Monday, August 11th, 2014


I forget how much I like to go on a date with myself.
Last night I went alone to hear my daughter sing as lead vocalist in a local big band. I hesitated. My husband couldn’t go. All my friends had other plans.
I almost gave it up. Didn’t start til late. All younger people would be there. I had a good book to read at home.

I had forgotten how fun it is to go out and about alone.
I didn’t learn the enjoyment of being my own date until my work included lots of international travel. I learned to go out to eat alone and love it–not pretend to love it like lots of lone eaters do, but to love it. I would get the best table to sit and watch people. I would order exactly what I wanted and would eat slowly and just look at people. Stare even. It was so liberating to get that comfortable in my own skin. 

Now I happen to  love an anonymous hotel room. Love love love it. Nothing belongs to me. I don’t have to clean it, refurbish it, get rid of it, or change it. I travel with a candle so any room can be cozy. But I would get  get hotel room fever and have to go out.  I had conquered eating alone, so I had to learn ho to do entertainment alone.

My initiation was to go to Cirque du Soleil by myself. I was scared/exhilarated. What freedom!  No coordinating, no one early or late, everything so easy.  And the experience was so much better, richer. I dove in. Ooooohed and aaaaawed and clapped with delight like a kid. I learned the same to be true with museums and movies. No distractions. Bigger experience.  

Am I a misanthrope?  I’m beginning to wonder, but I’m talking about something else–not hating to be with others but enjoying being with just me.
Anyway, I had forgotten the pleasure of going out on a date alone.  
Not waiting for others, not discussing what to do, no coordinating moods, just you.  Who better?  Why would anyone go out with you if you aren’t your own best date?  I’m going to ask myself to go steady.


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