on being single, and fabulous, in a city

When you graduate college (as a 21-year-old woman) and leave to go off to the big, great city for the big, great job, you expect certain things. It's a montage of Sex and the City meets Friends in your mind. Minutes after you move to the big, great city you will walk to that corner coffee shop and meet a new girlfriend who will share your deepest secrets as you both make the mistakes every 21-year-old does. And later that week, while slumped over a bar after one too many martinis, you will meet a guy who suavely scores your number but does not sleazily try to get you in bed.

Reality seems to be different.

At some point today I realized that I don't even have an "in case of emergency" person in Seattle. Not even a person to call on a Friday night and ask if they want to grab a beer. It's the most alone I've ever been in my life. Especially after leaving Reno where my favorite and most treasured people in the world are.

And I don't mean that in a depressing or a "pity me" way, because after being surrounded by so many people for the past four years, it's sometimes relieving to just be me. But it is lonely.

So, today I took myself out on a date. I walked about a mile to the Seattle Art Museum and wandered around there for a few more hours. Which was actually a rather odd experience. I'm so used to rushing through daily life that I actually had to tell myself to slow down. I reminded myself that I had all afternoon and didn't have to glaze over the museum notes for the art. I could actually read them. I listened to the audio tour. I stared at pieces that made me think, for more than two minutes. Then I went back to the same piece. I didn't look at a clock or check my cell phone for almost three hours. I loved it. I feel like I'm becoming a real person again.

I eventually got hungry and went to Pike's Place where I bought some fresh fruit. Then I sat on a pier and read The Fountainhead for about an hour. I walked some more and then found somewhere to eat dinner.

My solo date was going incredibly well up to that point. See, it's pretty socially acceptable to do all those things on your own. But eating a restaurant alone, especially when you're a 21-year-old woman, is something that garners strange looks. For example, it took about 10 minutes after I was seated for a waiter to come over and ask me if I was waiting on someone. When I said no, he gave me this shameful pitiful look and asked me if I would like a drink.

Thanks. Really.

Shamed out of my martini (cause God forbid I dine and drink alone) I ordered my meal and he went on his way. I felt this sudden urge to pull my book out of my purse and hide behind it. As if reading somehow justified my being alone in a crowded restaurant.

I hadn't felt out of place the whole day and suddenly I felt like a social leper. But then, I noticed an older man who was also in the museum looking at the Italian art exhibit at the same time I was. He was alone too. And it did not seem out of place.

Then I started to think about what the actually difference between us was (you know, other than a few decades and a penis). I realized there wasn't one. And I ordered my martini and stopped feeling guilty about being independent.

I've always been the kind of only child that can entertain herself for hours without the company of others. In fact, I'm rather good company. I take me to tasty restaurants. I go to nice art museums. I people watch, window browse and generally enjoy wandering aimlessly. Me, myself and I are actually a pretty good way to spend an afternoon.

Maybe that's why I turn people off, or they think I'm a bitch at first meeting. I've always had an innate sense that I don't need other people to be complete or content. I'm not going to hide in my apartment for hours because I don't have someone to go out with.

That's not to say that I don't want someone to people watch with or someone to call up on a Sunday afternoon to wander with. I genuinely treasure the people in my life who matter, and the people in my life whom I love and who love me.

And I wish they were here with me, exploring this city. But since they're not, I guess I'll just have to do.