GOING SOLO
The way I did it.
I went to a play by myself.
For weeks, months, and even years, I’ve tried to rally friends to go to the theater with me. Today, I thought I had a better than average chance of having a companion when I announced to my captive audience—the four friends who were in my truck delivering signs for a community project—that I would love to go to a play that afternoon. Since a mutual friend was one of the actors in the play, I thought at least one of them would want to join me. As I have said, …
Crickets.
I didn’t even try to cajole my husband into going. A lesson that I’ve learned over the years is that when I’ve convinced him—he would claim that I forced him to go along when he REALLY didn’t want to—neither of us was happy about it. Nor were the people around us. I don’t want to be the couple that is bickering constantly, and no one else wants to be with that couple either.
After wallowing in a pool of negative self-talk … the tickets are expensive, the seats are usually uncomfortable … remember the last time when I got a charley horse in my right hip? Besides, there are so many things I should be doing; the floor hasn’t been mopped in weeks, laundry is piling up, and the dining room table is covered in clutter. The list went on and on as I surveyed my surroundings.
Then, partly because I made a pledge to you when I announced my year of trying … but even more because I pledged that I was going to do things differently this year … I gave myself a proverbial kick in the pants and changed into my going-out clothes.
Admitting that I’m afraid is challenging. It’s something I’ve been trying to understand since the kids left the nest. I’ve settled on this definition: Fear of a certain situation is not the same as being a fearful person. Generally, I’m not a fearful person. So, what was it about going to the theater by myself that gave me pause?
This isn’t easy for me to admit, but the truth is I was afraid of what other people would think. Would they think my husband and I were on the outs? I’ve thought that when I’ve seen married women out by themselves, I’ve wondered where their husbands were. Would people feel sorry for me? Would they think that I didn’t have any friends?
The drive to the theater that should have taken ten minutes took twice as long, and I questioned myself all along the way. I arrived only minutes before the show and I hadn’t purchased a ticket in advance. I told myself that if the show was sold out, it was a sign that I shouldn’t go. As it turned out, the volunteer at the box office had trouble running my credit card, so he said I didn’t have to pay. He printed me a “cast and crew complimentary ticket” and told me to go on in. I could have taken that as a positive sign, but I didn’t. Instead, I wondered … Did he feel sorry for me, too?
Then the lights blinked on and off, signaling that it was time for the show to begin. Thankfully, I didn’t have to stand awkwardly in the lobby, and I made it to my seat. The woman next to me was scrolling on her phone. I managed to settle into my seat without having to make small talk, which I found oddly comforting because I typically to talk to people. I always say hello to people that I pass on the street … and I’ve been known to strike up conversations in the checkout line.
Once the show started, my questioning mind vanished. For two hours, my cares and responsibilities, and wondering what others might think—which had been my constant companion leading up to that moment—were gone.
And that’s the way I did it … Going Solo.
This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.
Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers
Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, and what I wouldn’t do the next time.