A hot, packed bar

Last week, I went to a bar to see a friend do a singing performance.

I rarely go to bars because I’ve already gone through a dozen lifetimes of “bar quota,” but I wanted to hear my friend sing and it was Paris, where humans hang out with other humans. A lot. During the day. And at night. It’s weird.

It was a funky little joint with lots of people and little air circulation. My friend started her set and it was great. She has a fabulous voice and she was doing ‘80s classics from Anita Baker, Sade, Luther Vandross, and an amazing cover of Phil Collins’s “Against All Odds.”

I don’t know about you, but I‘ve been really appreciating the music of Phil Collins lately. Waiting 3 minutes and 41 seconds into a song before laying down one of the dopest drum drops in history? That was a boss move. I strive for that amount of confidence! If it’s been a while since you listened to “In the Air Tonight," do yourself a favor.

So I was in the bar, enjoying the music and sweating balls because France is in a perpetual heatwave and there were so many people squeezed into the small space, many of whom were drunk as skunks. And I don’t know if this is a fact, but drunk people seem to emit more heat than people who aren’t drunk.

As I soaked it all in, enjoying the music and observing my surroundings, I noticed there was a lot of art displayed. There were lovely photographs and weird sculptures. There were lights strung up in interesting patterns on the walls and different types of papier-mâché-ish lamp shades. There was a long metal beam suspended from the ceiling with wooden sculptures of bodies sitting along it.

In that moment, I became full-body grateful for my sobriety. Because I realized how many details of life I had missed during all those years of drinking. Drinking softened the hard edges of life and that felt really good, but it also blurred out the details.

How many cool spaces had I been in and not really seen?

How many cool people were right in front of me that I never had a meaningful conversation with?

How much art did I walk right past without even noticing?

How many times had I not shown up to support my friends?

How many memories are gone because of a blackout?

How much beauty did I miss?

How many dope drum drops didn’t I register enough to appreciate?

How many opportunities to experience the full spectrum of life did I turn down by prioritizing alcohol?

I accept my history, my past. And I also recognize how much I missed. 

So here’s to being present for this one precious life.

May you be touched by the weird and the wonderful.
The sorrow and the joy.
The silence and the drum drops.
The art in all its many forms.

I got home from France yesterday. I already miss it, but I’m so grateful I didn’t miss it.

Molly