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On eating alone.

By on Jul 18, 2016 in Life

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I have so many mixed feelings about eating alone these days.

When I was younger, willingness to eat alone or see movies alone or go to a bar alone felt like a badass badge of honor. And I collected those.

But now that I’m separated, eating alone feels sad. It’s a poignant reminder that I was left. This wasn’t my choice.

Because, you see, I love eating out. I love being served a meal. I am respectful and I tip well, but there is something delicious about eating in a restaurant. And I don’t mean high falutin’ fancy restaurants. Diners are just fine by me. Or the Chinese restaurant and take out place I’m at now.

There are so many troupes about eating alone. I used to entertain myself when eating or drinking alone — journaling, reading … Or, you know, writing this blog post.

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But I find myself just wanting to sit and take everything in. It feels both sad and refreshing. My brain is overloaded and I cannot add one more thing. My mindfulness training is coming into play too – noticing the sights, sounds, and smells.

It’s also an acknowledgement that I AM ALONE. I am still getting used to that idea and it makes me sad.

I loved being married. It made me feel safe and secure. And now I’m thrown into a hurricane and I’ve lost all my bearings.

But I guess that’s where the simple pleasures of life – food – and particularly modern life – restaurants – come into play.

One foot in front of the other.

Plate to mouth.

That’s how we survive.

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