I’ve realised that it’s been A MONTH since I last sent out a newsletter. Oh dear. Sorry. There’s definitely an inverse correlation between the amount of time that my children are at home (school hols, innit) and my productivity. I’m actually writing this from the shores of Windermere, where I’m pitched up with the kids for the next week; I’m grabbing an hour with a cup of tea, while the girls play on paddleboards. This is our ACTUAL VIEW.
I have managed to carve out a *bit* of child-free time for myself this summer. I booked the kids into a week-long PGL residential adventure camp, and took myself off to the south of France, on my own. (I was initially planning on camping and running in the Peak District, but the weather forecast was so relentlessly awful that I sacked off that idea, and opted for some impromptu sun instead). I also had a lovely weekend talking at the Edinburgh Book Festival, where I decided to make the most of being in a city and went dancing in a club, ON MY OWN.
I’m practised in spending time on my own. I mean, I’m a widowed self-employed writer and I very rarely have any adult companionship, so I spend a lot of time in my own head. And in order to enjoy ultra-running (as I do), you really do have to be comfortable in your own company. Also, over the years, I’ve been on multiple lengthy research trips and archive visits, where I’ve had no chat during the day except for with librarians and archivists (who are excellent company, don’t get me wrong), and, during those trips, I spent most evenings in restaurants toute seule. I’d never been clubbing on my own before, though, and I was pleasantly surprised by how totally fine - and fun - it was.
I don’t want to pretend that there aren’t (a lot of) times when I’m cripplingly lonely and resentful. In general, I’d MUCH rather holiday, eat, drink, run, hike, and dance with other people than on my own. But all of those activities contain enough of their own pleasures - in and of themselves, regardless of whether they’re done in solitude or sociably - that I don’t see why I should be deprived of those pleasures simply because I’ve been widowed and left on my own. I’d rather holiday, dine out, drink in bars, run, hike and dance on my own, than not do those things at all. I guess I’m a bit bloody-minded.
Partying on your own isn’t a hugely common activity, though. A few friends - and people I’ve met whilst holidaying alone - have expressed surprise, discomfort and even horror at the prospect. So I thought I’d jot down some tips and attitudes that help me whilst partying/holidaying on my own, in case they’re useful to anyone thinking about doing something similar.
Firstly, identify a few activities that benefit from being done in solitude. Eating out is nice in company of course, but IME I concentrate on and enjoy the actual food aspect SO MUCH MORE if I’m on my own. I can really appreciate each mouthful without being distracted by chat. One of my main aims for my recent holiday was to enjoy being cooked for, for a change, and to eat a lot of steak, and it was great.
Think about annoyances from previous non-solitary holidays which were caused by compromising with your companion(s). Did you get dragged round museums in which you had little interest, or pressured away from an art gallery before you’d had your fill? Did you have to get up and leave the accommodation earlier/later than you ideally wanted? Was it hard to find a restaurant with a menu that met everyone else’s requirements? Remember these hassles when you’re on holiday on your own, and feel smug that, when holidaying alone, you get to do EXACTLY what YOU want to do. My priorities for holidaying in France were to sleep VERY late, read lots of books whilst lying and dozing on the beach, go for a few early evening runs, try on (but not buy) some ridiculously glamorous silk gowns, and drink nice wine and eat nice food. I think it would have been hard to have done all of these things at the exact time, and for the exact extent, that I wanted to do them, if I had had company.
Try and overcome self-consciousness. Even though we might worry that everyone else is watching us in restaurants, bars and clubs, and laughing at us for being “Billy No-Mates”, I’ve come to think that actually most people are too bound up with themselves to notice random lone strangers. Still, in persisting moments of painful self-consciousness, I simply shut my eyes. I guess it comes from mindfulness techniques, but I find that shutting my eyes and closing down my awareness of the world outside my body, and concentrating on how it feels as my body moves in time to a beat, or as I drink a mouthful of ice-cold lager, or bite into a rare steak, or as the sun beats down on my skin, reorients me to care more about my own reasons for being here and doing this, and to care less about what anyone else might think.
Holidaying alone is a great opportunity for properly watching other people and the fascinating micro-expressions of the dynamics in their relationships. Perhaps informed by my own perspective at this point in my life, it struck me how unhappy a lot of people in relationships and families seemed to be (and, I’m not going to lie, this definitely sweetened the pill of holidaying alone). Such unequal division of childcare. So many little looks of near-hatred at one another. Eye-rolls when the other person was looking away. Shared glances of solidarity and desperation among female strangers. Possibly because I spent a lot of time looking up and around, I got into conversation with quite a few people, which was lovely, but…
… “don’t get sucked into someone else’s race”. This is advice that my dear friend Harriet gave me, in relation to ultra-running, and I think it applies to lone holidays or evenings out too. What she’s referring to is the moment in a race when you’ve been happily running alongside, and chatting to, another competitor - and then you realise that your priorities are slightly different from one another’s, and that your companion wants you to do something that isn’t 100% in your own interest. You’re left with a dilemma: do you make yourself a bit uncomfortable in order to fit in with them (on the basis that the benefits of their company outweighs this inconvenience), or do you look after yourself (but lose their company)? This process of weighing-up differs in each and every scenario - and if a runner is truly in danger, then of course most people will sacrifice their own race in order to ensure a hurt runner’s safety. But often it’s more complex.
What’s being asked of you can be really subtle and minor and not at all malevolent. Perhaps your companion is running a fraction faster than the pace you’re comfortable with, and you indicate this by slowing down, but they speed up again - but they’re a good mate, and you’re benefitting from their company, so it’s a difficult decision whether to try and keep up, or whether to let them run on. But sometimes what’s being asked of you can be more dramatic. I ran a long race once in which, as the night-time section drew closer, another runner joined me and asked if I’d stick with him through the night. It turned out that he had no head-torch, no map, and no idea where he was going; and his chat wasn’t great either - he spent many hours telling me where I was going wrong in my parenting. It can be hard for women to go against our socialisation as beings whose principal responsibility is to care for others. But I knew that this was a race for which I’d trained hard and recce-ed every inch, and I didn’t want it to be spoiled by any misplaced feelings of duty towards a completely unknown and underprepared runner. I recognised that he was bringing me down and spoiling my own experience. So I remembered Harriet’s advice not to get “sucked into anybody else’s race”, and I told him that I’d rather run without him from now on, and, yes, I had a much better time from then onwards. (I later found out that he’d pulled out of the race at the next checkpoint, and I did feel guilty - but it wasn’t my job to be his unofficial cheerleader and support crew).
The same scenario can apply when holidaying or partying alone. Other lone people can gravitate towards you. Sometimes this is fab: I’ve met some brilliant strangers, and had some ace conversations and experiences, as a result of going out on my own and being open to meeting new people. But sometimes people (especially people who are unhappy to be holidaying alone) can ask more of you than you want to give. Don’t get sucked into another person’s holiday or night out. Keep an eye on bullet-points 1 and 2: on your own priorities - the reasons why you’re here in the first place, and remember that you don’t owe anything to perfect strangers, especially not being deviated from your own desires in order to care for someone, with very little recompense.
This *especially* applies to predatory men, who often target lone women on holidays or nights out. You don’t owe them anything! It’s OK to be rude! Take the same precautions that you might during a night out at home - tell a friend where you’re going, and tell them that you’ll text at a certain time, when you’re home safely.
AND don’t try and suck anyone else into your race. You’ve made a decision to go on holiday, or out for the night, on your own. Lean into it. Own it. Don’t be secretly wishing that a stranger might turn up and “save you” from solitude. If you meet someone fun, be attentive to their interests and priorities: if they match yours, then great, but if they don’t, then enjoy the time you have together and be ready to go your separate ways. Don’t try and coerce anyone into spending more time with you than they wish.
Right! The view in the first photo has now turned into torrential rain, and my children are squabbling in the background, so I’d better go and restore peace. Happy holidaying/partying! And hopefully it won’t be so long until the next newsletter xxx
Well said, Rachel. I caravan by myself twice a year and I absolutely agree with all your points.
PS, I'm studying for an MA and your book Revolution of Feeling is so useful.
Great post. I still find, nearly a year after my wife died, that i feel guilty doing things she wouldn't have enjoyed, or even just don't then differently from how we would have done then together...