The Barstool Confessional

How We Stay Alive on Nights Like These

I couldn’t help but wonder… when everything else falls apart, is friendship the one thing holding us together?

Lately, I’ve been stumbling through my days like a woman wearing heels on cobblestones — clumsy, off-balance, hoping no one notices the cracks. Between navigating a new diagnosis and the delightful thrill of being unemployed, I’ve been living in a fog of medical forms, late-night spirals, and deeply questionable snack choices.

And yet… I’m okay. Kind of.

Okay-ish.

Because somehow, through all the mess and mental spirals, I keep landing in the same place: surrounded by my friends.

What starts as a quiet catch-up with one or two girlfriends often snowballs into an accidental gathering of seven to ten. It always happens the same way — someone texts, someone brings a plus-one, someone spots someone across the bar and suddenly, we’ve created a small, talkative takeover at Raygrodski.

Zürich in summer is like a well-kept secret — calm and collected on the outside, but if you know where to look, it sparkles. The nights are warm, the air is soft, and the streets are filled with just enough life to feel cinematic. The city doesn’t scream. It hums. And if you sit outside long enough with the right drink and the right people, it becomes magic.

Raygrodski is our go-to — our unofficial HQ. Equal parts divey and artsy, the kind of place where you can wear heels or sneakers and no one cares. A little rough around the edges, full of beautiful weirdos, and just the right amount of candlelight to feel mysterious.

And here’s the thing that keeps it all interesting: we play games. Not poker or pool — people games. We choose a stranger at the bar, make wild guesses about their life story, and then — politely and a bit tipsy — go talk to them to see who was closest. It sounds ridiculous, and it is, but it turns out strangers are often more open with a group of curious women than you'd think.

It’s a game, but it’s also something more. A reminder that everyone’s carrying something — not just me. Everyone’s got a backstory, a heartbreak, a job they hate, a dream they’re quietly chasing. And listening to those stories, whether from a friend or a stranger, has become my accidental therapy.

I used to talk constantly — nervous energy, probably. But lately, I’ve found something grounding in just listening. To my friends. To strangers. To anyone who reminds me I’m not the only one trying to make sense of a life that took a sharp left turn.

Maybe healing doesn’t come from knowing the answers. Maybe it comes from laughing too loud with the people who know you best. From listening to others talk about their chaos while your cocktail melts. From guessing a stranger’s life and realizing how wrong — and how right — we all are.

Maybe the only plan worth having… is no plan at all. Just a warm night, an open barstool, and the people who remind you you’re still very much alive.