Tulsa Remote: SIx Months In

Exploration.

Discovery.

And loss.

All in just six months.

A quick glance at the calendar this morning confirmed what I've been suspecting. It's already been six months since we moved to Tulsa.

Our Tulsa Remote year is already half-over.

We've made friends. Enjoyed tons of live music. Mapped out more restaurants than we could ever try. And found some needs that we have ideas to fill.

But the most unexpected feeling about our time here in Tulsa?

Loss.

When we arrived, the city didn't manifest itself all sparkly and brand-new for our enjoyment. Yes, there are other people new to town, and some of the business, bands, and events we've enjoyed are still young.

But others aren't young. And we just happened to arrive as they ended.

I'm grieving the closing of a bar.

(And yes, just forming those words in my head carries some Protestant guilt. I'm sure the pastor that baptized me into the Reformed Church of America at age nine wouldn't be happy to hear it.)

I'm not a big drinker. I never envisioned myself as the type of person to be regular enough at a bar to walk in, be greeted by name, and slide onto a stool just as my favorite drink arrived in front of me.

But I also never expected a group dedicated to "building an engaged community through the pursuit and support of ethical journalism" to also have a bar.

That was the case here in Tulsa. The Tulsa Press Club was half what I expected - holding debates between local political candidates, promoting diversity in media reporting, and coordinating yearly journalism awards. Everything the Missouri Press association did back when MsBoyink and I ran the newspaper.

But, hidden in downtown Tulsa where you had to know where to look for it, tucked away at the back of an art-deco era lobby, behind a modest overhead sign, was the other half of the Press Club.

A bar.

It wasn't trendy. It wasn't all that photogenic. The walls needed paint, the carpet had bare spots, and the stools were a bit rickety.

It was the people that made it special. The Press Club bar was largely frequented by journalists. Some retired from a long career as TV news anchors. Some were still writing for the local daily newspaper. Some weren't journalists but valued local history, local stories, and meaningful conversations.

I'd stop by each Wednesday afternoon, spending a few hours getting to know the regulars and learning more about the city we now called home.

I'd found my tribe.

And then it was gone.

The announcement made all the right justifications. The bar hadn't supported itself for some time. The fixtures all needed updating. It was a distraction from the main mission of the organization.

They scheduled a final "celebration" with an auction for the bar furniture, decorations, and fixtures.

We went. I wish we hadn't. It felt like a garage sale at a house where the owners had died. I bought a coffee mug and left.

Some of the regulars are talking about finding a new hangout. But you know how these things go. Sometimes they find new life and carry on, and sometimes they don't.

And while we grieve the loss of the Press Club bar, we're sowing the seeds of new things to fill the gap that it leaves.

I'll let you know if something takes root.