***
I sneak into
the theater late. I trust the glow of the screen to illuminate the way to my
seat. A flash of light from a commercial advertising the next Planet of the
Apes spotlights my pre-selected, reserved seat. Of course,
it waits nestled on the far end of a crowded aisle. Those promptly arrived
movie goers have already made themselves at home. Friends and couples recline
in their comfy seats, sharing appetizers, eating bowls of simmering mac n’
cheese, drinking beer.
I will be loathed
by the entirety of the theater if I make this row stand so I can stumble and
apologize my way to my seat. And! This disruption of a lone girl tripping
toward her single seat will notify the entire theater that I am in fact seeing
this movie, on a Friday night, a date night, on MY OWN. I fear looking
pathetic, and predict any feelings of potential pity would be eclipsed if in
the commotion there’s an accidental spilling of cheese dip.
This is an
insecurity I inherited from society. I pay it quick attention. I let the future
movie financed by fear project its scenes. This is a short film I’ve seen
before – this fear of being judged for being introverted, for being alone, for
being me.
The truth is
this: I like, actually sometimes truly prefer,
doing things on my own.
I like, well,
let’s be honest…I LOVE seeing movies on my own, especially if I’ve seen them
before.
This evening, I
knew my self-care included seeing Wonder
Woman, again. I wanted to be in my own company and be completely swept up
by this epic. Since I know the story, I can notice the nuances in the script and pieces in the plot that I perhaps at first missed, and I also know when to
close my eyes.
Violence on
screen unnerves me, any pain from the onscreen characters reverberates through
me. This is the same sensitivity leading
me to see this movie. There’s a heightened sensitivity to feeling and answering
the needs emanating from my being. My inner self resonates with Wonder Woman, wants to be immersed in the
world of a great film centered on love, and the power of love to heal the
world.
This inner request
for a solo movie date could have been easily ignored. In the past, that loving voice
making a lighthearted suggestion might have been silenced by the fear of what
others would think and possibly say.
And really, who
are these others? Like those other mac n’ cheese eaters are concerned and captivated
by what the puffy-blonde gal is up to coming to the theater, GASP, on her own?
If people do judge,
then it’s their issue, and sweet relief, it ain’t my stuff if they have an
issue.
But here’s the truth...I have issue about being here solo.
I harbor self-judgment about going to
the film on my own. I feel a charged
reaction. When there’s a charge, a disruption to inner peace, there’s an
invitation to be still, listen in, and cleanse any mistruths accidentally
absorbed and ruling as an unchallenged belief.
The bigger
question is difficult to face. This is the wounded part of me who bought the
misbelief that me being me is weird,
unacceptable and worthy of judging.
Yuck. I just
wrote that sentence. Worthy of being judged? No one is worthy of being judged.
I don’t think that about anyone, so why would I cling to that belief about me? This
critic is not invited to accompany me to the movie, or anywhere else in life.
I know I adopted
this narrative in childhood, and it’s been spinning ever since. Now, there’s
an awareness behind it, and when there’s awareness, there’s an automatic shift,
because I recognize that thought is not me, and therefore, it holds no true
power in shaping my reality.
Me being me is going to a movie on my own because I
relish in the gorgeous luxury of feeling all the feels from the film. I enjoy
my own company, my own created adventures.
And that’s
fucking awesome.
Like the
adventure to get to my seat.
I practice my Wonder Woman inspired moves to sprint
across the No Man’s Land in between the seats stationed in front of the screen
and the ascending rows.
I stop right in
front of my seat and take note. There’s a counter bar that runs the length of
the aisle, acting as a makeshift table for those simmering mac n’ cheese
platters and frosty beers. The open space beneath is suddenly the tunnel that will
deliver me to my seat.
Purse and
jacket gathered close, sunglasses drooping off my head, I duck, and pop my head
out for a friendly hello to my neighbors before proudly flinging myself into the
welcoming arms of that cushiony chair.
I made it. Round
of inner applause for showing up, for taking myself out on a date, because I
fulfilled a wish, made movie-magic happen.
I’m alone on
Friday night. I’m seeing Wonder Woman for the second time. And after this, I’m
getting a vanilla milkshake. I lean back in triumph and relax into enjoying a
Friday night movie with just me, and it’s gorgeously enough and epically sweet.
