flying solo
Haven't read the full article, because I got stuck on a few nice parts at the beginning, but:
http://nymag.com/guides/everything/spending-time-alone/
Notable include [emphasis mine]:
Walking Alone
I once brought the conversation at a dinner party to a halt by saying that if everyone I knew died tomorrow, I wouldn’t be undone, because I’d still have the streets of New York, where, sooner or later, almost every form of human expressiveness is on display and I am free to look it right in the face, or avert my eyes if I wish, let my jaw drop, offer it an ice cream, or call the cops—as the mood takes me. Here, alone in the street, I feel free as I do nowhere else, except perhaps at my desk. There is no one to bore, embarrass, or threaten me. No one to whom I owe attention or from whom I need attention. I am free to stop, dawdle, or move on as I will, respond or recede, observe or participate. If I were not alone, I’d be in conversation with my companion. The street would then become context—the situation, if you will—our exchange the story. Alone, the world around me is both the situation and the story.
—Vivian Gornick, author of The Odd Woman and the City
Riding the Subway Alone
After I had my daughter in 2009, I was rarely alone—except during my hour-long commute between Brooklyn and Manhattan, vying for subway space among strangers: That time on the train is mine. Nothing is expected of me; there are no domestic negotiations, no emails or texts or phone calls coming in. I can read, aimlessly or for pleasure. I can eavesdrop on other people’s conversations. I can study the increasingly metaphorical ads for breast implants, whose imagery has shifted from cleavage to fruit, or those ineffectual signs pleading for manners on the subway. It’s the pointlessness of whatever I end up doing that’s most appealing. The time feels stolen, like something I didn’t have before, though in truth it is the opposite: a drop of what was once in such a steady supply that I didn’t even notice it was there.
—Jennifer Szalai, editor at The New York Times Book Review
Visiting a Museum Alone
“MoMA’s outdoor sculpture garden is always full of people, but there are these individual chairs that can be moved around to create quiet corners—a river flowing around you in your own field of gold. Right now, MoMA has a secret sculpture within this secret garden: In an undergrowth of trees is Pierre Huyghe’s reclining female figure with a functioning beehive cocooning her head. You can miss this incredible hidden-away sight; don’t. Sometimes the busier it is inside the museum, the quieter it is in the garden: Refuge is only steps away.”
—Jerry Saltz, art critic
Reading in a Bar Alone
“In the early afternoon, bars are way less crowded than coffee shops, so that’s where I get my reading done. Washington Commons in Prospect Heights has a huge backyard, and from two to four on Saturdays and Sundays, it’s pretty dead. You can nurse your drink, and no one’s going to bother you.”
—Boris Kachka, contributing editor, books
http://nymag.com/guides/everything/spending-time-alone/
Notable include [emphasis mine]:
Walking Alone
I once brought the conversation at a dinner party to a halt by saying that if everyone I knew died tomorrow, I wouldn’t be undone, because I’d still have the streets of New York, where, sooner or later, almost every form of human expressiveness is on display and I am free to look it right in the face, or avert my eyes if I wish, let my jaw drop, offer it an ice cream, or call the cops—as the mood takes me. Here, alone in the street, I feel free as I do nowhere else, except perhaps at my desk. There is no one to bore, embarrass, or threaten me. No one to whom I owe attention or from whom I need attention. I am free to stop, dawdle, or move on as I will, respond or recede, observe or participate. If I were not alone, I’d be in conversation with my companion. The street would then become context—the situation, if you will—our exchange the story. Alone, the world around me is both the situation and the story.
—Vivian Gornick, author of The Odd Woman and the City
Riding the Subway Alone
After I had my daughter in 2009, I was rarely alone—except during my hour-long commute between Brooklyn and Manhattan, vying for subway space among strangers: That time on the train is mine. Nothing is expected of me; there are no domestic negotiations, no emails or texts or phone calls coming in. I can read, aimlessly or for pleasure. I can eavesdrop on other people’s conversations. I can study the increasingly metaphorical ads for breast implants, whose imagery has shifted from cleavage to fruit, or those ineffectual signs pleading for manners on the subway. It’s the pointlessness of whatever I end up doing that’s most appealing. The time feels stolen, like something I didn’t have before, though in truth it is the opposite: a drop of what was once in such a steady supply that I didn’t even notice it was there.
—Jennifer Szalai, editor at The New York Times Book Review
Visiting a Museum Alone
“MoMA’s outdoor sculpture garden is always full of people, but there are these individual chairs that can be moved around to create quiet corners—a river flowing around you in your own field of gold. Right now, MoMA has a secret sculpture within this secret garden: In an undergrowth of trees is Pierre Huyghe’s reclining female figure with a functioning beehive cocooning her head. You can miss this incredible hidden-away sight; don’t. Sometimes the busier it is inside the museum, the quieter it is in the garden: Refuge is only steps away.”
—Jerry Saltz, art critic
Reading in a Bar Alone
“In the early afternoon, bars are way less crowded than coffee shops, so that’s where I get my reading done. Washington Commons in Prospect Heights has a huge backyard, and from two to four on Saturdays and Sundays, it’s pretty dead. You can nurse your drink, and no one’s going to bother you.”
—Boris Kachka, contributing editor, books
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