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On a gorgeous early spring afternoon in New York City, I walked from the train station to the theater. Approaching the box office, I felt a little nervous. The ticket I purchased that morning was waiting at the will-call booth. Tentatively, I gave my name to the man behind the window, and as he handed me the small envelope, he said, "Just the one ticket, correct?"
His voice was friendly, flat and non-judgmental. Yet his words held judgment in my mind, and I felt an internal spotlight upon me. "Yes, just one," I replied, grabbing my lone ticket and scurrying to my seat so as not to draw any more attention to myself.
I have always been someone who finds safety in numbers. I have never been comfortable with solo outings. Whether eating in a restaurant, watching a movie or spending time at a museum, I've gravitated toward bringing a plus one or more. While I have been to the theater countless times, that afternoon was the very first time I had gone alone.
I always viewed it as an activity to do with someone. I wasn't sure I could fully enjoy the experience without a plus one. And for most of my life, I've been able to find a plus one when I wanted to catch a show. Initially, it was my mom. She introduced me to live theater as a child, taking me to see Annie. Watching the performers sing and dance right in front of me was mesmerizing. I was hooked and couldn't wait to go again. When I was in my 20s, my mother and I began a tradition of seeing a show every May to celebrate Mother's Day.
As she got older, my mother became more anxious about going into the city, and the pandemic exacerbated her fears. Our annual tradition ended, and while I missed going with her, I found new companions. Whether it was a friend, my husband or one of my kids, I could usually find someone who wanted to go with me. If I couldn’t, I just wound up not seeing it.
Until that spring afternoon. There was a show I wanted to see that had gotten great reviews. I asked around, but no one I knew was interested, or if they were, our schedules didn't align. It was a limited run, and time was running out.
I was ready to give up until I wondered, “Could I go alone?”
That morning, I woke up and checked to see if tickets were available. Many single seats were still open. Before I could change my mind, I pressed the "buy" button and headed straight to the train station to get to the city.
After grabbing my ticket from the man behind the window, I made my way to my seat. Waiting for the show to start, with strangers on either side of me, I felt self-conscious. Did other patrons notice I was alone? Did they think it was weird or sad that I was there by myself?
I was out of my comfort zone. “Many people get nervous about trying new activities alone because they are afraid of being judged by others,” explains Joshua Cavins, a California licensed marriage and family therapist. "However, the truth is most people are too busy with their own lives to pay attention to you. Instead of worrying about what others think, focus on enjoying yourself and the experience.”
While my single status felt like a big deal to me, no one in the theater probably cared. They were there to see a show. Rather than feeling bad, sad or embarrassed, I needed to feel happy that I was there and embrace my own company.
It turned out to be easier than I had anticipated. Once the music started and the performances began, I stopped focusing on who was (or was not) next to me and became immersed in the magic in front of me.
Being alone, I was more in the moment. When I go with someone (especially my husband or kids), I worry about whether they enjoy themselves or just come as a favor to me. I'll drift away from the stage and peek at my companion to gauge their reaction.
By myself, it was purely about my enjoyment. Instead of chatting with my date at intermission, I embraced the opportunity to people-watch, taking in the audience and its energy in a way I had not done before. While I missed de-briefing together when the show was over, I found a similar sense of camaraderie by reading online comments about the production.
Since that afternoon last year, I have been to the theater a lot. Sometimes, I go with someone, but I often go alone. In both scenarios, I have a good time.
My only regret is that I didn't start doing this sooner. The more I go solo, the more comfortable I become. My trepidation has been replaced by excitement when I pick up my ticket and sit next to strangers. I enjoy being self-reliant and no longer have to skip a show I want to see because I don't have a plus one.
"The show must go on,” and by being open to going by myself, I get to be there when it does.
Do any of you ever go to the theater or a restaurant alone? Let us know in the comments below.
Loris Lora
Follow Article Topics: Lifestyle
