I Almost Didn’t Go

Looking at this picture now, you'd probably think I was having the most charming evening in a cozy English pub. And I was. It's also where I cried into a glass of wine.

This was my very first solo trip without much of a plan — sort of a plan. Alright, well, the plan was to waltz around town, shop to shop, sit on a bench and read, and live out my Beauty and the Beast moment.

There was one tiny problem. Nothing was open. Apparently November isn't exactly peak tourist season in the Cotswolds. Which still confuses me because it's just as magical as I imagined it would be in the summertime. It was just… quieter. The plans for my day were squashed. Generally, I have a travel partner to bounce ideas off of, to make the best of a situation. But I didn't have that person this time. How do I problem-solve people-pleasing when the person I'm pleasing is myself?

The inn had made dinner reservations on my behalf — top-notch hospitality, I might add. I was dreading it anyway. I had never gone to dinner by myself. But I had a plan: a glass of wine, a steak dinner, and the "new" book I'd bought in Bath a few days earlier.

As the time crept closer and I got ready for dinner, my overactive mind was calm. I'd prepared for this. I had my book ready. I knew my wine order and my dinner order. What could go wrong?

It's funny, as I sit here and write, I've realized how much time I spend trying to control my anxiety by preparing and planning. I should know by now that something's gonna happen. It's life, my girl.

Anyhow, I get seated, and I have to say, I'm excited at this point. I'm about to have dinner with myself. We are gonna rock at it. I sit, and I get my water and wine. I look around. How romantic is that fire, with the table right in front of it? My jealousy gets to me, and I feel like I should've been sat there. This pub — how beautiful this little English pub is. The old English brick, exposed all through the space. Leather seating with old wooden tables. Natural beams exposed in the ceiling. I just keep thinking, gosh, how romantic is this.

And then more people filter in.

Remember my old friend Anxiety? She's back. I try really hard to combat the negative, intrusive thoughts of what people must be thinking. Are people staring? Did she look at me? My brain is so creative sometimes. And to make things just a little more fun — how about we cry? Yes, amazing, it is indeed a lovely time to cry into my wine, appetizer, and book. But I ate my food and drank my wine anyway.

The silence felt loud. But I sat in it anyway. I let myself cry. As I was sitting there, I could hear my therapist reminding me: it's okay to feel, but then — what are you going to do about it? I also remembered reading in a book that someone else's opinion of me is none of my business.

I tried to read, but my anxiety got to me. My mind would wander too much for me to focus on what the character Mrs. Pettigrew said to her husband, and it was hard, in the moment. When I got back to my room and let everything settle for the evening, I was proud of myself for pushing through the uncomfortable. I sat in my big, comfy queen-sized bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking — when has a story ever started out "well, this was so easy"? I knew it was going to be hard. But one thing I hadn't planned for was simply sitting with myself.

When I talk about this moment, I don't remember the tears first. I remember the excitement. I remember how delicate the steak was and how crispy the brussels sprouts were. I remember how excited I was to carry a bottle of wine back to my room afterward. (You guys, I'm in my mid-thirties, I know you can do this — but it was my first time.)

The pure bliss of realizing I was doing this for me and nobody else.

I almost didn't go. I'm glad I went anyway.