dancing with myself

I think growing up as an only child turned me into a very solitary person. I like being alone. Many times, I crave being alone. Walking home from work, I get excited when the lights are off in my apartment and no one is there. I am left to do what I want, when and where I want to do it. There is no forced conversation. There is no sharing. There is just me.

This love of solitude (or perhaps I am just very introverted) has manifested itself in me doing lots of things on my own. Dining, shopping, going to the movies. And last weekend, for the first time, I went out alone.

No, I didn't just head into a bar alone, trying to mix and mingle with random 20somethings. It was a party for a co-worker. I knew that I would most likely know quite a few people at the party. But it was still going to a bar by myself. I wasn't really meeting any friends there. I was just showing up. Alone. To be honest, I was a little apprehensive. None of my friends were able to join me that night and I really wanted to go. Rather than be lame and just stay home (knowing that Sunday morning I would regret not going), I drank 3/4 of a bottle of wine and went to the party.

You know what? I had a blast. It was one of the best nights I've had in a long time. You see, going out alone has all the perks of going out (drinks, dancing, flirting, mingling) without the annoyances of friends (getting too drunk, wanting to leave, not having fun, fighting with boyfriends). The whole night I wandered around the bar, chatting with the various people I knew and meeting new folks. I danced. I drank. I stayed out way too late. But when I wanted to leave (somewhere around 3:15 when we had gone to another bar), I could just say goodbye and hop in a cab. There was no one else to convince that it was time to go.

On Sunday morning when I woke up, there was nothing to regret except that last gin & tonic.