A few weeks ago, I went to an event all by myself. Hosted by Her Table and arranged by
, I was one of forty Substack subscribers to join and celebrate the release of Emma’s latest novel, Table For One. I had intended to write about this sooner. It’s the kind of thing that’s best recounted, written about and shared in a more timely fashion. Striking while the iron is hot! But life got in the way. Taking an unintentional week off got in the way. Writing about the anniversary of my Dad’s death got in the way. I refused to let the niggle that it’s too late get in the way.The evening was one of significance, you see. Because this is the exact kind of thing I have flaked or bailed on in the past. Let’s untangle. Yes, I do many things by myself - I go on holiday, stay in hotels, and take trips to exhibitions. I am incredibly comfortable in my own company, perhaps to my detriment. Once other people are added to the mix, I begin to waver.
I think paying for a ticket helped spur me on. If usually, I am undeterred from cancelling plans through fear of meeting new people, I hoped the financial loss would act as an extra preventative measure. Maybe that was the clincher. Or maybe I was just finally ready to try.
All day, I tried not to think too hard about it. I was desperate to avoid incessant worrying thoughts over all the things that maybe, might, or could go wrong. In another life, I think I could have excelled in a career of risk management.
When I left the house, I let out a small noise somewhere between a scream and a cheer. The energy created from my anxiety and excitement was starting to seep out of me. I was on my way. On the bus, I distracted myself by writing in my notes app. Writing this, and things I wanted to remember about the evening. My tummy started to churn with anticipation, or maybe travel sickness from all the looking down at my phone. I tried to fill up space in my brain with fleeting thoughts of the frigid cold outside and things I could see from my vantage point on the top deck, to stop the fear from pestering me. I speed-walked the rest of the way to Paper Mill Studios, and predictably, I desperately needed a wee.
There is only one chance at a first impression. It’s that kind of rhetoric that haunts me, threatening to show a supercut on loop of all awkward first encounters whenever I close my eyes. I am a people pleaser. I want to be liked and I want others to be happy. Don’t want to overcompensate, but our actions are often beyond our control when we’re outside our comfort zone. I hope I can still be authentic, without worrying that I’ll be judged.
An awkward little wave reciprocated by a stranger was all it took to drown out the noise and settle my stomach for the evening ahead. Breathe!
Of course, the chances of the evening being a disaster, for me personally or at large, were so minimal it was essentially impossible. In that room, there was far more that connected us than divided us. We were an entity, a group of like-minded individuals looking to have a wonderful evening and leave with bellies full of delicious food.
I left with pearls of wisdom from Emma, that I sneakily scribbled down during her Q&A so as not to forget:
When working on a creative project, touch the document every day.
The beauty of being together but alone - like having dinner in Italy alongside other solo diners.
A desire to keep the magic of Substack a secret (of sorts), so that the public and publications can’t get inside.
It was a magical evening and since I’ve felt encouraged to try even more new things, particularly where I can practice talking about my Substack, and my identity as a “writer”. It felt foreign on my mouth - my lack of self belief is a continual work in progress.
A table for one - I even wrote my own newsletter two years ago with the same title. Call it serendipity. A sign to keep writing, to engage in solo activities, to not shy away from meeting new people, and to see what pleasant surprises might be waiting on the outside of what’s familiar.
