TUESDAY'S WITH JENN
I was around 24 years old when I started dating myself.
It was 1998 and I was living with my then boyfriend in Manhattan. I worked at a Financial Printing Company from four in the afternoon till midnight every weekday. I was also, quite frankly, a bit of a mess. I was unfulfilled and unaware of who “Jenn Palumbo” was. I felt lost, incomplete and rather unhappy. That’s when I decided to do what most New Yorkers do - go to therapy.
My appointment was 1pm every Tuesday and the session would last 45 minutes. Therefore, I would have time to kill between when therapy ended and before I had to be at work at 4pm. I decided to use this odd little window of opportunity to take myself out to lunch. It was always something that had actually scared me: eating alone at a restaurant. However, I figured psychoanalysis was already a bold step. I might as well push my boundaries further and try something else somewhat uncomfortable.
At the first few lunch dates, I would bring a book or even better, I’d bring a notebook and furiously scribble mock reviews of whatever restaurant I was at that Tuesday. I was so self-conscious to be sitting there by myself that I felt like I HAD to be doing something… anything that made me look justified for being alone. In my mind, everyone in the restaurant was judging me. “What’s wrong with her? She couldn’t find anyone to join her?”
I don’t know what got that into my head. I mean, this is New York City. I could have been wearing a flaming pink sequined dress, literally engulfed in flames and singing “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” at the top of my lungs and people would have barely looked in my direction.
Slowly though, over the next couple of months, I not only got used to the experience of “solo dining” but truthfully, I lost the energy it took to invest in any pretense. Eventually, I weaned myself off of the props and distractions. My lunches became a time to review the session I’d just had with my therapist, enjoy my meal, think about my goals and in general, have a lovely time. I even began to look forward to my Tuesday lunches.
After a year or so of my “Tuesdays with Jenn” and many a therapy session under my belt, I was brave enough to strike out on my own. I changed jobs to one that involved seeing the daylight, broke up with my then boyfriend, and found my very own studio apartment in Brooklyn. This would be my first time living alone and it was both terrifying and exciting.
The first day I moved in, I closed the door behind me and stood there for what felt like an eternity. I was alone. Totally alone. I became scared and began to cry.
Two hours later, I was still crying.
Four hours later -- still crying.
I started to panic. “Oh great.” I thought. “Is this what living alone is going to be like? Me crying for hours at a time? FABULOUS.” I gave up on unpacking, grabbed a box of Kleenex and went to sleep on my temporary and miserable little futon.
Remarkably, the next morning, I woke up and had recovered from my mini-meltdown overnight. No idea what any of that was about but it was over. I put some Visine drops in my eyes, had a nice long shower and took myself to the grocery store. It was in the paper/plastics aisle that I had my epiphany.
For whatever reason, I’ve always liked paper plates. They’re just easy. You can grab them, use them, throw them away and not have to worry about either washing them or putting them in the dishwasher. My ex-boyfriend hated paper plates and when we lived together, he banished them from our imaginary kingdom. So, it was with great joy when I saw them on the shelf this particular day and I suddenly realized I could buy all the paper plates my heart desired.
True, this isn’t an earth shattering purchase. It was more of an overall sign though that in my new apartment, I was queen and would make the rules that suited me. I could put pieces of furniture wherever I wanted, make décor choices that I liked, buy whatever stupid product caught my fancy and sleep right smack in the middle of the bed. This was an incredible comfort to me after my crying fest the day earlier; all because of paper plates.
I went from not being able to have lunch by myself to living on my own, which I would go on to do for the next eight years. Looking back on it now, those eight years may have been the most important of my life so far. Being truly independent, paying my own bills, buying my own food, living alone and even eventually going on vacation by myself gave me the freedom to find out who I was, what I wanted in life and what I wanted in a partner. Yes, I made mistakes but they were my mistakes and I learned from them. Also, and I realize this may not make sense to everyone reading this but over time, whenever I would say, “I’m Jenn Palumbo”, I sincerely felt like I knew who that person was.
Now let me be SUPER clear here - I am beyond overjoyed with my current and very happy living situation with my adorable husband, Mike. We love our apartment, we love our neighborhood, we love being together and we even live together quite well. However, none of that changes the fact that I still have kept that independent part of me alive. In fact, I believe it’s that independence that is one of the many factors that makes our relationship such a happy one. As they say at the beginning of every flight, ‘You need to make sure you put your oxygen mask on first before you can help anyone else’. I came into this relationship as a whole, complete person and because of that; I can be giving without losing who I am.
So really, in effect, even though I’m married… I’m still dating. Well, dating myself I should say. And luckily, Mike doesn’t mind either my need for alone time or my passion for paper plates.
Copyright 2010.
