Go It Alone
I will never forget the day it happened. I was oh, sixteen, maybe seventeen, around that age where everything you do seems illuminated by a spotlight and broadcast for all the world to see. Importantly, I was also around the age where, if an event seemed appealing to me, I was allowed to leave the house to attend it and actually drive myself there. Typically I would beg my mom's minivan in order to meet up with one of my three best friends, either at their houses or at one of Olympia's fine restaurants (like Cattin's, which employed the notorious Green Nose Waitress: a woman with what looked like slightly green play-doh for a nose).
This night, I wanted to go downtown to the Capitol Theater and see a showing of the movie "X," the biopic on--you guessed it--Malcolm X. Somehow, I knew this epic and powerful film would not be best seen with my friends, for we were prone to riffing on films MST3K style and otherwise joking/whispering our way through them (forgive us, we were only teenagers). I didn't know who else to bring along who would be able to sit in silence with me, letting every word of dialogue soak in and barely taking his or her eyes off the screen, as I knew would be the case with me.
And so, I decided with alarming clarity, I must attend this movie myself.
It wasn't easy. I kept telling myself that I was going to look like a weirdo, all by myself in a theater, akin to Pee Wee Herman in that notorious masturbating scandal. I worried that I might see someone I knew and reveal myself a nerd, and what's worse, a loner nerd. But, in the end, my love of movies and my excitement over what I knew was going to be a fantastic time overrode any niggling self-conscious teenage doubts, and I took my seat in the musty theater.
It was amazing. Both the movie and my experience at the theater, I mean. I remember relishing the complete intimacy I had with the screen; I didn't have to split my attention from its flickering images with ANYONE else in that room. No one poked my arm or asked for the popcorn or crawled over me to use the bathroom (I had purposefully sat alone in my own row). For those two plus hours, I was completely enraptured with Washington's performance and Lee's measured direction and the sheer realization that I was pretty brave for a teenager, to be conducting myself in the world without an entourage.
That moment, that feeling of utter bliss and enjoyment, while being alone, has spawned a love affair with solitude that has come to help define who I am and embolden my natural Molly-ness. After that night at the theater I slowly began to do other things alone: take myself out to dinner (always with a book, otherwise it's a boring and rather pathetic time), go to a park, clothes shop, you name it. You could say I'm my own number one date (although the self-deprecating dialogue with myself can get to be a bit much). Tomorrow is the opening of the documentary "Tabloid," and thinking about going--and specifically, going alone--spawned this here entry. It's weird, but I'm excited to once again be alone in the theater with my own thoughts and reactions, and without the pressure of making sure anyone else is having a good time.
If you haven't done something in public by yourself, I highly suggest it. And I'd like to add that, despite the voice leftover from adolescence shrilly insisting otherwise, no one is looking at you funny. :)
This night, I wanted to go downtown to the Capitol Theater and see a showing of the movie "X," the biopic on--you guessed it--Malcolm X. Somehow, I knew this epic and powerful film would not be best seen with my friends, for we were prone to riffing on films MST3K style and otherwise joking/whispering our way through them (forgive us, we were only teenagers). I didn't know who else to bring along who would be able to sit in silence with me, letting every word of dialogue soak in and barely taking his or her eyes off the screen, as I knew would be the case with me.
And so, I decided with alarming clarity, I must attend this movie myself.
It wasn't easy. I kept telling myself that I was going to look like a weirdo, all by myself in a theater, akin to Pee Wee Herman in that notorious masturbating scandal. I worried that I might see someone I knew and reveal myself a nerd, and what's worse, a loner nerd. But, in the end, my love of movies and my excitement over what I knew was going to be a fantastic time overrode any niggling self-conscious teenage doubts, and I took my seat in the musty theater.
It was amazing. Both the movie and my experience at the theater, I mean. I remember relishing the complete intimacy I had with the screen; I didn't have to split my attention from its flickering images with ANYONE else in that room. No one poked my arm or asked for the popcorn or crawled over me to use the bathroom (I had purposefully sat alone in my own row). For those two plus hours, I was completely enraptured with Washington's performance and Lee's measured direction and the sheer realization that I was pretty brave for a teenager, to be conducting myself in the world without an entourage.
That moment, that feeling of utter bliss and enjoyment, while being alone, has spawned a love affair with solitude that has come to help define who I am and embolden my natural Molly-ness. After that night at the theater I slowly began to do other things alone: take myself out to dinner (always with a book, otherwise it's a boring and rather pathetic time), go to a park, clothes shop, you name it. You could say I'm my own number one date (although the self-deprecating dialogue with myself can get to be a bit much). Tomorrow is the opening of the documentary "Tabloid," and thinking about going--and specifically, going alone--spawned this here entry. It's weird, but I'm excited to once again be alone in the theater with my own thoughts and reactions, and without the pressure of making sure anyone else is having a good time.
If you haven't done something in public by yourself, I highly suggest it. And I'd like to add that, despite the voice leftover from adolescence shrilly insisting otherwise, no one is looking at you funny. :)