Lonely? Liberated? Maybe a bit of both

I am blessed to be living in a city where sitting alone in a wonderful restaurant is not only common but not looked down upon. I often “take myself out” to dinner since Eric’s passing. At first I thought it would be awkward, well it was a bit. However, when I have ventured out to dinner, at a restaurant Elkaar or de Plantage, I found myself becoming more comfortable with the fact that I am alone, physically. Eric is always with me in spirit, guiding, sometime yelling his stern but informative instructions on life. What is loneliness really? The definition says “sadness because one has no friends or company.” I could identify with that a bit, but what does that really mean? I Have friends, and had and continue to have company. The definition doesn’t fit my life at all.

Lonely doesn’t really fit, but liberated does. I don’t want you to think that I was imprisoned, not at all. However being married is compromise after comprise; negotiation after negation and then sometimes just walking away. For me, the liberation is palpable. I didn’t have to negotiate the new countertops or light fixtures in the kitchen and dinning remodel. Oh, Eric did ‘voice’ his approval but negating was not needed. I go where I want. But it is not the same without him.

I believe being alone without Eric in Amsterdam is allowing me to not feel I’m less than. In the USA, it can be that way. But in Amsterdam, even though everyone is coupled up or with families when dinning or out an about, there are no stares because I’m by myself. That said, no one seems to care. I find myself trying to spot the “singles” in the room. The singles who are as confident and comfortable with dinning alone enjoying their meal. They are on their phone taking pics of the plates or writing a blog., as I’m doing now.

I’ve come to terms that Eric will not walk in the door of our apartment in Amsterdam or house in Atlanta. It’s been almost two years and that’s ok. I’m ok. That doesn’t mean I don’t burst into tears when I see a couple, young or old, walking their dog holding hands. I’m finally getting to a point that I can love forward, but not move on from what we had.

I dressed up for dinner, wearing the Escada dress that I purchased in Prague with my shopping partner in crime. Rocking the blow out/silk press of my platinum hair. Dabbled on a little make up, slipped on my black Manolos and walked around the corner to “take myself out” Alone!

I strutted into the restaurant as if I owned it. Sat, ordered and enjoyed Then I spotted other “single diners” doing the same; No shame, no side eyes, no questions, just enjoying dinner. I have no idea as to why they are “single diners” or the circumstances that may have transpired. That’s not for me to speculate.

As dinner arrived, I cut into my salad, sliced my steak, ensuring that the shallots that accompanied were added as a burst of sweetness. Dipped into the bone marrow and savored every single bite; every morsel. Then I coated it with a sip of the Beaujolais that accompanied. I pile the dishes up, finish the Beaujolais and order my favorite, crème brûlée, with a cappuccino to finish.

I pay the bill, walk outside after an incredible culinary experience, and admire the lights, the birds and wonder what Eric is doing? Probably hanging with Miles, Gil, Harry, Sidney, Jerry, Reggie or his parents even.

Is it hard to be without my Eric, of course. Do I wish and dream he was here enjoying, definitely. But I know, as I glance at the empty seat across from me that he’s thinking of me a bit.

I’m full. I'm full of the 19 years of laughter disagreements, adventure and love. I’m full from this incredible meal. He’s gone, I realize that now. As the #14 tram passes by, I realize I found another purpose. A purpose I probably wouldn’t have found if the chair across from me wasn’t empty.

On the walk home, in the rain. It always rains here, and that’s ok though. I try my best not to ruin the Manolos, with and umbrella in hand trying to salvage the blowout/silk press. But It’s only a 5 minute walk, tops, but a blowout in Amsterdam is tricky. So I picked up the pace to ensure the hair can be maintained. As I walk, I think about us and smile about the times we had, horseback riding in Cancun, zip lining in Jamaica, and speedboating in Mexico that inspired him to learn to swim.

And I know what’s next. I do. I felt it when I returned to “work” after the launch of the foundation. “Work” was not fulfilling, it was work. The next thing will change lives. I know it. If it wasn’t for an Eric, I would not be thinking of the next, the next adventure, chapter, experience. As I think about that and the other “single diners” in the restaurant, maybe they are just like me. They are thinking of the next and wanted to treat themselves to an amazing dinner in the mean time. Or maybe, they were just hungry.