We forget as we grow old how much the young don’t know yet. We take our lessons learned over a lifetime of hits and misses for granted. We think that what is plain for us to see in the rearview mirror of our advanced age, sits clearly through the windshield of those much younger than ourselves. I forget sometimes that my own sons know 22 and 26 things, whereas I know 66 of them. One of those millions of Instagram (IG) soundbites we are so fond of today, brought me back to a time forty years ago when I learned how to eat in restaurants all by my lonesome. The post read, “People who can eat alone in restaurants can literally do anything in the world.” My comment in reply was, “LOL! Well since I’ve been doing it for four decades, I guess so!” I do random things like this all day on IG because I’ve elevated wasting time on social media in discourse with perfect strangers to an art form. Rarely does one get much of a reaction. After all, no one reads anymore. We just write and write and write on social media, whether we are truly up to the task or not. This comment of mine, however, got over twenty of those nifty Instagram hearts, the Facebook equivalent of a thumbs up. Odd, I thought, that so many responded to this. I mean, eating alone in a restaurant is not splitting the atom, after all. Furthermore, in today’s world, is it truly possible to eat alone in a restaurant? One always has their 327 Facebooks friends and Instagram followers with them. Can that really be thought of as dining for one?
My mind drifted to how exactly this social media sanctioned talent of mine came to be. I remembered the very first time I did it; Salerno’s Italian restaurant in Queens, circa 1983. It was my favorite restaurant back then. Close to home and even closer to the best baked clams ever to grace a white clothed table. When one is 26 years old and not even remotely fit to deal with an abusive first husband, one looks for places of refuge if only for an hour or two. Salerno’s became just that place for me back then. I was so nervous the first time I entered, as if every waiter knew what I was running from. I forced myself to sit, knowing that this temporary place of peace would fortify me for the long night ahead. At first I fidgeted between the reading of the menu and the arrival of the food, then a sense of safety and tranquility replaced embarrassment and fear. Each week, I took to doing that simple saving task, savoring my quiet time amidst the red faux leather booths and green fake foliage. I didn’t stop there. Why settle for an hour or so of freedom?
I began to go to movies alone during the day. It was another first solo venture I never thought I would have to brave. It was easier in the daylight. The theaters were mostly empty and I could settle comfortably in my seat and pretend I was anywhere but where I was, physically and emotionally. It was not long after, about a year or so, that I traded this temporary life of solace and peacefulness for a permanent one. We moved from our rental in Queens, New York to the second-floor apartment above my family in the Bronx. That fortuitous change led to an even more monumental one; my shackles of pain were sledgehammered through by two of the most fearsome sisters a girl could ever have. Out he went, once and for all. I’m one of the lucky ones, I guess.
Today, I still eat in restaurants alone. I don’t mind it a bit. I still prefer going to the movies all by myself, mostly because I’m a chatterbox and I don’t want me to distract me if someone else is along. So, to that Instagram poster that started all this ruminating for me, perhaps you are not far off the mark. Perhaps, I can do anything, like fiercely find my way out of an abysmal marital situation, or, like being undeterred when the search for two tickets to see a new musician last week yielded only one. I gave it no second thought and bought the last ticket, complete with a meet and greet with the artist beforehand. Nowadays, my tables for one are set by necessity or desire, sometimes both. I can see, though, how daunting they can be for young adults posting these kinds of things who are just beginning life’s navigation. It’s helpful to leave these lessons of ours learned long ago as signposts for them along their way. One never knows when one’s past foray into dining solitude will give someone the courage to sit at their own future table for one.
