I hadn’t realized how much I do on my own until I found myself uncomfortable with doing something on my own. Let me explain.
Tonight I went over to Target to pick up some things for my Halloween costume (a post on that to come later!) and as usual, the shopping wore me out. And made me very, very hungry. It’s hard work spending money.
Because I’m lazy, however, I didn’t feel like making myself dinner. In fact, I wanted to treat myself to something extra yummy to eat because, well, why not? Since it’s been a rainy, cold day, nothing sounded better than a hot cup of soup. So I headed over to Panera.
During the entire time I spent driving to Panera, I was deciding whether or not I should eat there or take it to-go. If I took the latter route, it would be cold by the time I got home. But if I didn’t, that would mean I’d have to eat at the restaurant. Alone.
It’s funny; I’m a very independent person. I like to do things on my own. I prefer to do most things on my own, actually. But there’s something so terrifying about sitting alone in a restaurant, as vulnerable as can be.
Why should it be any different than eating my breakfast alone in my room every morning? It shouldn’t. Eating alone in public doesn’t mean I’m a loner, or that I’m strange, or anything else of the sort. What it does mean, however, is that I am comfortable with myself. That I enjoy my own company. That I don’t need someone else next me to enjoy a cup of soup and a caesar salad.
I like to think of it this way: I took myself on a date tonight. As cheesy as it sounds, I was the best possible date for myself because I know me better than anyone else ever could. I know what makes me happy, I know what I want, and I know what I deserve. Sometimes it’s nice to just be there for yourself; to know that you really are all you need.