People often ask how I can bear to eat alone most days.

They say mealtimes are social, a time to catch up, go over the day, share stories.

But there is a quiet ritual to my mealtimes, especially in the evenings, and even more so now I’m self employed.

A table set for one, with pasta and a drink, and a tea towel featuring pink teapots.

Photo by Elli O. via Unsplash

In my working days, mealtimes were a pause – a sort of peace between the hustle of the day job and commute, and the quiet, determined industry of my evenings spent working on my then fledgling businesses.

Now, they are a reminder to stop, to nourish and take care of myself. Mealtimes are a chance to catch up, and to go over the day – but with myself, not with a cacophony of other voices and experiences.

The act of cooking, and then sitting down to eat (yes, alone), is one I find deeply soothing. As a child we almost always ate at the table rather than on our laps, and I try to make sure that happens at least a few times a week.

Though indulging in my favourite films while eating on my lap is also one of the many pleasures of living alone. This evening’s was Noel Streatfeild’s Ballet Shoes.

I like my solitary meals, and I love my own company. And, should I crave chatter and voices to accompany my food, I’m never lacking in friends to eat with.

The choice is the thing – one of the many parts of singlehood I find magical in spite of others’ misplaced pity.

Do you eat alone? Is it joyful or do you find it strange?

Kind of mid year depth year check in
Thoughts on a Depth Year