“Just me, please.” I say as I walk through the door. They usually smile, you know, in that tight-lipped manner where their smile doesn’t quite reach their eyes — like they can’t believe I would dare to eat alone. They grab a single menu, and gesture to the array of tables in the restaurant, as if announcing my arrival to the handful of people seated.
I’ve done this countless times, it’s basically routine. I map out my day, where I’ll go, the specific coffee shops I’ll dine in, I’ll even peruse the menu beforehand so I know what I’m going to treat myself to — a flaky almond croissant or speciality Nonnettes (mini French gingerbread cakes). For lunch, I’ll pick a restaurant that I have saved on my growing list of places to try. I’ll scout the area on Google maps, find out what shops to go, making note of which ones I might want to pop into. I’ve got a full day planned, a full day to myself.
I read a rom-com a few weeks ago about a woman who was desperately single and faked a relationship to get her family off her back. It was dreadfully boring — not because of the concept of the story, but because the protagonist couldn’t bear the thought of some spending time alone. She jumped from partner to partner, and she never learned how to be comfortable in her own skin in a public space; she was utterly consumed with what everyone thought about her, when the real truth is, nobody gives a fuck.
It doesn’t bother me to be seen committing a social faux pas by dining alone. I’ve learned to not pay attention to anybody else and I think the reality is that very few people actually look at you anyways. Perhaps because I’m an only child, but I’ve spent years becoming accustomed to my own skin and thoughts and because of it, dining alone, spending time alone — whether it’s a holiday, a weekend, a single day — is precious to me. I take pride in my independence. Being able to not to wait around for others is incredibly freeing.
I’ve said this to B on several occasions, but I genuinely do have a very small social battery. I'm truly grateful for the people in my life — friends and family. But after any prolonged social gathering — filling empty pockets of air with safe conversation, asking about work life, and love life, and family life, suddenly I’m crawling to escape to the seaside for a breath of fresh air. Sometimes I like nothing better than to head to a new restaurant solo, scan the menu for something delicious, and order myself at least one starter and one main, while I dive into a new book picked up at Waterstones, Foyles or even a local charity shop (if I’m lucky). It’s a bit selfish, a bit of me time, and that is okay.
For a brief hour, afternoon, day, or for whatever time that I have to myself, the focus is for me to do as I please, to nestle into things I’ve not had a chance to do. I have gotten up to explore the city in the very early hours of the morning. I’ve sometimes eaten cereal for dinner and made an over-indulgent three course meal for lunch. I’ve left laundry to pile in favour of a long train journey down to the sea, only to come home late and plop onto the sofa for a TV binge. And that’s not to say that I can’t do that with other people, but it’s just different you know? Sometimes I enjoy my alone time with nothing but my company. And other times, I enjoy the silly chatter about random office gossip from ex-colleagues, or telling my friends about that one restaurant in Soho that does the best hummus in all of London (but don’t go to their London Borough restaurant, it isn’t as good).
I know I’m lucky to have the time and space to take time for myself. I think that makes me schedule it in more often. But, as selfish as it sounds, maintaining a social life can be hard work. You have to be considerate of others, to find small talk, to be generous and flexible, and offer your starter even though you really did order those deliciously, triple-cooked rosemary fries for yourself. Sometimes it’s lonely, yes, but sometimes it’s wonderful. I like being alone while I’m able to — before I start a family. Recently, the more time I've taken off for myself, the more I've realised I crave the space and quietness.
Only child here. STILL have not worked up the guts to eat alone.
Such a great post, Natalie! I find I usually prefer my own company than to be IN company, and I absolutely love the sound of your solo outings.
I read a news story a week or two ago about a big deal having been made on TikTok by someone who'd felt they had a comment to make about people dining alone. 🙄 https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/random-acts-of-kindness-tiktok-woman-eating-alone-b2393842.html
I'd MUCH rather enjoy my meal/coffee/cake in peace and quiet and alone with my book without anybody feeling I needed them to help me to 'not be sad'.