My sister was helping me carry the groceries upstairs to my apartment last weekend, and gasped as she walked through the door, “It’s clean!”

Few people, save my family, have seen the rare state of disarray I can let my living space fall into, usually due to some life-altering event creating a mental oubliette from which I have sometimes have difficulty extracting myself.

There was the time in my first apartment, after I had lost my job, and though I had few belongings, I still managed to make a mess of the place, knocking over a potted plant and not bothering to pick it up. Also, my fish had died, and with no yard to bury him in, my high school bestie, in an attempt to help me clean, found him resting in peace … in my freezer.

The second time was post breakup. A different friend had sent her husband to help me move. After surveying the magnitude of the project he had signed up for, he spied the ring of mildew which had grown around the drain in my wet bar, and kindly mentioned that maybe I needed to clean “sometimes.” It’s no secret that the state of our home or workspace is often a reflection of our state of mind. Over many years in equally as many gin joints, I’ve been witness to how varying states of mind can conversely come to shape and define a bar program.

There’s the time capsule bar. You’ve seen it. The neighborhood haunt whose cocktail menu reads straight out of a nightclub from 1985, which is probably the last time they updated their décor, and you can be sure to spot at least one good mullet-cut on scene. These frozen-in-time establishments fill a niche of familiarity for their regulars who are often local and very consistent, so much so, you’d be hard-pressed to find an open seat among them during happy hour. Likely to have been around for a quarter century or more, everyone knows each other here, and anyone whose seen the movie Barfly understands that some things never changing can be a comforting thing. The mindset of the time capsule is, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!”

Then there’s the craft cocktail bar. These bars began popping up over the past two decades, in the same port cities where 1920’s speakeasy cocktail culture had previously thrived, thanks to rumrunners and bootleggers, despite Prohibition having killed it elsewhere. These cocktailiers are fastidious; streamlined. The best of them win national, and even international awards, and their guests boast traveling thousands of miles just to be able to say they’ve had the pleasure of perusing their seasonal menus. Their glassware is as polished as their outfits, and fit just as perfectly, the luscious libations they contain. Their garnishes are nothing less than sculptural, miniature works of art. Everything is costed out and measured; nothing is wasted. The mindset of these bartenders is meticulous and deliberate. “Control is an illusion” is not a philosophy they subscribe to, and it’s easy to see that passion for the craft is the driver of this vehicle.

Neither last, nor least, and most prevalent in Hawaii, is the beach bar. It’s where the constant whir of the blender is only drowned out by the screaming of children at the pool, and the pounding of waves on the shore. The term “locals only” may accurately describe the staff, if not the tourist-heavy clientele. From wedding parties to naval fleet invasions, tsunami warnings to hurricanes, beach bar crews must be ready for anything at a moment’s notice, and global warming hasn’t made things any easier. Here, the frozen drink is king and the only respite for sunburned guests from the scorching mid-August heat. I’ve seen beach bartenders run so hard their uniforms change color from the sweat, but their skin is always tan, their faces always smiling, and the “Get ‘er done!” attitude doesn’t disturb the “hang loose” vibe. It’s where keeping sand off the floor is less important than keeping sunscreen on your shoulders, and ice-cold rum in your veins.

Having recovered from my embarrassment at my sister’s stunned reaction to the new state of my living quarters, I replied, “When I achieve complete mental stagnation, I know it’s time to clean!”

We often take for granted that our mental and environmental states are connected. When I look back at the myriad bars and restaurants I’ve called home over the years, I see a direct line between when I used to surf every day and my four years as a cocktail server at a Waikiki beach bar; between when dancing religiously at the same three nightclubs dictated my weekend schedule, and my two years slinging drinks in a time capsule; between when I got lost down a rabbit hole of cocktail books and magazines and resurfaced behind the bar of one of the most prestigious craft cocktail havens in the state.

The conditions in which you live and work have a direct impact on your mental balance and emotional well-being. I’ve learned over the years that sometimes it’s your environment you need to adjust to gain clarity of mind.

Now, I can happily dwell in this newly downsized, gorgeously organized state, knowing the next crisis may still sting, but at least it won’t bury me in brain fog. Even if I break, there will be a lot less random pieces to put back together.

If you’ve just finished tidying your house and are looking to beat the heat on National Rum Day (Aug. 16), but you’re not feeling the beach bar crowd, staycation at home with this spicy twist on the blended daiquiri. Inspired by the traditional lassi, an iconic Indian beverage originally made with yogurt, seasonal fruits and spices, this frozen treat is a tropical version you can make from the comfort of your own, spotless home. Now that the hard work is done, it’s time to sit back and sip. Just watch out for that ice cream headache!

Hot Hawaiian Mango Lassi

Ingredients:

• 1.5 ounces Bacardi Mango Chile rum

• 2 ounces housemade coconut cream (2 parts unsweetened Thai coconut cream: 1 part sweetened condensed coconut milk)

• 1 ounce fresh lime juice

• 1 ounce Funkin mango purée

Directions:

Blend all ingredients over ice until smooth. Serve in a hurricane glass.

Garnish with pineapple frond and edible orchid.

Alicia Yamachika is a bartender and craft mixologist, who currently is the key account manager at Southern Glazer’s Wine & Spirits on Oahu. Follow her on Instagram (@alicia_ yamachika). Her column will appear every second Wednesday in Crave.