I ate dinner alone tonight, in a very nice Italian restaurant in Berkeley, California. My friends Dan and Nadya had a prior engagement for dinner, and left me to my own devices. Faced with cooking someone else's food in an unfamiliar kitchen, grabbing fast food in an wonderfully diverse area full of lovely restaurants, or eating by myself in a restaurant, I chose to eat out.
And, honestly, I really liked my evening out by myself. My waitress was both solicitous and lovely. My food was wonderful. And I enjoyed both the people-watching and the few chapters of my book I devoured while waiting on my Capellini Limone.
I thoroughly enjoyed watching the lively interaction of a mother and her two adolescent boys, and was able, when overhearing part of a conversation, to contribute (via the waitress) the singer of "Electric Avenue." The couple across from me were obviously on an early date; they were uncomfortable yet eager to converse, and judging from the glances they gave each other, a next date is a real possibility.
In another area of the room were two men locked in serious discussion, the candlelight glowing off their faces, the red flowers left in the center of the table rather than moved to the side. They left holding hands, a lovely sight, and one of the things I enjoy about the Bay area, where no sight is really an unusual one.
It occurred to me, as I sat there enjoying my broiled asparagus (with garlic and lemon -- the snap of the asparagus, the bite of the garlic), both how much I enjoy people and how much I avoid being alone in public places. I love watching people. I enjoy their interactions, their facial expressions. I love to guess at relationships and conversational topics. I am content, in a public place, to watch other people for quite some time, and I feel an almost overwhelming affection for the human race as I do so.
And yet, I avoid being alone in public places. I avoid the very experience I enjoy so much -- that of having the luxury to people watch. There's such a stigma to being alone, especially as a woman. You are automatically lonely -- bitterly resigned to life as an aging spinster.
And so, I avoid being alone. I avoid being alone so much that I've completely changed my social habits since I got divorced. I no longer go to movies (because I'd have to do so alone most of the time). I rarely eat dinner out. Instead, I enjoy restaurant food as takeout, as I casually sprawl on the comfortable couch in my living room in front of the TV. We're such a society that enjoys socializing -- even the most devoted of loners -- and to be alone in a public place is something we avoid at all costs.
But, I enjoyed my evening out. I liked the textures and tastes of food eaten without the need to carry on a conversation. I enjoyed watching the diverse passers-by, the smooth and practiced flow of the wait staff, the different scents of the food as it was carried by me. I think, in the end, a dinner on my own was an experience I treasure, and should not be something I work so hard to avoid in the future.
