Alone Time

Today I decided to have my alone time. Armed with a couple of books, a notebook, a pen and my ipod (just in case), I set out to the mall. Of course I understand a mall is hardly a place to be alone in but there is much to be said about the contrast between being around people and yet being alone and separate from the crowd. And so I decided the mall will be the site of my alone time.

As I was having lunch at Burger King, facing the glass window outside, I saw a man with his two daughters and a son queuing at a Snowstorm kiosk. Their group's sudden movement as they turned away from the kiosk caught my attention. I sensed their delight more than saw it and so unnoticed, I watched more intently as the father gave a spoonful of ice cream to the son, a daughter, himself, and finally the eldest child and I was struck by the innocence and magic of it all: a family enjoying ice cream together on a Sunday afternoon. The whole thing lasted for only a few minutes and then they walked away. I'm guessing they had at most three spoonfuls each. But could there be anything sweeter as sharing ice cream with people you love on a bright Sunday afternoon?

And then I went window shopping, always a good exercise on solitude. I was successful at prying myself loose from all the yummy leather bags and sandals latching on to me as soon as they caught sight of me. I was not, however, successful at Powerbooks where I walked away with the scholarly Harold Bloom's "How to Read and Why," and the more obscure Lily Tuck's "Limbo and Other Places I Have Lived." They were on sale! And a lot cheaper than the shoes!!

Because I remembered I still had Starbucks gift certificates, I decided to continue being alone at Starbucks instead of the cafe of choice, Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. As luck would have it, I was randomly chosen to answer an online survey and get a free tall drink on my next visit. Ha! A confirmation of how good things indeed come to good people (because I am not just holy, I am holier than thou, or so I have been told *giggles).

Of course now that I have Bloom's book, I could not help but read it first. Besides, why else would the universe let me find it today of all days when I had been after it since college? How fitting, to read a book about reading--itself a solitary act! And on a day I had especially designated to be an exercise on solitude.

I now leave with a quote from Hemingway's "The Snows of Kilimanjaro," one of the stories Bloom used as an example and one that struck me most because of how simple pain was laid out, "He had loved too much, demanded too much, and he wore it all out." That line reflects those rare times when pain is so beautiful that you cannot help but ache for more.