In a world that thrives on companionship, what happens when you deliberately choose to be alone?

Written by Tayler Robertson

When people see me, they say I exude confidence, that I am one to brighten up a room. I’ve always wondered who they are seeing and which version of me they’re going on about. Little do they know, I don’t even know who I am, yet.

I decided to make it my mission to figure out who I am, who I really am. I decided to start going on dates … by myself.

My initial goal was to try all the restaurants that I know my friends won’t enjoy. You see, I’m the type of woman who prefers a charcuterie board with fresh seasonal fruits, veggies and imported cheese, and my friends are more partial to instant ramen. Trust me — there’s nothing wrong with that, my palate has just grown.

As I enter Rock and Rye Oysterhouse, a local Bellingham restaurant, anxiety begins to creep its ugly face into my mind. I can’t help but wonder if fellow restaurant-goers are looking at me. Am I underdressed? Is anyone else eating alone?

The host offers me two choices: a seat at the bar or a cozy corner upstairs. My hands begin to sweat, and any saliva I have in my mouth seems to disappear at the thought of making this decision, so I choose the cozy corner. I waltz upstairs and take my seat, where I realize I have free reign over the menu.

There is no judgment of the menu, no interruptions over the pricing, no funny faces about the dishes I choose — a dream.

As I look at my surroundings, I come across a familiar face. Brown flowing curly hair, fair skin and bright, beautiful hazel eyes. Her smile lights up the room as she walks toward me with a menu in her hand. That smile belongs to Kiley Shorthouse. I know her from a couple of friends from church, and she just so happened to be my server for the night.

To be honest, I feel more of a sense of ease and comfort as I await my delicious appetizers, face to face with someone I know from my other friends.

“There is no point in being afraid of eating alone just because you don’t have anyone to talk to. Be okay with just being yourself.” Madi Lynch said while sipping her martini, “Be okay with thinking your own thoughts without having to have the constant stimulation of being with someone else.”

Madi recently decided to pack up her belongings and her beautiful Australian Shepherd, Willow, to travel across the country for three months.

“I have never been alone. I have siblings, and I went to a university with thousands of students. I’ve lived in a sorority house with 13 girls,” Madi said. “I’ve never been comfortable being by myself, and so I’m on this journey to be alone and being okay with it.”

I relate so much to Madi. I’m hardly ever alone, and I am usually seen with my roommates or a group of friends from school or church. I can never just be Tayler, the woman who loves a hearty meal and a glass of wine. I want to change that; I need this night more than ever.

I order a feast: raw oysters on the half shell with a vinegary mignonette, Rockefeller oysters topped with crispy bread crumbs and parmesan cheese, scallops with greens, succulent mussels with fresh tomatoes, onions and garlic served with grilled bread, and of course, a glass of fruity white wine, a must-have when eating seafood. Guy Fieri from “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” has nothing on me.

Most people would look at me and think that meal was too much for me to put down in one sitting; I disagree.

To prepare for this journey to eating alone, I read an article — A table for one: the pain and pleasure of eating alone. It said, “Although individuals typically eat less when they eat alone than they do when they eat with others, for some people, eating alone provides an opportunity to escape public scrutiny and to eat as much as desired.” I’m doing just that.

Kiley describes to me how multiple people come to Rock and Rye to eat alone. “We get at least 10 people that eat by themselves a week,” she said. “Often they are reading a book in the back of the bar, or they’re industry people who come in before or after work.”

Maybe I should be more like them. Walking in with my head held high to a low-lit bar. Perhaps I know the waiter or bartender by name? I’d order my usual. Now, I’m not sure what my usual would be, but that just seems pretty damn cool to experience.

Why had I not done this before? What was holding me back from spending time with myself? I’ve always been told to gather in communities and join clubs to make friends all of my life. I am networking my way through friendships and making it seem like I know tons of people. While humans are meant to be social, what’s so bad about spending time with ourselves?

The feeling of eating with friends and family can be condensed to one word for some people: celebration.

One of my friends and fellow avid restaurant-goer Molly Martin is not opposed to eating alone when having a meal at her house. As far as going out in a busy social setting, Molly would instead rather go with friends.

“Going out to eat by yourself doesn’t sound fun because it’s not the experience I believe it’s supposed to be,” Molly said. “I think about eating out as a social activity like I think about it as an eating-with-a-friend activity.”

On the other hand, Madi left me with a piece of wisdom I feel like we all could use:

“I don’t know why society has such a bad stigma about it. You eat alone sometimes in your apartment or your house, what’s different? For people who are trying to get into eating alone, dive in headfirst; it’s not that big of a difference.”

She urges more college students who are too busy trying to build their social credibility to get out and try doing activities by themselves and hopes that people will accept and treat themselves to solo dates one day.

As I sit back and enjoy my wine, I can’t help but smile at the thought of my growth. If you told the little girl who preferred hopscotch with friends over food that in a few years she’d be taking herself on a date in a restaurant, she would have laughed at you.

I feel accomplished and maybe even a little tipsy as I leave the restaurant. The rain is misty as I look down and stare at the game of hopscotch painted on the pavement. My inner child gleams with joy. On a quiet, rainy night in Bellingham, I hopscotched my way to loving myself.