On being alone
And the bliss of licking a spatula
I’ve always loved being alone. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to the rising moon—when the world settles into sleep, I finally come alive, free to think uninterrupted. Just me and my thoughts.
I read something the other day: as adults, we should do the things we weren’t allowed to do as kids. And maybe that’s the best part of adulthood—choice. Freedom. But parenthood stuffs much of that freedom into a sack, only letting it out after hours (if I’m not too exhausted, which is rare).
The other day I was alone in my house for a full hour. One entire hour! I don’t think I’ve been alone in my house for more than twelve hours total since we moved in a year and a half ago.
What could I do for an hour, uninterrupted? Sleep was the obvious choice, but sleep happens every night, fractured as it may be. What was something else I could do uninterrupted? What would feel indulgent?
Baking banana bread.
So I did.
I whisked and I stirred and I melted butter and once the two pans were baking in the oven, I stood over the sink and licked the spatula clean.
I was fully aware of myself in that moment—36 years old, standing in my kitchen, licking a sticky, delicious spatula like it was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. How ridiculous I must have looked. A wild animal let loose on a carcass. And yet, how happy I felt.
I felt like a kid whose parents were out of town. A teenager with a fresh driver’s license and access to their parents’ car. A high schooler skipping class with $100 in their pocket, headed to the mall.
Licking that spatula alone, indulging in the sweetness of gooey banana bread batter. No tiny feet or hands clawing at me for a bite of their own. No one demanding things of me, no performing, no caretaking, no problem-solving. No need to keep it together or fear losing my cool.
Just me, alone, devouring the moment.
It was utter bliss.
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I had a life coach that once encouraged me to pick an age from my past and spend half a day doing what I would have loved to do at that age.
I picked 6 years old. I went to a pinball arcade in the Haight, and rode my bike all the way out to Ocean Beach. Then I walked on top of walls and took a big stick and drew in the sand. It was blissful because it honored a part of me that still lives inside me.
Your post reminded me of this because you gave yourself permission to (even for an hour) to just live and enjoy your own company. Maybe it was equal parts childhood and early adulthood (I don't know, maybe you already baked as a child)?
I know nothing about being a parent, but my hunch is parents giving themselves moments like can make them better parents. When the parent is happy, the child picks up on that. They feel happy and safer. Children want their parents to be happy. Maybe it makes them feel like they are doing their job too.
A delicious read...thank you 😊