On Doing Stuff Alone

Last night, I went down to D.C. to see a rock show. Pinback, an obscure indie band I discovered in college and have been following closely ever since, was playing at the Rock and Roll Hotel, a tiny venue on H Street, and I couldn't resist. It was my fifth time seeing them in concert.

I have turned a few of my friends on to Pinback over the years, but I decided to go to the show only a few hours before it started and by that time, it felt too late to ask anyone to accompany me. And really that was fine by me. The fact is, I like going places alone sometimes. I complete much of my grading at a table for one at Starbucks, but I also don't mind going solo to meals, movies, baseball games and the occasional concert. What does bother me is the constant feeling of having to explain myself or apologize when I go off on an adventure by myself.

"I went to a show last night," I'll tell people.
"Oh cool," they'll say, "Who did you go with?"
More than once, I've fabricated a friend to avoid admitting the truth."My buddy Marvin," I'll say, "We met in a study abroad program."

It is a well known rule that if a character in a movie is dining alone, the movie wants you to know that they are Lonely. The truth is, I've eaten many pleasant meals by myself. And I don't consider myself a lonely person.

Something like this actually happened last night. The lights came on after the final encore and when I looked to my right, I realized that for the entire duration of the show, I had been standing next to two college acquaintances (now married to each other, it turns out). We caught up with each other for a while, on the sidewalk outside the club and it wasn't long before they asked me if I had come to the show by myself. Sheepishly, I admitted that I had. "Wow, that's a commitment," they responded, charitably. "Or just pathetic," I retorted.

Do I honestly think that my habit of going solo is pathetic? I don't think I think that. I mean, let's look objectively at the facts. I love people and spend much of my life surrounded with them. I have a wife and two kids and lots of friends - from high school, from college, from work. In fact I'm spending next weekend with a bunch of college buddies: we're renting a house near Annapolis. I don't work some sedentary job in a cubicle; my teaching requires me to speak publicly multiple times each day, to dozens of people. I enjoy going to movies, ballgames and concerts with friends and I do so probably three or four times as often as I venture out alone. It's fair to say that I am an introvert, and that my wife occasionally has to encourage me to reach out to friends rather than hanging out around the house, but I am by no means some hermit who can't stand social interaction.

So why should I feel weird about choosing to venture out alone sometimes? Concerts (and movies, for that matter) are basically anti-social events anyway, if you exclude the drinks or meal that often take place before or after. You stand or sit in a darkened room for an hour and a half to two hours. Admittedly, a concert would be weird if you were the only one in the audience - much weirder than a movie - but still, I've found that I don't need a companion by my side in order to thoroughly enjoy the experience.

Even now, I feel like my tone sounds a little defensive - as though I'm trying to convince the world, and maybe myself, that I'm not some weirdo loner. The stigma against doing things alone is just that strong. I admit, I have perpetuated it myself. How often have I been out to dinner with friends, glanced over at a man or a woman reading a book at a table for one, and thought (sometimes even out loud), "What a loser"?

Pinback isn't really the point of this article. But I really do love the band.

I sang along with every Pinback song the other night, even the B sides that only the guys in the band know. (Because the lead singer, Rob Crow, is kind of mumbly, I don't know the actual lyrics to many of the songs, but I've made up my own. And I have to say, I think the two of us sound pretty good harmonizing together.) By the end of the night, I was starting to feel a little lonely and was ready to return home to family. By 6:30 Sunday morning I'll admit I wasn't completely ready to wake up, but I after a cup of coffee, I was happy to spend time with my wife and babies. We went to the Baltimore Farmer's Market, where we had lunch together and picked out some beets and acorn squash for dinner. I was reminded once again that I love spending time with my family - and I love it even more after I've spent a little time by myself.