Perfecting the Solo Date

I am not an impatient woman. I'm quite the opposite, actually. I am more than capable of waiting when waiting is necessary, but I do not believe in unnecessary waiting, especially waiting to live my life.

I used to do it all the time: calling around to make plans with my friends, waiting for our schedules to align and for plans to solidify. All the while, I'd see things I wanted to do, restaurants to try, events to attend, neighborhoods to explore, and would simply add them to a running list of things I would eventually do.

There eventually came a time where I stopped treating my time like a never-ending well, and started making the most of it.

When I was in university, I began taking myself out on solo dates. I was lucky enough to have lived in the heart of downtown Montreal near the city's art museum, and close enough to the metro station on the main line. At least twice a week, I would find myself out on an excursion, all on my lonesome. I'd walk from downtown to Westmount park, and watch the local soccer team's tournaments, or get on the metro and head down to Old Port, popping in and out of quaint shops. I'd end up in Le Plateau and grab a coffee at a cool new cafe. Winter, spring, summer, fall, it didn't matter. I wasn't waiting for company let alone the right weather to expand the bounds of my life.

Being alone sometimes holds a certain kind of stigma, something to be dreaded or used as a last resort. For me, solitude has been part of my nature. It has gifted me many things. I believe I know myself far better because of it, and it has given me a particular lens through which to view the world. If I think about what makes these moments fulfilling for me, a few patterns stand out.

I've noticed I enjoy outings where I can be absorbed by my surroundings. I lean towards museums, art galleries and botanical gardens. They effortlessly draw me in and hold my attention. Bookshops, record stores and farmer's markets are also good options. There are things to look at, things to touch, ways to completely immerse yourself in the moment without a second thought. In these places, I find that I am actively living, not watching as life passes by. The fresh produce perfectly presented across sprawling market tables, the chubby bumble bee asleep on a flower petal, a vintage record I didn't know I needed until I found it; they anchor me to the present in a way that doesn't always come naturally.

When I'm fully in the moment, noticing and observing the world around me, I like to move at whatever pace my mind and body desire. That's one of the benefits of being on my own, I'm not being rushed or held back. I go where I want to go, when I want to go.

Last autumn, I found myself alone in Copenhagen for a week. I dined, toured, and explored entirely on my own terms; from canal tours, to a trip to the Louisiana Museum, to Tivoli. I could linger in the greenhouse at the Glyptotek for as long as I wanted, sit for hours at the harbour, or order at my own pace in restaurants. No one rushed me. Time was mine to determine. Life is always busy, we all have responsibilities and people to answer to. Stepping outside of that for a little while and living entirely on your own terms gives you a clearer sense of your own wants and internal pace. But I have also learned that freedom is not only about where you go, but how you choose to experience it once you are there.

One thing I never leave the house without is headphones. I'm a singer and a songwriter, and music is a large part of my life. Sometimes I think of my life as a movie, and whatever I'm listening to becomes the score to the scene I'm in. It adds a layer of playful meaning. Walking through a neighbourhood in silence can shift into something almost cinematic when the right music is playing, like a Nancy Meyers film unfolding in real time. Music also becomes a kind of memory trigger. When I listen to certain songs again, I am brought back to the beautiful moments they accompanied. I listened to The Boxer on repeat in Copenhagen, and now I can't hear it without getting flashbacks of colourful townhouses and cardamom buns.

I have learned that the way I move through these moments is just as important as the moments themselves. I am unashamed to say I love an itinerary. Sometimes, it's nice to have structure. That being said, an itinerary is not a promise. If I'm walking to the city park and notice a new shop along the way, I'll go in and take a look. The same goes for an unexpected corner of a neighbourhood I haven't seen before. I listen to what calls me and follow it, and I've ended up in some interesting places because of it. Following my curiosity has taught me more about myself, including what I like, what I do not, what draws me in, and what I naturally gravitate towards. Things become clearer when I pay attention to that quiet pull toward something new.

Anyone who knows me knows I am a woman of hobbies. I love creating things, trying new things, animals, nature, and staying active. These are all great jumping-off points for a solo date.

Recently, I booked a beginner pottery class where I made three coffee bowls, bowls that, yes, I will in fact be using for coffee. I had never tried pottery before, but I love dishware and thought it would be fun. It was.

I've also recently revived my love of horseback riding. I used to ride here and there growing up, but it had been years since I had been on a horse. One morning, I decided I would go to a ranch for a trail ride. I planned to go alone, but my father ended up tagging along for a family day instead. I also attend weekly reformer Pilates classes and chat with the other women I see, sharing bits about our weeks. It is far easier to do things alone when you are genuinely excited about what you are doing.

In a way, I could say that solo dates aren't really about being alone at all. At least, not at its core. They are about living with intention, noticing what is already here. The scent of Ontario lilac trees on a dewy summer morning walk, a song that stays with me long after it has ended, a neighbourhood I might have walked past if I was not paying attention. To me, these moments are priceless, not because I experienced them alone, but because I was fully there for them.