One of my favorite things to do in New York is to be alone in it.

Of course, you are hardly ever truly alone in a large city. There are always people around, even in a pandemic. That’s the best part of it to me. I am alone yet surrounded. It’s a strange comfort to be by yourself in a sea of people. You ignore them, they ignore you but you both know the other is there.

I haven’t been alone in my city since early last summer. My husband went in for a haircut and I tagged along and sat in Union Square people watching. When he made an appointment this past weekend, I joined him again. This time, I wandered a bit more.

I went into Barnes and Noble. I haven’t been in many bookstores in the last year. It’s hard to be away from one of the things that brings you such joy. I especially love wandering by myself without agenda or having to worry if I linger too long combing through the stacks. I wandered into the fantasy section, taking mental notes of titles and covers. I flipped through pages of one of my recent favorite books, A Court of Mist and Fury, and read one of my favorite scenes. I bought a croissant to eat in the park. I checked off more books to buy once I finally get through my To Be Read pile.

It doesn’t matter what I did, honestly. What matters is this was a small thing that had returned to me. Killing time in the city. Taking time in the city. Walking around without pure terror coursing through my veins. Enjoying the dappled sunlight and warming weather as I stroll through the farmer’s market. Noticing tiny shops I have never been in and restaurants that have reopened.

Feeling myself once again.

When I first moved to the city, I did many things alone. I lived with a roommate I didn’t know well and often on my days off, I would go to the movies or a cafe by myself. One of my favorite things to do is take myself on a date with dinner and a show or movie. Or even just to sit with a glass of wine and read a book on the sidewalk, utterly and completely alone and immersed in whatever world the pages hold.

It is these little things I took for granted. These little things I didn’t realize were so important to me. I would often get frustrated when I had too much time to kill waiting for an appointment or to meet up with someone. Now I hope I have oodles of time to mindlessly wander, getting to know the city again and myself alone.

I missed hanging out with myself.

When I’m alone in the city, I feel like it is just us two. She’s been cruel to me, relentlessly brutal at times. But she also has been there for me through the darkest days, rising up to meet me with a reminder that there is priceless art around the corner or a park bench under a magnolia tree or a man playing piano or friends crossing the street at the same time as me who squeal at the sight of me. She shows me magic and I see it clearer when I am alone. It feels like it is mine and only mine.

The little things are returning. I have missed them so. Wandering in bookstores, casually strolling a farmer’s market, discovering a wine bar in a dark corner. It is terrifying and exhilarating. I am not sure I am ready and that is okay. It is hard, it is scary, and I am going to do it anyway because the little things are worth it to have back. They spark my creativity, my imagination, my soul.

I’m ready to wander the streets again, opening myself up to the magic that awaits me.