the habit of being

I’ve always wished I could drive a car, but my terror of learning how is paralyzing. I grew up in the kind of town where driving is absolutely essential in establishing one’s freedom and independence. In Statesboro, Georgia, if you couldn’t drive, you couldn’t get anywhere. I stayed in my room all the way through high school, and fell in love over the Internet. By the time I moved to a city where you don’t need to drive to be free and independent, it was too late. Because I was in love, I was anything but free.

Now, four years later, I walk around New York City looking at all the wonderful places I could go and things I could do if only I weren’t alone. I can’t stand the idea of eating in a nice restaurant by myself. My insecurity about not having a date would ruin the food. Seeing a movie or visiting a museum alone is tolerable, but if there’s no one to share it with, I feel like I’m missing out on half of the experience.

Every few weeks I post an online personal ad. Every response I read makes me feel more and more like a prostitute. By the end of a day of this, I am sick to my stomach. I delete the ad. I delete all the responses - even the nice, not-creepy ones. The nauseated feeling doesn’t go away. I realize that I don’t actually want to meet anyone new. I hate being alone, but I hate the idea of having to perform a first-date routine even more. It’s the same problem I had with driving.