Yesterday I wandered around Dublin for the better part of the day by myself. The weather was perfect, and it was my last free weekday for a while before I started work today. I’m reading Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist right now. Shauna writes a chapter about Paris and how when she was 13, she flew there alone to stay with a family friend. The family friend actually had to work all day, every day, so Shauna explored the city by herself. That’s my kind of girl! I know that I wouldn’t have done that at age 13 though.
Shauna articulates exactly what I feel every time I walk around Dublin (or any city) alone.
That’s how it feels to be alone in a city, like something great is always about to happen to you. And it always is. There’s always some side street or cafe or painting in a gallery or park or person or something that takes your breath away. And you look differently when you’re alone. When you’re with someone else, you share each discovery, but when you are alone, you have to carry each experience with you like a secret, something you have to write on your heart, because there’s no other way to preserve it.