I moved in October, and I love my neighborhood. There’s a dozen restaurants within walking distance, as well as a book shop, a theater, a couple of parks, and several bars. Yet with all the options by my home, I still drive fifteen to twenty minutes to the bar I frequented before I moved.
I didn’t plan to become a regular; I just needed to be out of the house on a Monday and it happened to be an open mic night. Sitting quietly with a drink for an hour or two and listening to the variety of music shared was nice, so I returned week after week. It was good to reconnect with a high school friend who came every week to play his midwest emo set. The host would regularly play “Peace Train” and other classic songs, and a guy about my age showcased his homemade rap. On quieter nights (which was more often than not), a bartender or manager would play a set, impressing me with their quick guitar fingering and belted vocals. Around the time the staff started recommending me drinks based on what they knew I liked, I realized I could sing along to a song or two from most of the regulars, and I’d started making friends.
When I graduated, I was scared I wouldn’t be able to make friends as an adult. School provides a plethora of classmates to interact with, and plenty of opportunities for interaction with peers to foster friendships. This built-in friendship highway drops off after school, and it’s harder to find time to spend with those friends as people get married, have kids, balance travel plans, and altogether fill their lives up with otherwise awesome stuff which takes up the time that could otherwise be used for catching up.
Adult friendship requires intentionality, and habitually returning to the same geographic location can give way to new friendships. (It’s not the only way though. Sometimes friendship starts when you hit it off with someone at a friend’s birthday party and now you cold-call each other at odd times because they’re bad at texting.) I needn’t have worried. Between the bar, finding a Magic: the Gathering group at a local game shop, and meeting friends’ friends, adulthood friendship opportunities expand the world in a way that classmates never could.
Open mic night ended late last year, on the Monday between Christmas and New Year’s. I guess it wasn’t bringing in enough people to warrant the business keeping it up. We’d all gotten a heads up, but it was still sad. The regular performers invited friends and family, and we all had a little celebration, singing along with each performer and cheering as they finished their sets. The bar isn’t open on Monday nights anymore, but I keep going back even as my favorite menu items keep getting replaced. I’ve gotten to know the folks around once—it’ll probably happen again.
