I went to a secret bar.
A solitary red light cut through the night and illuminated a number ‘5’.
Beside the light was a door.
The door looked conspicuous in that it looked curiously inconspicuous.
It stood out in its low profile manner on a street full of other doors that tried to attract customers and patrons.
This door was welcoming in the same way that a silent eyebrow raise and nod is.
We were told the procedure.
You ring the doorbell.
You say the special phrase.
And you’re in.
Suddenly we had left the 2024 side street and entered a 1920s speakeasy.
Velvet chairs and sofas from the era were pristine and looked brand new, which betrayed their anachronistic existence.
Music from the same time period emanated from the corner where a Victrola was set-up.
The music didn’t seem to be coming from it upon study, so I stopped studying.
The illusion that it was… was more satisfying.
We sat down and our drinks were brought to our table.
Phones were frowned upon and photography of the staff and bar is not allowed.
Two young women sat chatting across the room.
Beside us sat three young, slightly tough looking, men, also chatting.
Neither of these parties, including us, seemed in place given the surroundings but everyone seemed happy.
And we were.
It was like an oasis of quiet, calm conversation.
The owner spoke to us about the history of positive cultural clashes during the prohibition days when American bartenders eager for work headed to Cuba.
Where high-end American style service was taught to Cuban bars and the Cuban knack for loving and enjoying life was taught to the Americans.
I want to make a place like that… in Stratford, the owner thought to himself.
So he did.
Stepping into that tiny secret bar was like stepping into the owner’s imagination.
He had envisioned it and then through hard work and planning manifested it.
A dream become real.
Is it crazy?
Yes.
Is it feasible?
Maybe.
One of my favourite quotes ever is from Tyrone Guthrie, a renowned theatre director in the 1950s, who when asked about the feasibility of a Shakespearean theatre in the tiny town of Stratford, Ontario replied, “Impractical it may be, but important surely.”
This past week I woke up with a little more eagerness to start my day than usual.
I thought to myself “I need to act on this before my brain finds out”.
So off I went forging my own dreams into reality.
Not everything impractical turns out good but…
All the good stuff seems to be born from the impractical.
If we only created precisely what we needed, life would be terrifically boring.
Thankfully, we don’t and life isn’t.
There are fantastic secret bars and more if you look hard enough.
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Excellent lesson. I will be 80 years old in three hours from now and the admonition to keep doing fun, necessary, and possibly impractical things is even more important to me now. Thanks.
I am always so stoked when your columns hit my email! #commonsensejournalism