I guess I’ve always imagined a moment in my life that hasn’t yet happened. I doubt it ever will really. Perhaps some version of it. Perhaps something similar enough I pause and wonder if it is close enough to count. The moment isn’t anything spectacular. Hell, I’m sure I could just do it sometime. I’m not sure I could get the feeling right- what I imagine is more than just a set and a series of actions. It has an atmosphere, a vibe, without which it would be incomplete.
The moment involves me sitting at a bar. The bar is high in the air, in a district of tall buildings, though not necessarily the tallest building around. The bar is well appointed with a fancy wooden bar and a huge wall of assorted extoic bozes behind the barman. There are huge windows all around showing the surrounding scene. It’s a snowy night, cold and blustery. The buildings beyond the windows are highlighted, glowing in the night. The storm is intermittent, though, and the periods of snow are mixed with patches of inky sky- stars invisible due to the city’s brightness. I’m sitting at the bar in a nice suit and tie, tie loosened, shouching a bit on my bar stool. I’m sipping a good bourbon, high proof and amber in its glass. The bar is not crowded, though not empty. There are lots of empty seats at the bar, but I’m not the only one sitting there. There is music, perhaps sax heavy jazz, though I don’t really pay much attention to it.
I think I read about a bar in Osaka that fits the bill well, I think I’ve been to a party at one in Seoul too. Hell I think there are alot of bars in many cities all over the world that could be cast in the role. All you need is skyscrapers, good bourbon, and the occasional snowstorm.
The mood is the hard part. For some reason in this dream I’m always lonely. I’m alone at the bar, granted, but the feeling is deeper than that. A sort of mellow quiet, sad but not overwhelmingly so. No dread nor depression, no existential terror, just a quiet sadness. Maybe a Christmas spent alone, just the barman and my drink. Perhaps the memories of someone catch up with me and alone at the bar is better than alone with my thoughts. The dream is just me sitting there in my suit, fitting in in such a place, enjoying, in a calm way, the warmth of the bar and the warmth of the booze. I just sit and think, sipping on my drink from time to time.
I have no idea of why I dream of this melancholy situation. Perhaps deep down those sorts of moments are cathartic, fertilizer for enjoying the good times. Maybe deep down we all want to be alone in a fancy bar in a snowstorm and just live our moment of loneliness, present and aware of what it is. Dreaming of being lonely in an interesting local is probably better than knowing that loneliness will find us in mundane places far more often than exotic ones.
I’ve always found a certain beauty in solitary loneliness. Being lonely in a group is tiring, the weight of social situations where outward you are in a group but inward so very alone is hard. Loneliness felt in solitude is more real, more poetic, and in a certain way more beautiful. A heavy heart is one you notice beating. A wounded soul is one who reminds you of its presences. Solitude for me is always a fertile field for thought and more often than not, not a lonely place to be. I usually enjoy my own company. Those moments when solitude and lonely mix are thankfully rare, but I always savor them in an odd way. Pleasure pain, meaning from emptiness, calm from sadness.
If I ever find myself in that bar, perhaps I’ll smile. Not all dreams come true, often it’s better if they don’t, but sometimes it’s ok for the sad ones to become real. I hope I learn something from it. I hope it is as beautiful, as poignant as I imagine.
