “the labels.” Is there something so wrong about loving bars?
They are loud. Social. Awake. Fascinating. Spirited. Perhaps a little comforting. They are all different. They can be a place to socialize, a place to sit back and observe, or a place to be quiet and think over a Guinness. Life there can be both familiar and ever changing. Walking into my favorite bar, there are the ever constants: a favorite bartender, Grey Goose with olives, the familiar face of another barfly. There are also the transient moments, like a brief conversation with a newcomer. Just by chance you sit next to each other, share your thoughts, and then they are gone. Sometimes the conversation is deep, sometimes superficial. Sometimes, you never see them again, sometimes they show up the next week. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. At the end of the night, the bar turns out its lights, and you can always come back again tomorrow… for both the expected and the unexpected.
Sounds just like ordinary life, right? That’s really all it is. Bars aren’t just a place where people go to hang out with their friends, or to try and find their next hot date. They can be a place to experience life…. But in an up close, intentional, and humble manner.
Judge me if you will…. But I love bars. And I’m not bat shit crazy.