Table for One

Oliver was out of town for a couple days earlier this week, so one night I decided to make hay while the sun shone. I had dinner at my favorite sushi restaurant, politely stuffing my face with different varieties of the one cuisine Oliver has never been able to get into. After dinner I hopped on the subway and went to see The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a movie he had been really "eh" about.

I did both of these things alone. I'm no stranger to doing things by myself. In fact, over the years I've made it a point once in awhile to go out on a Saturday morning and explore on my own. There are also certain places, like museums, that I will avoid unless I can go alone. Heck, I've even traveled alone. I backpacked in Europe for three weeks in 2003 and felt real pride at the thought that I had done it by myself. I'm not a lone wolf, but I don't see myself trotting along in the middle of the pack either. To carry this metaphor a little further (too far?), I'm out at the edge of the pack, darting away every once in awhile to get a drink of water in peace.

I'm an introvert, then. Which is weird to say because "introvert" is such a dirty word. Even I, with my bold statement of introversion, feel compelled to quickly explain that when I say "introvert" I mean someone who gets her energy from being alone. An introvert is not afraid of people. She just needs to escape once in awhile to recharge her batteries. My own dad classifies himself as an introvert based on this criteria, and he's one of the most outgoing people I know. So there, being an introvert isn't a bad thing!

I brought this weird mixture of strength-of-individual-self and introvert paranoia out with me the other night. As I ate my crispy crab avocado roll and read Little House on the Prairie, I patted myself on the back for hitting the town sans husband or friend, something I rarely do. At the same time I avoided eye contact with the parties of two and four around me - did they think I was a pity case, a lonely woman who had torn herself away from her 7 cats long enough to go out and be a part of the world?

Same goes for the movie. I sat in the middle of the theater, consciously avoiding a seat in the back, off in the shadows. There's nothing wrong with going to a movie alone. There's nothing wrong with doing anything alone for that matter. And since I'm comfortable enough to spend an evening out with just me, why not sit in the best seat available, in among the dates and clusters of friends. It's a good line of reasoning, but I still felt a little strange. Just a little.