Eat alone at a restaurant

“So some time ago, I got up, got dressed and went out to lunch by myself. It was 100% weird, and several times I wanted to just get up, abandon the food and get out of dodge. Somehow though I soldiered through the meal and I learned something new about myself. When I stopped stressing out about how I looked sitting by myself eating alone, I actually had a good time and I walked home smiling.”

“The last restaurant I ate alone at was Whitman’s, a burger joint in Manhattan’s East Village. I brought the book I’m currently reading, The Female Persuasion, and ordered a turkey burger. I was one of two parties dining in the restaurant that night; the other was a larger group, some friends of the waitress and manager, debating topics from the legitimacy of online therapy to whether or not one woman’s father was actually an a**hole. Their voices naturally rose as their conversation got heated (No, it’s not worth the money! The therapist doesn’t even give me advice!), and I felt annoyed because I had come to the restaurant to eat my burger and read quietly. In that moment, I had to remind myself that most people come to restaurants (and particularly, burger joints) to socialize, so I let go of my desire to read and instead, found solace in my own thoughts.”

“I’m shy, and while I was mildly concerned about what people might think of me when I began dining alone, I was more concerned about what I might think of me if I didn’t try. I didn’t want to be someone who experienced less of a city, less of life, because I was afraid. So I went. By dining out, even at less than stellar places, I experienced more of whatever city I was in — practicing my terrible French on patient waiters and cashiers, sampling unfamiliar dishes, observing locals, figuring out where I was in relation to everything else.”