Going It Alone

Anyone who's read this blog knows about the Email Dumper. Don't worry: This story isn't about him, it's about me. (No one wants to be that person still talking about heartbreak more than two years after the breaking. I get that.) But the one thing I actually enjoyed about my time with Email Dumper was going to stuff — concerts, lectures, shows, movies, dinner. I liked having a partner at events, someone who didn't mind driving downtown and wasn't flummoxed by tricky parking situations. A person to commiserate with after the performance. To chat with during intermission. To deal with the post-event traffic while I waxed eloquently on whatever topic popped into my head.

It's not that I didn't do things before him. But while we were together, most of the people with whom I did those things paired off and got married. They had kids. So when the heart-breaking happened, I realized that if I was still going to enjoy all of the amazing things Pittsburgh has to offer, I'd have to go it alone.

You'd think this would be super simple, but it isn't. Simple is going home. Sitting in my quiet little house and watching PBS. No traffic. No parking garage. No strangers who might wonder why the chubby girl is sitting alone, or who (worse) might speculate that if the chubby girl weren't so chubby she'd have someone to do stuff with like everyone else in the theater/club/restaurant/world.

Going it alone is not easy. At least not for me. I have a pattern where I begin dreading whatever event I've committed to about a week before it happens. It can be something I'm really really looking forward to – that I've paid big money to see — but I still think "Oh man. That's next week. I hope I can get parking. I hope traffic is light. I hope no one thinks I'm a freak."

But no matter what, I don't bail. I allowed myself a little leeway for skippage in the first year after the heartbreak, but after that I made myself follow through. My first breakthrough was the symphony last February. It was something I'd not done alone before Email Dumper, and that he and I enjoyed pretty frequently. I worried about running into him and the potential of seeing him with a new partner. But the program included "Rhapsody in Blue" and I wasn't going to miss Gershwin. I bought myself the best ticket in the house, put on my matinee skirt, found great parking, made friends with my seat neighbors and enjoyed the heck out of that show. I remember walking back to my car with an incredible sense of pride and accomplishment. 

Oh I know. It's ridiculous that a then-39-year-old woman felt proud of herself for going to a concert she'd PAID TO SEE. But I think it takes courage to walk into a place where people are often paired up and say confidently to the world "I deserve this experience as much as anyone else in here, and nothing will keep me from enjoying it. Not even my aloneness."

I've kept it up, too. That initial dread I talked about hasn't gone away, but neither has the sense of accomplishment. After each thing I go to alone, I think "Look at that. Look at ME taking on the world. Look at me doing this thing that two-years-and-change ago I wasn't sure I could do. LOOK AT ME BEING AN ADULT LIVING HER LIFE WITHOUT GIVING A SHIT WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS!"

(That last part's a stretch. I still wonder sometimes if people think I'm friendless or unloveable or generally unpleasant. But it's not as crippling as it used to be.)

Anyway, I've started to build these things into my life at semi-regular intervals when I have the money. Last Monday, I saw Joe Biden. Tonight I attended a talk by PBS travel guru Rick Steves. (I was lucky enough to have a friend meet me there and it was so great to catch up with her.) I bought a ticket for "Waitress" next month. In April, I'm going to see "Hamilton" while I'm in Chicago for work. 

I hope I won't have to go it alone my entire life. But I finally feel like if that's indeed the case, it's not the end of the world. One of my favorite people lost her husband while she was still fairly young by today's standards. Growing up next door to her, I always marveled at how active she was. What an amazing role model she was. ("You need a driver's license to be truly independent," she told me one day as I was telling her about my fear of driving. "It doesn't matter if you're afraid now. If you get your license, you can go anywhere.") She mourned her husband, but didn't let losing him stop her from seeing the world. For years, she traveled with a friend. But when that friend died, she joined tour groups and went everywhere. I know — my parents have magnets on the fridge from all the places she went. When I get anxious or nervous, I ask myself what Marilyn would do. And I know she'd buy the ticket. See the show. Take the trip. Life her life. 

Aloneness be damned.