As an actor, I travel around a lot and live in a lot of hotels

Beau Bridges, a traveler upon the stage and the screen, once spoke these words of humble truth: “As an actor, I travel around a lot and live in a lot of hotels, and many times I've been in a town where the only entertainment to be had is what you find in the hotel bar or lobby.” Though these words seem simple, they carry within them the quiet wisdom of a life lived on the road, far from the familiar, bound not by a single home but by the fleeting comfort of temporary dwellings. His saying is not only about hotels and bars, but about the universal human search for connection, solace, and meaning in places that are not our own.

When he speaks of being an actor who must travel, Bridges touches on an ancient truth: those who entertain and tell stories have always been wanderers. The traveling bard, the minstrel, the poet—they journeyed from town to town, welcomed by strangers, performing in courts or taverns, and departing once again. They too knew the loneliness of strange beds and the search for warmth in common halls. The hotel lobby, in Bridges’ words, is but the modern echo of the village square or the fire-lit tavern, where men and women once gathered to speak, to drink, to share news and laughter.

In this statement, there is also an undercurrent of weariness. For though travel brings new sights, it also strips away familiarity. To live “in a lot of hotels” is to be rootless, suspended between places. The bar and the lobby become the only theaters of connection, the places where human fellowship flickers amid transience. The lesson is one of humility: that even those who live in the glamour of performance must sometimes settle for the simplest forms of comfort, and that true entertainment is not always found in grand spectacles, but in the shared presence of others.

Consider the tale of Diogenes, the wandering philosopher of Greece. He rejected the luxury of settled life, choosing instead to live in a barrel, moving freely wherever the winds took him. When asked how he could endure such a rootless existence, he replied that he found companionship in whatever place he arrived, in the simple words of strangers, in the shared air of common gatherings. Beau Bridges’ hotel bar and lobby echo this same truth: even amid impermanence, man can find fellowship in the ordinary, if only he opens himself to it.

But there is more—within the hotel bar, one finds not just drink, but stories. Every traveler carries their past upon their shoulders, and in such places, those pasts are often poured out in words. To listen here is to partake in the oldest tradition of humanity: strangers gathering in transient spaces, weaving temporary bonds that, though fleeting, touch the soul. The actor, who tells stories on stage, here becomes the listener, hearing the unguarded tales of real lives in their rawness. This too is part of his craft, his learning, his growing.

The wisdom, then, is this: even in the plainest places, life offers richness. Do not despise the hotel lobby or the humble gathering, for within them lies the very essence of human connection. Grandeur is not required for meaning—sometimes the smallest stage carries the greatest truths. The true entertainment of life is not always a performance, but the simple act of being together, sharing presence, laughter, and story.

So, O listener, take this lesson into your own life: when you find yourself in a strange town, in unfamiliar surroundings, do not wait for great marvels to appear. Seek instead the fellowship at hand—the smile of a stranger, the story shared across a table, the laughter that echoes in modest halls. These are treasures as great as monuments, if your heart is open to receive them.

And let Beau Bridges’ words remain with you: “The only entertainment to be had is what you find in the hotel bar or lobby.” For in truth, it is not the place but the spirit that brings life its joy. Even in the simplest of spaces, the flame of human connection can burn bright, and that, above all, is what makes the traveler’s road bearable.