Today I went on a date with myself.
This meant I chose shoes to please only myself, and so ended up tromping down the river trail in hiking boots – practical, warm, sturdy. I noticed things for my own delight: the quick flit of a small dark bird across the path. The delicate tracery of frost on twigs and needles. The icy hurry of the river. I told myself several witty stories, just to impress, and did not try to think up clever things to say in return. I just listened, my attention completely focused on me.
At the bakery, I generously bought myself a cup of tea, and insisted on paying. “No, no, it’s on me,” I said to myself. I sat by myself at a table, chose the spot in the sun and basked, sipping my mint tea slowly and languorously. I used adverbs wantonly, experimentally, whimsically. I looked across the table at myself and imagined a future, searched for connections and similarities between me and myself. I kept an open mind, tried to overlook the awkward silences. I tried to forget what I knew about myself, and instead focused on how I made myself feel.
I in turn try to make myself feel comfortable. I slip in a few perceptive compliments, and instead of brushing them aside and not believing them, I respond with a simple “Thanks,” and glow a little.