Girl With a Book

I’m naturally a planner, but life gets busy for all of us, and this year I had some shopping to do on the Saturday before Christmas. I waited until I thought mall traffic had died down, then grabbed my coat and prepped my husband for what time I would be back. I reassured him that the mall closed at 8:00. He playfully replied, “Oh good, then you can’t stay out too late”—ribbing me for always feeling like I should get home from outings as soon as possible to continue doing Mom Things. I took the hint and decided I would stop somewhere for a drink after doing my shopping.

My city is not very big, and the mall was calm enough. I got what I needed and walked down the block to one of our favorite restaurants. It had plenty of room at the bar for a singleton. I ordered a cocktail, took out my Kindle, and spent the next hour doing one of my favorite things: reading alone. It is a simple joy, having a drink or bite of food while focusing on my book (sometimes a crossword puzzle) and feeling contented amidst a buzz of people who don’t ask anything of me. It is also a rare joy since I became a working mom. Back in my late twenties, I remember partaking in that pleasure almost every day. I was mostly single and living a low-car lifestyle in Portland, which left me plenty of time and money to hang out at restaurants and coffee shops. This was pre-smartphones and pre-Kindle, at least for me, so I either traveled with a book or picked up a newspaper on the street to do my reading and puzzles. I couldn't fathom how it seemed a big deal, to some people, to sit alone at a restaurant. Going solo was my de facto way of doing anything for years: travel, movies, dining, sometimes comedy shows and concerts.

Even though I had friends, and dated, I often preferred doing things alone. I could experience an event or place just the way I wanted to, leave or change gears at my own whim, take the meandering way home if I felt like it. I could keep my shell intact. It's easy for a very independent person not to notice the gradual hardening, a new microscopic layer forming every time she rejects an offer of deeper connection with a person. But there were days when I became very aware of that shell, because I felt hollow inside. Depression had something to do with that, as did a struggle with intimacy. I really wanted a romantic partner and kids, but I couldn't keep a relationship going for long, except with my cats. (Please, lob your cliches at me. I can take it.)

Now in a relationship for going on ten years, intimacy is still a complicated issue for me (emotional and otherwise). The most severe aspects, like constantly wanting to break up and get back together with my partner, have finally mellowed out. But some recent comments from people in my life have me wondering if there is more I’m not looking at. One day as I “escaped” home to have what I call my Coffee Shop Time, my husband gently suggested I think about why I feel compelled to seek that kind of satisfaction outside the home, especially when our busy family of three doesn’t get a lot of quality time together. Another time, I was out to dinner with a friend when she admiringly said that I seem to have held onto my “single life” even while having a family. Ouch. Is that the way I want to be seen? Is that what I’m striving for?

They both have a point, these two people who know me well. Whenever I see some free time ahead of me, I tend to compulsively take it for myself as long as my kid doesn’t need something right away. Ideally, I take that time away from the house and family. Sometimes I beat myself up for needing separation. My husband, to his credit, sees the other side of it too: I need those breaks because I am me, and I like my space and my cerebral activities, and that’s okay. In reality, I take fewer and shorter breaks than I probably should. I know moms who go out with friends once a week. I see my girlfriends maybe once a month. Most of them don’t live very close by, and most are moms too.

As silly as it sounds, I hang onto the memories of my jaunts of alone time; they help to energize me. I feel a cheery glow thinking about my last solo vacation to New York City, a few years ago, when I finished two books while bouncing between parks, restaurants, and bars. Sometimes I fantasize about an alternate life there—the city where you automatically blend into the background, where there are endless places to visit and a wide variety of crowds to get lost in. But I know I couldn’t keep that up. Without my family, the hollowness would return. I’m going to continue to find balance with what I have.