The Art of the Unaccompanied Table
Somewhere along the way, we decided dinner alone meant nobody was available. What if it actually means you are?
There is a moment that happens when you walk into a restaurant alone.
“Just one?”
There it is.
Just.
Such an innocent little word.
And yet somehow it manages to turn an entire adult human being into a slightly unfortunate seating arrangement.
Just one.
Not one for dinner.
Not welcome.
Just one.
As though perhaps the rest of your party was lost in traffic, your date abandoned you somewhere on Lexington Avenue, or you simply haven’t managed to acquire another person in time for the reservation.
And I started wondering:
When did being alone become something we were expected to explain?
Because New York is filled with millions of people.
Surely one of the great luxuries of living among this many of them should be occasionally choosing not to bring one along.
We’ve Been Waiting for a Plus-One
There are restaurants you’ve been meaning to try.
Museums you’ve saved.
Trips sitting in your browser history.
Concerts you wanted to attend.
That little wine bar you pass every Thursday and think, I really need to go there.
And then comes the sentence:
“I just need to find somebody to go with.”
So we wait.
For a friend whose schedule works.
For the relationship.
For someone who likes the same food.
For someone who can afford the ticket.
For someone who wants to travel when we do.
For someone who doesn’t think opera is punishment.
And while we’re waiting for someone to accompany us into our lives, our lives keep happening.
That’s the part that bothers me.
Because companionship can make an experience wonderful.
But should companionship be a requirement for experiencing it at all?
A Table for One Is Not a Cry for Help
Eating alone at home is perfectly acceptable.
Nobody thinks twice about it.
But move that same person into a beautiful restaurant, give them a proper wine glass and suddenly everyone becomes concerned.
Is she waiting for someone?
Did he get stood up?
Should we put them at the bar?
There is an intimacy to dining alone in public that makes people strangely uncomfortable.
Maybe because you’re not distracted.
There is no conversation to hide behind.
No phone call you need to make.
No person sitting across from you validating your presence there.
You simply chose to come.
And confidence without an audience can be disarming.
The idea behind today’s Single in the City conversation is the intentional solo date—claiming beautiful restaurants, bars and experiences without treating being unaccompanied as a consolation prize.
Not because you’ve given up on meeting someone.
Because you haven’t given up on yourself while you’re waiting.
The Bar May Be the Best Seat in the House
If you’re new to solo dining, start at the bar.
Restaurant bars are one of New York’s greatest social inventions.
You can talk.
You can not talk.
You can watch the bartender work.
You can order dinner without occupying a table designed for four.
You can meet someone.
You can read.
You can stare into space looking mysterious enough that somebody assumes you’re writing a screenplay.
Nobody quite knows whether you’re alone by circumstance or design.
And after approximately twelve minutes, you may stop caring.
That’s when the evening gets interesting.
Because once you stop wondering how you look sitting alone, you start noticing everything around you.
The couple who haven’t spoken in twenty minutes.
The first date going remarkably well.
The bartender who knows everybody’s name.
The woman three stools down eating oysters and reading a novel as though she has cracked some secret code to adulthood.
Maybe she has.
Being Single Is Not an Intermission
This may be the part we need to say louder.
Being single is not the space between relationships.
It is a relationship status.
Not a developmental delay.
Not a holding pattern.
Not the waiting room outside your “real” life.
And yet so much of adulthood is marketed in pairs.
Dinner for two.
Couples getaway.
His and hers.
Date night.
Romantic escape.
Even hotel breakfast packages seem mildly suspicious of anyone requiring only one croissant.
But if we spend our single years waiting for someone else to authorize certain experiences, we may eventually enter a relationship having never learned something incredibly valuable:
how we like to live.
What restaurants do you like?
Where do you want to travel?
What does your ideal Saturday look like when nobody else’s preferences are involved?
What do you order when you’re not sharing?
What time do you actually want to go home?
Who are you when nobody is negotiating the evening with you?
Those aren’t small questions.
They’re useful information for the person who may eventually love you.
There’s a Difference Between Being Alone and Being Lonely
We confuse these constantly.
You can be alone and completely content.
You can also sit across from someone you’ve loved for years and feel devastatingly lonely.
Company doesn’t automatically create connection.
And solitude doesn’t automatically create sadness.
Sometimes solitude is simply space.
Space to notice yourself.
Space to think.
Space to flirt with the bartender.
Space to change your mind.
Space to order dessert without someone saying, “I thought we were being good.”
Maybe that’s why learning to enjoy your own company matters.
It doesn’t mean you stop wanting companionship.
It means companionship becomes something you choose, rather than something you require to rescue you from yourself.
And Yes, You Might Meet Someone
Here’s the delicious irony.
Going somewhere alone may actually make you more available to the world.
When you’re sitting with three friends, you’re inside a social circle.
When you’re alone at the bar, the edges are open.
Someone can speak to you.
You can speak to someone.
You notice the room.
You aren’t necessarily hunting for a date.
And perhaps that’s exactly what makes connection possible.
A question about the menu becomes a conversation.
A conversation becomes another drink.
Another drink becomes exchanging numbers.
Or nothing happens.
And you still had dinner.
That’s the beauty of it.
The evening doesn’t fail simply because romance didn’t appear.
Take Yourself Somewhere You Think Requires an Occasion
This is my favorite experiment.
Choose somewhere you’ve been saving.
The restaurant that’s “too nice” for an ordinary night.
The hotel bar.
The orchestra.
The tasting menu.
The rooftop.
The beautiful little place where you always imagined arriving with somebody.
Book it.
For one.
Wear something that makes you feel fantastic.
Arrive on time.
Don’t explain yourself.
Don’t tell the server you’re “just grabbing something quickly.”
Don’t spend the first fifteen minutes texting everyone you know so that you can technically claim not to be alone.
Sit there.
Order what you want.
Look around.
Let the evening happen.
Because maybe you’ve been waiting for an occasion without realizing:
you are the occasion.
What Happens When Someone Finally Arrives?
Maybe eventually you meet them.
The person.
Or at least a person worth giving Saturday night to.
Wonderful.
Now something interesting happens.
You’re not asking them to provide you with a life.
You already have one.
You know your restaurants.
Your friends.
Your rituals.
Your favorite corner of the city.
Your Saturday morning.
Your Sunday afternoon.
Your table.
They’re not rescuing you from an empty calendar.
They’re being invited into a full one.
And isn’t that a much more interesting place from which to fall in love?
Not:
“Complete me.”
But:
“I really like this life I’ve built. Would you like to see some of it?”
So, Table for One?
Yes.
One.
No apology.
No explanation.
No imaginary companion running late.
Just one person who got hungry, wanted a beautiful evening and decided not to wait for somebody else’s calendar to cooperate.
Maybe someday there will be two.
Maybe there won’t.
Tonight, it doesn’t matter.
The reservation is at eight.
And you’re already here.
The Mood Question
What’s the experience you’ve been postponing because you haven’t had anyone to go with—and what would happen if you booked it for yourself this week?
Stay in the Mood
New York singles, here’s your assignment:
Take yourself somewhere.
Not because you’re practicing for a future date.
Not because you’re proving how independent you are.
And definitely not because you’ve given up on love.
Go because your life is happening now.
Order the good wine. Take the corner seat. See the movie. Buy the ticket. Make the reservation.
And if the host asks, “Just one?”
Smile.
“One is perfect.”
Single in the City is Mood’s ongoing conversation about dating, relationships, independence, friendship, sex, love and building a life in New York that doesn’t begin only after somebody chooses you.
Keep the conversation going on WHRL Mood Radio and throughout the Mood Media Network.
Date yourself. Meet somebody. Change your mind. Fall in love with the city. Stay in the Mood.
Mood Magazine. Mind. Body. Spirit. Culture. Harlem to the world.
