A chilly night, but not as chilly as it will eventually be. I’ve decided a thin-but-thermal cotton hoodie, t-shirt, and sudra will do as I get out to unwind on my Saturday. I’m at the Beer Bus, of course- I felt the need to gently socialize, and the bartender on weekends is a cool guy, but we don’t know each other quite well enough to chit-chat. I’ll bother him for a beer, do a little small talk, then I know he’ll go into his own world and chat with more regular customers while I do my thing. I get to just observe, drink some good beer, and write a bit.

I went with the Thai cart tonight. I’d tell you I’ve got a rota in this pod, but that’s a lie. FOMO, Saint Burrito, and Egyptian Bros. (Korean fried chicken, burritos, and gyros/shwarma respectively) are far and away my favorites, though the recent arrival of a curry truck is close to making the list. The Thai truck is alright, though I feel like they under-season (unless it’s chili pepper, of course) but tonight I really wanted some stir-fry. Pad Garlic, chicken, medium heat, $15 plus tip. Not terrible, but I’m honestly paying for the convenience and proximity to beer I don’t have in my fridge.

The wind-screens are up and the heater is on, so I’ve posted up at the corner- away from both easy conversation and the line-of-fire of walk-up orders. Largely, anyway. With a whole bar to my left, one guy decided the best way to order a beer was over my left shoulder. The bartende- as a good bartender does- put his beer down to my right, gently guiding him into the flow of business.

It’s a weekend in what my boss calls “shoulder season”- the brief lull in business between two known busy periods, distinct from the “slow” or “dead” season because the shoulder may only be a couple weeks long. The winery’s shoulder season is between Labor Day and Thanksgiving. Restaurant business may remain slow, but every organization and their mother’s personal assistant wants to arrange a holiday party. While the vineyards may not be “pretty” covered in snow, we are situated on a hillside and that gives whatever we do a sort of “hunting lodge, Swiss chalet” sort of vibe that companies want to show their employees, if just to keep the torches and pitchforks away with the Spirit of the Season.

It’s less than glorious work for the time of the year, but if we’re being honest, being able to pay rent without living on Top Ramen is a mighty nice thing. Before long, if the event schedule calendar is to be counted on, I’ll be limping to this bar through the rain and snow on dark weekends rather than strolling up with a tablet and a scarf, so I’d better enjoy these bit of insulating peace before I truly need them.

I don’t even need to imagine it- some bitter evening in December, after my third round of overtime while “business is slow,” I’ll be driving slowly through the rain or on the bus packed in equally sodden and shivering strangers when I’ll realize where I am at a given moment. My inner map of Portland will ping with all the bars and cafes I could stop at, and I’ll have to wrestle briefly between holding on to my pay or stopping somewhere. I’ll eventually stop, collapse into a stool, and ask for a tall glass of something dark, heavy, and evil to dull the day.

Part of me knows it’s cheaper- way cheaper really- to stop at a bottle shop, grab a six-pack of such high-octane oat sodas as I like, and just keep them in the fridge. There’s appeal to that- I can’t wear pajamas and fuzzy socks at the Beer Bus. Sometimes though, the presences of an ambivalent public is almost as soothing and numbing as the beer. The white noise and energy of a living public around me where I can just watch, breathe, and let it wash over me.

Breathing. It’s the inhale, then the exhale. Taking in, holding, releasing, empty, repeat.

We get told we have constantly produce, work, create. We are shamed for resting, restoring, and grounding. We are told to exhale constantly, and never ever inhale. It makes no sense, unless you’re actively having an asthma attack. That much exhaling… well, it blows.

Nights like these where I’ve done all I can do in a day and just want to let the rest wash over me is the emptying. Holding space to honor exhaustion and finished activity. Never holding a breath- either at the top or bottom- is hyperventilation and also not very good for you.

After the emptying comes the inhale- taking it all in, replacing what was given, and drawing from it while it’s with you. Wait a moment. Feel the moment at the top, when you take in all you need.

Now, exhale- give away what you can and what you no longer need to hold, and repeat.

What it is to work, to be, and create is this constant exchange, and being aware of it moment to moment can only do us good as individual and a species. I’m still sitting at the bar, taking in the the air and the beer and under seasoned noodles and conversation I’m not party too… taking what I need… and tomorrow I’ll offer up everything I can, damn near empty myself. Then it’ll be time for another beer, maybe some company and conversation in a busy place full of the life that exhausts and hurts and is still so so worth seeing what happens next, and do it all again.

Stay Classy,