The Butcher turned 50 on Friday. So, on Saturday night, he deejayed at the local bar he’s been working at for the last few years. He first told me about it a few weeks back when he and I went to the Tigers game. In fact, when I saw him Saturday night, he even offered me a ticket to the game this coming Tuesday night.
It’s always a strange experience when I go to bars or clubs now. I’m 52 years old, and if you had told me 30 years ago that I would still be setting foot in a club at this age, I would’ve said you were crazy. Every time I go back to this kind of venue, I’m a little bit older and it feels a little bit weirder just being there.
The funny thing is, this place definitely caters to an older crowd. Looking around Saturday night, I realized that I was, by no stretch of the imagination, the oldest person there. However, it just feels a little strange being back in that environment.
“Dance your ass off, Rob,” The Butcher told me.
“It’s gonna take several more of these [beers] for me to get out on the floor tonight,” I replied.
Shifting Dynamics
For a while, I didn’t think it was going to happen. There were times I even found myself checking my phone in between bouts of people-watching. It happened to be the bar’s semi-regular “Depeche Mode Tribute Night”—whether or not that was booked in honor of The Butcher’s birthday, I’m really not sure.
Standing there, I found myself thinking about “The Hick,” an old friend through whom I actually met The Butcher decades ago. I wondered if he would show up, but he didn’t. Honestly, it’s probably for the best.
While there is a historical sense of loyalty there—the kind forged in our younger days when we’d back each other up in bar fights—the truth is that a maturity gap always existed. Over the years, our lives went in radically different directions, punctuated by a massive falling out. It made me realize that while old loyalty is something you respect, a lasting friendship requires a shared worldview and mutual respect as you grow up. The Butcher and I have that; we’ve moved past the era of just being “drinking buds” and are building a connection that isn’t just relegated to Facebook likes and shares.
“I Feel You”
Finally, when I was about three or four beers in, The Butcher played one of my personal favorite Depeche Mode songs, “I Feel You.” It’s a great, upbeat track, and quite frankly, it just makes me feel like I want to dance. So, I did.
It’s funny how certain things in life truly fit that old analogy: it’s just like riding a bike. And yeah, I get it. I’m older. I’m fatter. I have more gray hair. But honestly, in that moment on the dance floor, none of that mattered. For a few minutes, the years stripped away, and I felt a sudden, powerful flash of confidence. I felt younger. I felt like me again—not just an observer watching life from the sidelines, but someone actually participating in it.
I would be lying if I said there weren’t a couple of women I was looking at on the dance floor Saturday night. Nothing came of it, though. I didn’t approach any of them. Do people even approach women in bars anymore? The rules of engagement have changed entirely since my old clubbing days, back when I was the one in our group who would confidently step up and start a conversation.
The Bittersweet Afterglow
As good as it felt to feel that old spark awaken—something I honestly thought was dead and gone—the night left me with a lingering, bittersweet taste.
I didn’t mind going to the bar alone, but once I was there, the awkwardness crept in. As cool as it was to grab a birthday shot with The Butcher, he was working. I couldn’t help but feel that the night would have been entirely different if I had someone there with me to share it.
That realization hits a little close to home right now. Veronica was out of town with her family this weekend, which is perfectly fine, but lately, it feels like our relationship is fading off, stalling out in this perpetual “junior high” limbo where we don’t even assume we’re hanging out on shared days off anymore.
Waking up today, I’m sitting with a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, Saturday night proved to me that the vibrant, confident version of myself isn’t gone; he’s still very much alive and capable of tearing up a dance floor. On the other hand, it reminded me that feeling alive is only half the battle—figuring out who you want to share that vitality with is the part I’m still trying to navigate.
Rebuilding a life takes grit, consistency, and a lot of ‘Option C’ thinking. Whether I’m closing in on 1,000 consecutive days of blogging or reflecting on the decade of work that brought me here, the mission remains the same: No glitz. Just the work. New to the blog? Start your journey here to see the blueprint and the ‘Tricorder’ perspective behind the rebuild.
Today’s post is inspired by the WordPress Daily Prompt. While I’ve taken the topic in my own direction for the Road to 1,000 Days, you can find more responses to today’s prompt HERE.
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The article “The Sensation of Reconnection” first appeared on Rebuilding Rob.
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