These early bar experiences were the start of a couple of journeys. The first journey was my slow but eventual descent into struggling with alcohol abuse. From the age of eighteen until I was about thirty years old, I struggled with fairly consistent episodes of drinking to excess. I wouldn't drink every day but by the time I was twenty-one I couldn't exactly count on one, or even two hands, how many times I had been drunk. My struggle with alcohol would take on different circumstances and different levels of severity over the next twelve years but my early days at the track were certainly the training ground for all of them.
The other journey was one of learning how to socialize. Given the variation in types of bars, ranging from upscale to pretty damn rough and skeezy and my comfort with going into any of them, I was conditioned pretty quickly on how to identify dangerous situations, how to engage in humorous banter, how to listen to strangers and their struggles and how to spend time in a bar alone. My upbringing helped me ease into some of these dynamics but these experiences overall have certainly helped my social work career. Relating well to different people in different situations and the ability to size up these situations quickly are minimum requirements of a good social worker and are skills that certainly don't hurt when navigating life.
I drink a lot less these days. I made a decision a handful of years back that I didn't want to follow in the footsteps of my mother and chose a different path. I still know how to get a healthy buzz going but I also know when to stop, a skill that took a while for me to grasp.
However, I still socialize in bars often. Sometimes I have a few drinks. Sometimes water, sometimes coffee. I've been a regular at different bars over the last few years and can slide into this role easily; an attractive and kind girl who is willing to listen to and care about people, laugh at jokes and crack her own, and handle herself is most always a welcome addition at any bar. I also get the fulfilling privilege of meeting people from all walks of life-the divorced jokester with the Wisconsin accent who loves his kids and struggles severely with depression, the sad 20-something cutie struggling with a cocaine habit, hell, even the tweaked out, shit-talking painter with a bad habit of stealing have all contributed countless stories in my repertoire and has given me a unique window into how people deal with their circumstances and each other.
I've sat with a man who was having a couple of drinks alone because his son was in the ICU again for a debilitating chronic illness. I've listened to men and women process their broken hearts. I've been present for conversations about babies being born, children going to college, memories of peoples' favorite concert experiences and have learned a lot about different cultures, bands, books and places around the world. I've certainly dropped my joys and sorrows off at bars over the years. I've sung "Me and Bobby McGee" at the top of my lungs at a bar. A bar was the first place that someone told me that I was a talented writer. Just last night, I met a guy that I'll probably never see again, but we cracked jokes, solved the Jumble, had a fun conversation about old movies and he taught me how to two-step.
Each of these conversations typically begin and end with a raised glass and an acknowledgement that you exist.
Bars aren't for everyone, of course. But having a place where you can connect with people, step away from your day-to-day and really, step out of your own bubble is one of the greatest things about being on this planet. Connect. Enjoy. Acknowledge each other. Raise a glass.
No comments:
Post a Comment