I’m currently sitting alone at a restaurant, outside, next to a cold glass of rosé (very instagram worthy – sadly), with the sun glaring off my laptop screen directly into my eyes.
I’m writing because I love to write. And I love to be alone sometimes. I love the sun and I love to breathe in the air, deeply. That’s why I’m here.
People, of course, have stared. They have probably thought about why I am here alone. (I’m just guessing. I could be assuming, and nothing good comes from that.) I wonder what they are thinking a few times before I stop looking back at them; before I stop pulling my head up from the screen… because I just keep writing. I’m here alone because I want to be, even though society tells me that someone should be sitting in front of me, drinking a cold glass of something that is giving them a buzz, easier than usual, due to the sun beaming down on their winter skin.
But, no one is in that chair I’m staring at. No one is sitting across from me. No single soul in the world we live in was invited to sit directly in front of me and tell me how much they hate their job, how the world is crumbling before our eyes, how the sun is too hot but yesterday it was too cold, how the rain has stopped but the pollen is horrible.
I love a lot of people, I love my boyfriend. I love my family. I love my best friends. I love my dog. I love, so deeply, because they make me feel alive.
But today, it’s just me. For no reason at all; just due to the subtle fact that alone time is necessary, no matter how much you love. And I am breathing in so deep into my lungs you would think that I am in a yoga class. I am taking in the pollen that causes my eyes to drip and ruin my carefully applied mascara. Pollen and I have never gotten along, but today I don’t care. Today I don’t even budge. Today, I accept that pollen hates me and everything that I am, and I take him on.
My waitress, a very beautiful woman, unique in her own way, comes over and asks how I’m doing. She has a tattoo on her arm in the shape of a state I can’t yet figure out (I failed a geography test in middle school, it stuck with me for life). I like it, though. I like it because she loved it so much she wanted it on her arm forever. I wonder where it brings her, or why she has it. Without hesitation, I order another glass. I didn’t have to, considering I leave for Italy in less than a week, so I’m trying to keep my figure… you know… in shape. Whatever that means. But I did. I did order the next glass, alone. I did it because the waitress, who I should know the name of but I don’t, is sweet. And she is waiting on me. She is earning her money through my multiple glasses of rosé and leftover english muffins with half eaten poached eggs on top because BA isn’t here to eat the leftovers. She picks them up, she runs to the next table, then she runs back to me in her adorable white laced sneakers that are probably giving her blisters.
She does it for the money. To make a living. To get by in the world.
I did it because of that.
I ordered one more glass because she deserves to be ordered from. She, this young lady, who is taking on the sunshiny weekend to make money, deserves another glass. And I do, too.
We all do.
Last Monday, I told BA I wasn’t drinking at all the upcoming weekend. Not that we drink a lot, because we hardly do… just those occasions where you need a glass of wine, or the beer is so cold and the sun is so hot, or the snow is too much and tequila sounds good, or the friends come in, or the parents take us to dinner, or just because we are loved. We are loved, so we drink to it.
I told him I wanted to be skinny for our trip to Italy. It still upsets me that these words came out of my mouth, but I can’t lie to you guys. I can’t lie to my loyal readers who keep me motivated to keep doing what I’m doing. But why, why do I say that still? I thought about it for awhile. I sat on it, petting my dog and spitting out golden fur while asking him why he sheds so much (he doesn’t know, in case you were wondering).
You could say that I lied to BA for telling him this, considering I’m now sitting here sipping cold rosé the second time around while making indents of letters onto a word document. But I would say, bluntly, that I was being ridiculous. That I was living in a world we all think we need to be in. A world we need to impress, even though we only know the tiniest amount of those souls that exist. A world, the unfortunately, most of us get caught up in.
Perfect. Skinny. Tiny. Like that random girl, the one you saw in a bikini on social media yesterday.
I am going to Italy next week with people who I adore and (I very so believe) adore me back. I forgot to remember that. I forgot, so quickly, to remember what the point of the trip was. I was invited by parents, who so lovingly took me in when I started dating their son. I forgot all of that. The only thing I didn’t forget was that I would be in a bathing suit.
And that, that right there just dawned on me. It shook me to my core, while slowly sipping some sort of pink wine a beautiful soul dropped off to me.
I continue to drink the rosé, I continue to gain freckles the sun kisses me with, and I continue to say thank you to my waitress.
I continue, in the current moment I’m in, but I stop at the same time. I rewind in my mind. I rewind to what matters. What matters isn’t my bikini body for all of you to see on Instagram. What matters is my family. My life. My loves. My entire heart and world. My friends. My dog, who I have to leave for two weeks (he will be with TT – my mom – don’t worry). What matters is that it has been one year, to the date, since BA and I met.
And, tonight, I will go to dinner (not alone), order more glasses of pink wine, and clink the glass together with the person’s glass who I so deeply love.
I will then go to Italy next week. I will leave on Thursday, I will snapchat, I will Instagram, I will wear the adorable outfits I spent (correction – BA spent) way too much on, and I will love. I will so deeply fall in love all over again for the people who checked off one of my bucket list “to-do’s before I die” numbers.
Number 7: fall in love with random people.
My other family, now. My other side.
My number 7.
I will go to Italy, I will eat the food, I will bloat like I’m 6 months pregnant, I will drink the wine like I know the name of it, and I will look around. I will look at the different scenes that I am placed in, I will look at the people that I am there with. The people who, so generously invited me, are next to me eating the pasta and drinking the carbs. I will take in the entire point of the vacation.
And, with that, I will come home and try to take in the entire point of life. Every day. I will try to forget that social media doesn’t matter. That who is around you, and who isn’t around you, does matter.
I will take this trip as a blessing.
For tonight, I will go to dinner, eat the food, drink the calorie based drinks, and I will look directly at the person I love and cheers him to a one year of happiness, love, and health. I won’t think about the bathing suit, because what matters will be directly in front of my eyes. What will you do?
If you ever get the chance, go out to lunch by yourself. Or dinner. Or breakfast. Sit there and take in the scene. Take in the sounds of everyone around you gossiping, flirting, falling in love, falling out love, fighting, laughing. Take it all in. Go alone. Just one time.
My waitresses name is Ashley, by the way.