The Flip Side

There's something about this bar. Or maybe it's the lack of something. There's no fucking around. No bullshit. No mood lighting to seduce you. It's comfortable. Red duct tape on the seats, covering cracks from years past. Missing tiles on the corner.

I love it. The people here aren't fucking around either. Everyone knows the bartender by name. She sits at the end of the counter when everyone is tended to, playing candy crush on her phone, catching some hockey on the TV, drinking coffee out of a Honey Dew cup.

The patrons are mostly going grey, drinking their drinks in the in the glare and playing Keno. There's joy in the air as people take turns at the jukebox, and howling as one everyone chimes in on the choruses. Claps and stomps accentuate the beat. I sing along and the whole situation puts a smile on my face. I enjoy sitting here and minimally interacting.

I think about moving to this part of town so I can have this in my life. Perspective, I mean. I think about how it would be if I brought some co-workers in here. I get embarrassed by their conversation sometimes. Talking about new shoes or overseas travel or how life is "so hard" -- hyperbole for a minor inconvenience. But that's me, too. I haven't quite accepted that. I will say life is easier for me now. But I also don't want to keep chasing money, and it feels like I am. I hope to be done with it someday. I hope to not feel uncomfortable taking up space in the world. And I hope to express joy and fondness as readily as these people sing.

I walk 5 minutes down the street to a luxury apartment building on the waterfront. In fact, two sides of it are on the waterfront. There are gorgeous views of the city -- of downtown, of the Zakim Bridge.

I'm hungry and I pause outside of the restaurant that resides on the first floor of the apartment building. I take another glance across the water and one more breath of fresh air. No cigarette, not yet anyway. I'm greeted at the front by a hostess and make my way to the bar. I find an open seat with a woman standing behind it. Asking her if she's sitting there she replies "Sorry, no. I'm wandering." Sorry. Sorry for taking up space. Sorry for existing. Sorry. I say it too, and it bothers me.

I sit and I'm greeted by the bartender. While I respond "Good" when asked how I am, she responds "Very well." For every request, she is quick to say that it will only take a second. Just give her one second and she'll get to it. I guess I'm not in an impatient or rapid-fire mood. Sometimes I am, but not tonight.

I'm influenced by a nearby man (well more by my observations and not by any action on his part) to get a dirty vodka martini. Fuck it, I like to be fancy sometimes.

There's some sort of light, unobtrusive, inoffensive rock playing through the speakers and the lights are dimmed just so. It's Boston, so the hockey game is on TV in here too.

Which bar is me? Where do I belong? Somewhere more laid-back? An island somewhere? A quote from Alan Watts comes to mind because, well, he's been on the brain lately. Feels like cheating because I saw it on the first page of Google results when searching his name.

Trying to define yourself is like trying to bite your own teeth.

So I won't try. I'll keep questioning and exploring, but I don't need to belong any one place. There can be aspects of myself that every place speaks to. And if it doesn't, I'll get the fuck out.