I try to talk about my past life openly and although parts of this past life of mine have been strategically blocked out like a solar eclipse-  the kind you need protective gear just to look at-  I can promise I’ll continue to cut my heart open and let any wise words seep out to help or inspire someone else. At least, that’s the hope. 

I was married once- not in a very romantic sense but on legally-binding paper. Of course, it started with great big mushy love. Most don’t get married with the intent to divorce, we had some semblance of love. But lots of things feel like love when you’re twenty three, teetering between playing housewife and Jennifer Anniston’s character in Rockstar (if you slept on that one when it came out, you’re not missing out). My ex husband was a touring musician, our wedding day was scheduled around his rigorous schedule. I was shocked we could even go on a honeymoon with how little time there was in-between tours. He traveled the world and I stayed back to hold down our newlywed fort, meanwhile, running up a hefty bill on what I called self love. When we got back from our honeymoon, I chopped off my hair and literally Googled “how to be alone.” In such a Google search, you find gems like “22 simple ways to fall in love with your own company.”

“Go enjoy a meal by yourself, take yourself on a day trip or solo holiday, indulge in ALL the things!”

So easy! So I had brunch at the French bistro, an afternoon latte and then another (but iced this time), solo dinner at that sushi spot we loved, and drinks at the speakeasy across the street- you know, for self love. And then repeat. I vacationed alone. I went to see movies alone. I hiked alone. I took long drives alone. It all felt like my own secret world that no one else was part of except for the friendly strangers I might chat up, never to keep in touch with again. I was on a first name basis with nearly every bartender in Seattle. I walked into a place like it was mine - a real case of main character syndrome before anyone called it that. I propped my elbows up on the counter and couldn’t be bothered to order from the menu so I’d pick a base and tell the barkeep to “surprise me.” Recalling this now, I’m insufferable to me too and also wondering if I was busy trying to love myself or just blossoming into a fancy-but-functional alcoholic. I wasn’t dating myself, I was dating the city and maybe that’s why I love her so much. I was so sure of my independence, I didn’t notice that I was literally relying on a place to fulfil my emotional needs and cure my boredom. 

I did exactly what that dumb article told me to do. And what a freeing feeling to go out alone- I can do whatever, go wherever, on my time and stare lovingly into my wine or admire my own reflection in one of those big fancy mirrors bars like to hang behind all the bottles. 

I couldn’t sit still. I needed to keep rotating my backdrop for loneliness every two hours or so. Christ, woman, maybe try reading a book. But no, I felt this need to take myself on a daily tour of luxuries I allowed myself if I couldn’t have the coupled life I thought I signed up for. Now, it would be very easy to blame my loneliness and independent habits on my long distance marriage, but my solo days started ages before there was a diamond on my finger. All five-foot-two of me was so committed to convincing the world I could do everything myself, never needing anybody. I married a brilliant, independent person and only in the last few weeks have I dug deep enough through my past selves to understand that somewhere in that relationship, a switch flipped and I grew hungrier for all the things I was missing that I also didn’t know how to give- affection, fun, vulnerability. The poor man was married to a steel trap with a deeper appreciation for whiskey and materialism than spontaneous living room makeouts. 

We fall in love with mirrors of ourselves. I married this hyper-independent mirror of myself because in that now-discontinued model of Marina, I was afraid of losing my party-of-one pride-badge and when I had no choice but to double down on independence, the person I evolved into readied herself for the opposite. 

It took six years of therapy and moving to one of the world’s most expensive cities to curb my need for lavish bandaids for my loneliness. Going out to eat alone is expensive, vacations alone are expensive. Living alone is expensive. Shit, most things are expensive to do alone and that’s why New Yorkers move in together as soon as one of them leaves a toothbrush behind. It’s all very expensive in actual currency, but it may be more expensive to never learn how to be alone. It’s in that alone-ness that we learn what we want and all that we’re willing to tolerate, we examine parts of ourselves we’ve never met and as we evolve, we imagine the kinds of people we want to let in- our future mirrors. 

There’s no how-to guide for how to move past the discomfort of sitting still with your busy brain. I can say with certainty that the way I used to spend time alone is not “it”, unless you want to become really poor really fast but have some nice Instagram shots to show for it. ​​When I started “dating myself”, I thought it meant taking myself out the way I would want someone else to wine and dine me. What it really requires is sitting still and getting comfortably quiet without deciding there’s something wrong with you. There’s a delicate balance between resisting stillness and always moving for the sake of having a destination with a reward at the end. 

I now do things alone because while I’m so grateful for friends close by, I don't want the lack of company to keep me from doing something I want to do. I can pace myself. I can be grateful for my people and also make plans to give myself those quieter moments that serve their purpose.

I’m getting ready to leave for Paris alone in just over a month (assuming Covid keeps her shit in check). I’m thinking about what I’ve learned about stillness that I can take with me. After my trip to Miami earlier this year, I thought I was done traveling alone, seeing as it’s all I’ve ever known. On this trip, I’ll sit in cafes, continuing to pretend I'm the main character. I’ll eat my weight in croissants and drink wine on my terrace. That’s as far as I’ve planned. I’ll let the Marais teach me something I don’t know about myself- something that one can only observe from a new place of knowing close to nothing.

We’re approaching the end of this blog post and if you’ve been here with me before, you know I end my posts with some sort of motivational “go get ‘em tiger, you do you” paragraph. I don’t have that for you this time. Learning to love your own company is like the itchy sweater of personal development. It’s an uncomfortable hell that seems like it could be easily avoided. Is it sad or is it sexy? It starts out more sad than sexy, then becomes equal parts of both and then the goal is to get to the sexy side of the scale, feeling completely content, detached from outcomes and, dare I say it, in love with who you are and what you already have.

The torture that is stillness is like a staring contest with your body and brain. It gets really hard not to blink and it’s not something anyone is meant to adjust to. But I think that’s the point, we’re not supposed to get quiet or sit still and be by ourselves for too long, just long enough to be able to return to our people a little more aware of ourselves, who we are and what we need. For best long-term results, skip the $300 bar tab. For short-term introspection, make me proud and go top-shelf.