It’s funny. I posted a few weeks ago about eating out alone, and back in September, I found myself travelling by myself, exploring, and eating out. It felt totally natural. I’ve done it before of course, but this time, I forgot to even think about it. I didn’t think, oh goodness, I’m by myself, and in fact it didn’t really strike me, not really, until I went into a city and craving pizza, headed to an Italian restaurant.
Having been by myself for a few days already, I was totally in tune with this, and most places and people are extremely accommodating and welcoming. I was surprised then to find the staff so bemused by me asking for a table for one. The waiter, lovely and friendly, kept coming over to check if I was okay, and maybe I’m just paranoid but I couldn’t help but think they were all wondering what I was doing there alone.
More than anything it amused me. I was so relaxed and at ease with what I was doing, and it wasn’t like I was doing anything outrageous, that I didn’t mind at all.
But it also made me feel sad – not for myself, but for other people.
But I suppose there’s nothing you can do about that.