Table for One

What image does that phrase put into your mind? Table for one. Yes, certainly eating out at a restaurant, but more importantly it blatantly implies eating out at a restaurant...alone.

This phrase has been a recurring theme throughout my travels for the past 7 months. I do make an effort to eat with company but all too often I end up on my own. This theme is present not only during meals however, but also when doing anything else: booking a tour for one, bus ticket for one, accommodation for one, movie for one, always one. As long as I keep busy, the concept of loneliness is foreign. However, as soon as I'm on my own with nothing planned, it slowly creeps in from all sides.

Walking back in the dark to the hostel after an uneventful night in Queenstown, I look up at the stars. I can't help but notice how bright and beautiful they are. I think of the friendly Hawaiian waitress I just met and wonder if I should return to the restaurant and boldly ask when she finishes working, but decide instead to lose myself in thought. After all, she did imply that it would be a long night for her.

On a sidewalk on the other side of the earth, I begin to reflect on my travels. Thinking of everything I've done fills me with an acute sense of accomplishment. I have traveled across the globe on my own, found work, overcome obstacles, met new people, experienced new cultures, tried new things, had grand adventures, and have really truly been living my life. As my feelings turn from satisfaction to pride, I am pierced by the cold realization that these feelings won't keep me company. They won't talk to me, laugh at my jokes, give me a hug, keep me warm at night, or care for me when I'm ill. Every step on the cold hard concrete echoes across the vacant street filled with strangers. The streetlights stoop toward the earth trying to see what's wrong with this lone solemn wayfarer. I tilt my head back toward the sky to pick out the familiar shape of Orion and take a slow deep breath; the cool fresh night air tastes stale and dry. People pass me by in cars and on foot. They are passersby with direction, uninterested in my presence. I am a ghost.

My thoughts turn to home – to family, friends, and places. I think about Denison, about the blood, sweat, and tears that I sacrificed every night learning physics. I think about all my classmates who valiantly struggled by my side to make it where we are today. I think about the fun I had all four years with roommates, classmates, teammates, bandmates, and other friends. I also think about not only my sister and parents, but my relatives too who have vigorously supported and encouraged me. I think about what everyone else is doing at this very moment. In my head, I live the classic movie scene where a character is out in the winter cold and peers into the window of a house to find a happy smiling family sitting down for a meal by a warm glowing fire. However, as it plays out in my head, I resist the urge for inclusion, consciously turning my back and continuing on down the street as if to say “not yet, not today.”

Photo from Arthur's Pass

I truly believe that I am much happier alone on my grand adventure than I would have been staying in Ohio. The amount of freedom I have in where to go and what to do is far beyond what I would have at home or if traveling with a companion. It is that freedom and ability to be completely spontaneous that has shaped my entire journey and I don't regret one bit of it. I'm no psychologist, but I think a touch of loneliness is a natural healthy response by anyone in my position. Life is about feeling alive. In order to feel alive, you have to feel. I embrace the moments of loneliness, allow the feeling to course through my veins, and then move on with my life strangely rejuvenated. Here's to being alive.