On a date with myself #1

"Am I really doing this?" I asked my own reflection in front of me. The fact that the mirror was not talking back was enough reinforcement on my opinion that taking yourself out on a date was going to feel just as self-centred as it sounds. The procedures of trying to make myself look good before a date (or at least good enough to be able to be uncomfortably stared at for at least an hour) felt slightly different than it did before. It's not like I was trying to impress anyone and neither did I spend fifteen minutes and three outfit changes to look "effortlessly" good, but for some reason, there was still this urge to put a little bit effort into making my hair look less like I've just come back from Fashion Week for Homeless People, and the shade of the bags under my eyes look less like I'm transforming into one of those creatures from Avatar.

When my hair was tamed and my lipstick applied, I reminded myself of why I was doing this. As controversial as it sounds, I realised a while ago that I am stuck in a forced marriage with myself, and the only way out is death. So I might as well learn to love myself (whatever that means), to care for myself, using tools and techniques that don't just pretend to be my friends such as Ben & Jerry's and our good old friend Alcohol, and also to be nice and compassionate to myself: All things I already do, but with the goal of financial success or a potential career in mind, not because it will make me feel good and contribute to a more sane and stable mind. It's like when I started working out because I was unhappy with my body shape, until I came to realise that I was reaching for an unachievable goal, and rather decided to embrace the power and confidence lifting heavy things off the floor gives me. It's time to lift up other things in life now, too.

08.00 pm | Argo Lounge | First Drink: A large glass of red wine (Rioja, Spain)

It had been a long week of conducting interviews, hours of writing down transcripts, editing pieces, accomplishing the always seemingly impossible task of shortening a 1500 word piece to 300 words for a magazine submission and finishing a portrait feature in one sitting. Taking the additional challenge of ordering a wine that I couldn't even pronounce the name of was definitely not on the agenda, but I managed to do it anyway by exaggerating my accent to pretend I was just trying to sound stupid. A couple of sips in and I reminded myself of all the other things not involving work that make up the person I was sharing one of those tables clearly dedicated to singles and loners with. There were a couple of images popping up in my head about sharing some music and food with friends, cooking for two people that I love and activating the creative part of my brain by planning some new ideas for future blog posts after having finished writing one. There had also been some validation coming from the feedback of two assignments that I finally got back, which, you know, is nothing to complain about, wouldn't there be this inner critic inside of me, telling me that I'm still far away from being able to lean back and be satisfied with what I've done so far. But I wasn't really up for a conversation with him. The person I was on a date with was far more compassionate, and he's not invited anyway.

Next drink: Glen Elgin whisky on the rocks

But enough of all that work and life talk! I was thinking to myself. And then I remembered that there was no one to impress or entertain here anyway, no one who had to pretend to care about the things I was thinking about, so why was I stressing myself out? I took a sip of the beverage in my glass that was now melting together with its mountain of ice cubes, and continued reflecting on all the other fun bits that life had to offer lately. I was going through my Spotify and discovered that I had listened to more female artists than ever before. Molly Burch, Margaret Glaspy and Lucy Dacus were now part of my imaginary girl clique, and I must admit that it was quite refreshing to enjoy conversations that did not just cover boys and other people's lives. In addition to my little obsession with female artists, I have managed to dive into a phase that probably should've happened years ago: The John Mayer-phase. It wasn't even until my boyfriend showed me the blues-y kind of John Mayer, the I actually know how to play the guitar - John Mayer, the B.B. King- John Mayer the John Mayer who doesn't just write cheesy songs about female bodies and makes connections between gravity and his desire for a woman. For what I think must've been a solid week, I didn't even touch my Spotify account and rather listened to his live performances on YouTube, covering everything from Ain't No Sunshine and All Along the Watchtower to Everyday I Have the Blues. I feel less ashamed over the fact that my musical soul has spiritually fallen in love with John Mayer, than over the fact that I've been missing out on his musical masterpieces and performances for so long. Now was finally the time to catch up, and boy, did I manage to overtake myself in that race.

Besides the feeling of fulfillment and joy that comes with working with what you love and listening to music that makes you grateful to be alive, there's also been teeny-tiny events that didn't seem too significant at the time, but in retrospect actually put a smile on my face. Going through my archive of memories, I remembered that one really good and thought-provoking chat I had with my teacher about the dehumanisation of people that don't fit into the category of "average citizen” (or sheep). This includes all sorts of members of society, from homeless people to psychopaths to criminals. Not that these are related in any sense, but they're all categories that suffer from prejudice and public shaming. On a more positive note, I've also finally booked flight tickets to Norway, and I'm now able to look forward to showing my boyfriend around (and off) where I lived for five significant years of my life. And then there's obviously also family and friends to catch up with, and multiple Norwegian coffee shops to visit and, in my boyfriend's case, to judge. Overall, it's been an inspiring and creative week, with my productivity levels finally going up despite occasional outbreaks of sadness and the crippling fear of everlasting and incurable inadequacy. "Huh" I went after finishing my last thought and simultaneously the last sip of my drink. Perhaps what I had been doing so far wasn't too shit after all. Maybe I wasn't too shit after all.

Two hours had gone since a quite insecure Me sat down on the loner table to reflect on what had been going on. Although I told myself not to sound like a cheesy self-help guru who's reached Buddhistic enlightenment, I've got to admit that at that point, I was pretty comfortable sitting in the corner of the room, watching people and being left alone with my own thoughts. I wouldn't say I was completely comfortable, because after one hour someone must've thought that I was waiting for a date that just ditched me. Despite the hint of personal achievement I felt after drinking and talking with myself for two hours without looking like a schizophrenic alcoholic, I must admit that I felt a rush of relief running through my body when I was suddenly joined by my boyfriend and our mutual friend. Being in my own company was more enjoyable than I thought, but perhaps I was comfortable enough to be myself in other people's company now, too.

#onadatewithmyselfpart1 #onadatewithmyself #selflove #selfimprovement