For a Good Time, Open Your Mind : Exploring ideas through readings and similar events isn’t hip, but it’s fun. Opportunities abound in the Valley.

On a recent night, while many of my fellow Valleyites were setting their tongues on fire with their third bowl of happy hour salsa, I sat among PhDs and pacifists, historians and hairdressers, our minds on fire with the words of a 19th-century poet. We were attending a lecture titled “The Vision of Ralph Waldo Emerson: A Mind on Fire.” Not your typical Friday-night festivity, but I had long hungered for more than guacamole to soothe my spirit.

I was weary of listening, and, I confess, contributing to the same old diatribes at the local watering hole: “What a week!” “My boss is a *@#!.” “My script didn’t sell--again.”

That’s what happy hour is about, drowning such thoughts in half-priced drinks and deep-fried tortillas. But I had stumbled onto the hitch. The thoughts return to haunt you the next day. Happy hour isn’t as happy as it sounds.

There had to be something else. I was so tired of hearing that there was nothing out there but karaoke and comedy clubs--with their own two-drink minimums--that I finally let one of those mass-mailed fliers catch my eye. Since I had studied Emerson in college, the topic intrigued me. So I listened to that other hunger and satiated it by spending an evening with people who, as Emerson said, felt that “each day holds infinite promise.” He believed that our “one true goal in life is to perceive and appreciate the beauty of the universe.” When’s the last time anyone judged you on your ability to do that?

After that evening, I was a woman on a quest. I was going to discover all the stimulating new things one could do for next to nothing on a weeknight--and in the Valley. A few days later, I turned down more margarita madness for a free Shakespearean reading at a bookstore. It was a Branagh-in-a-box event with character actors I recognized basking in parts they’d never be offered in films--and it only cost me the price of a cup of coffee.

I followed this up with a free demonstration of reflexology at another bookstore another night. Then I got so bold I joined a book group at the local library--where I ran into someone I had worked with a few years earlier. Who knew we both liked Truman Capote?

I soon discovered that even my local mall had a family concert series I could attend for exposure to new styles of music. The Valley was turning into a real intellectual free-for-all. I only had to master that cement-footed fear of the unknown that we all share--the anxiety of walking into a group of new people and wondering what to say if they demand to know why we’re there. But no one asked.

I’ve learned a lot during the last few weeks, from which local papers list the best new events to, sadly, how few other people my age are out there experimenting. During the discussion of Emerson’s philosophy, I was sorry to be the youngest person present when a retiree offered his philosophy of life. He defended his right to openly enjoy life, to be enthusiastic about it without being dismissed. After years of being a stable father, he said, “I make no apology for resuming my childhood.”

Neither do I. I guess I found my happy hour.