In the past when I went to a restaurant the maitre d' would ask, "Are you alone?" I would answer yes, and he would lead me to the worst table, near the kitchen or the bussing station, which I would refuse. Things have improved, but occasionally I'm greeted with the same question. Now I answer, "I'm with myself."
Recently as I spend time with myself, I'm drawn to people doing the same. This woman reads with her legs in the surf.
The man greets the sea, tai chi fashion.
And this boy digs in the sand.
They are content, and so am I, as I walk along the shore, though I can hardly claim to lunch with myself at Cafe Las Olas, which yesterday was crowded as usual, mostly with men. We ate shoulder to shoulder. They left together; I left with myself, walking north along Meridian Avenue under the kamani trees.