One Afternoon at My Favorite Bar
What We Think Know vs. We Have No Fucking Idea
My favorite bar is actually my own lanai. It’s got an amazing view, the drinks are delicious, and they are certainly more affordable than the actual ‘real’ bar I love to frequent.
For those of you who are not familiar with what a ‘lanai’ is…
In Hawaii, its most likely equivalent in the mainland USA is a front porch or patio. That’s where this photo was taken a few days ago on Wednesday afternoon.
It was…a helluva day. I’ll talk about that maybe later in this post, but first…
The story I’m about to tell you does not take place in my home however…in a way, it most certainly does. It takes place one week ago, on a Sunday afternoon at my favorite public bar on Kauai - FishBarDeli.
Their names were Linda and Jeff. I imagine they were in their late 60’s, maybe early 70’s. Their skin was quite pale with a tint of red so I assumed they were tourists. We were seated next to each other and struck up what might be considered a ‘usual’ conversation with a stranger.
Me - “Aloha. Are you here on Kauai visiting?”
Linda - “Yes, it’s our first time. I’ve wanted to come here for 47 years.”
Me - “That’s a long time to want something. Welcome to the island.”
Linda - “Do you live here? What do you do for a living?”
Me - “Yes, I live here. I don’t do anything right now to earn money.”
I don’t know if it was my bluntness or my honesty or something else, but my responses opened up some kind of communication portal or invitation to share because she then told more of her story without further prompting from me. Linda and her husband had been married for 47 years. She told him early on in their marriage she wanted to visit Kauai. At that time, she had a bit of money and they decided they would invest it in his education rather than taking a holiday to an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Jeff promised he would take her to Kauai someday. That some day was 47 years later.
Better late than never, I say.
One week ago, while sitting in my favorite bar, the three of us met and I am still in awe of how we (Jeff, Linda, and I) went from talking about her desire to visit a place for almost 50 years to both she and Jeff speaking about the recent, tragic death of their son. He was killed by a drunk driver who had previous DUI’s and had been released early from his incarceration due to COVID. They showed me photos of their son and his family - he had a wife and three young children, two boys and a girl. His daughter had worn a mask at his funeral and she didn’t take it off for six months.
Holy shit.
We went from tourist-resident to fragile human being-fragile human being within minutes. Just. Like. That. How is it that we can meet some people and engage so quickly and in such a deep way with strangers while others whom we’ve intimately known for years and are closest to (family, friends, spouses) we never really understand the heart and soul of who they are and how they feel?
I have three words for this homo sapien enigma: vulnerability, honesty, trust.
In my opinion and from personal experience, if you don’t have or want these three things from the get-go (or they happen to fall apart somewhere in the relationship), the feeling of being safe never arrives and/or disappears and then you really don’t have much to work with. The work then is to repair together what has gone astray or the relationship will ultimately end.
So here’s something for consideration…In the stories we tell ourselves and the ones we share with another, are we being vulnerable? Are we sharing from a place of being genuine? Can we trust that in telling our truths to another, we’ll be heard, seen, and experienced as being real?
Vulnerability. Honesty. Trust.
What we think we know versus what we have no fucking idea about. I venture to guess there might be a significant gap between the two, so perhaps the only way to find out if there is, is to ask.
Well, fuck…that brings me to the helluva day story I said I’d mention later in this post. And as Saturday night on Kauai comes to a close and I want this to go out first thing Sunday morning, I realize ‘later’ actually means that helluva story will be told next week. It will begin with this famous quote from Rumi in the photo seen below;
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and righting, there is a field. I will meet you there.”
I’ll see you in that field next Sunday.
