I’m currently sitting in the poshest restaurant called “the ivy” on the Square in Edinburgh. It even has it’s own monogrammed napkins.
I saw this advertised on Facebook yesterday, and as I was round the corner and it just started tipping it down, I thought I’d try it. I’m sitting here with my backpack and my hoodie surrounded by dressed up people and flanked by a couple either side of me. It’s a little unsettling, but, as my mother learned and then passed on to me, the posher the place, the more you can get away with. Thanks Maaam, I’m smiling as I’m remembering that.
It’s funny. I haven’t felt lonely or alone the whole time I’ve been here even though I’m spending most of my time on my own. And not because I’ve been rushed off my feet, but because I’m realising and finally living my belief that feeling alone or lonely is actually about being disconnected from yourself, not from other people. I notice as I scour Facebook for connection with friends that the feeling of not being complete, or enough, is because I’m missing that connection with myself. Writing, and conversely, being alone, is a way I can reconnect. Which is what I’m doing. I am enough. Which is a hard message to hear, and one I need to keep reminding myself of.
Don’t get me wrong we all need people and I love my friends. I just know that when I’m searching for that something lost, it’s actually something within me.
On the other hand, I might be talking complete shit.