I knew a comment was coming. I could just tell. It's like I have a sixth sense when people are going to tell me a stupid comment. Or maybe I could just sense a comment was coming because I saw a flash of pity in his eyes. Whatever it was, it came when I was paying for my lunch the other day.
"You're always here alone."
Why, um, thank you?
Once every couple of weeks I treat myself to Chinese food at a neighborhood place. I crave the teriyaki chicken and crab rangoons. More importantly, I crave the downtime by myself, spent absorbed in a good book. I tuck myself into a table with my novel du jour and a plate full of yummy appetizers and lose myself and my worries for a blissful hour or so. It's simple, it's delicious, it's fabulous.
Apparently I'm memorable enough to make a note that I'm never here with anyone.
I smiled at the man. "Yes. I like my me-time. I'm usually surrounded by people, so this is just for me." The pity I'd seen flash through his eyes before echoed again. I don't think I had completely convinced him. In his mind I was probably a lonely woman whose only friend was the book she toted with her.
I don't know which annoys me more: the fact that he clearly feels bad for me or the fact that I feel the need to justify myself and my me-time. I know that I have a healthy social life, filled with a lot of love and laughter. I feel blessed to have so many people I can turn to whether I want to laugh or cry.
This restaurant guy on the other hand? He feels bad because he only sees me with a book once or twice a month. Is it just him? Or is it something in society? Do we feel the need to make sure everyone is coupled up or at the very least--not--gasp!--alone? Does it make people uncomfortable to see someone--particularly a girl--by themself?
I ask these questions of myself, too. I know when I see someone by his- or herself I wonder if they have somebody waiting at home for them or if their friends or busy or if they truly are lonely. And, yes, I feel a tinge of sadness towards them. Perhaps that is what Restaurant Guy thinks whenever he sees me. Why is that, though? Why can't a person just enjoy a meal by himself? Is it that horrible to want to just have a moment to recharge without friends or family around? Why the assumptions? Why, more importantly, the pity?
I, for one, do not need that negative emotion. I am secure in who I am and what I have--if I wasn't I wouldn't go out in public by myself. It's kind of funny, really. I didn't have the confidence to do things by myself when I was single. Now that I'm in a committed relationship, I savor the moments when I can stroll through a bookstore by myself or take in dinner sans John. It's almost like a paradox--being with John has given me the confidence to become more independent. It's a gift I never would have thought of because of his love.
So thank you, Mr. Restaurant Guy. I don't know if you pity me or you're concerned about me or what. But your comment has prompted reflection and now greater appreciation for both my independence and my fantastic relationships. Because they can coexist. And because I so savor the moments where I can slurp my soup while diving into a Steve Martin novel. Delicious.
Ciao, dahling!