Roughly one week ago, my husband Michael and I were wandering down the streets of Hollywood, Florida after a supremely excellent dinner in a local restaurant called The Tipsy Boar. This place had 40 beers on tap, many of them from local microbreweries. Michael had a Canadian Breakfast Stout from Founders Brewing that’s brewed (in their words) “with a blend of coffees and imported chocolates, then aged in spent bourbon barrels that have most recently been aging pure Michigan maple syrup.” Wha?? I went for the Funky Buddha Maple Bacon Coffee Porter that “weaves together unforgettable flavors of sticky maple syrup, roast-y coffee, and smoky bacon.” I’m not shitting you, people. They served these babies in beer snifters so you could appreciate the unbelievable aromas—which were quite honestly out of this world.

We found ourselves in Florida thanks to a serendipitous series of events that saw friends of ours giving us their townhouse and car for the week. We flew on points. It was, for all intents and purposes, a “free” trip and we decided to take full advantage of it.

Timing couldn’t have been better. The weather here in Toronto is, well, it’s February. In Toronto. So, ya. Where we were staying in Florida, though? We did a beach walk every morning before coming back to the townhouse to sit down for work under the sun umbrella, in the yummy warm breeze. It was sunny and warm and beautiful, and adventure was in the air.

Judo in a window

The Tipsy Boar lived up to its name. When we wandered out after two beers each, we were undeniably tipsy. We decided to walk. You genuinely can’t appreciate the simple pleasure of an out-of-doors after-dinner walk until you live in a climate that makes it impossible for more than half the year. We sauntered past a bar that had tables set out on the sidewalk, which were filled with men smoking cigars and playing cards. It was like a scene in a movie. Then, across the street, we noticed a judo studio, huge picture window framing a class in session. There were maybe eight or ten students in the studio, grappling, and Michael and I decided to cross the street to get a better look.

As we drew up to the window, another couple was approaching from our right. They also stopped to look, and the four of us struck up a chat. You know—wondering about the etiquette of standing on the street staring at the grappling students, that sort of thing. They asked where we were from. We asked them the same. She hailed originally from New York. He was born in Argentina. They both lived in Florida now. He was an artist. She was wearing a fantastic smelling perfume. They asked where we were headed. We shrugged. And he said, “Let’s go to the Octopus!”

Welcoming wonder

I pause my story here to test my friends by asking two quick questions. First: did Michael or I hesitate to follow these strangers down the streets of an unfamiliar city? Second, did we even look at each other to share the married couple’s eye contact that would validate if we were both in?

No and no. Pretty much simultaneously, we fell in behind our new friends and said: “Let’s go to the Octopus!”

The Octopus turned out to be this totally kitchy sea-themed bar. It had a small stage surrounded by thick ropes, like those that would hold you back on a seashore walkway. There were boats hanging from the ceiling filled with skeletal crews. It was dark, with only small lights over the bar. It was perfect.

Our new friends, Natasha and Gabe, ordered drinks for us. Turned out to be Fireball, an awesome Canadian cinnamon-infused whisky. We talked. We laughed. We drank. And then Natasha told us about Gabe’s plans to host a showing for his art. The two of them had apparently decked out his apartment to display his various art pieces, and were planning to advertise locally so people could walk through it, like an art studio. Did we want to check it out?

Hell, yes!

Ya. That. We wove through the mostly empty Tuesday night streets back to Gabe’s apartment. And it was as they said. Art on all the walls—paintings and metal works, bins with plastic-wrapped prints. We admired. We drank some more. We danced. We played with Natasha’s dog.

I bought one of the prints and Gabe was so grateful it was touching. And then we called an Uber and headed back to the townhouse.

But the print is now home with me and I plan to frame it, as a reminder of the power of saying “yes” to the universe. Magic truly is real and adventure is around every corner if you just open to it.