Everywhere I go, everything I do, I do alone.
I go to dinner alone.
I go to the pub alone.
I go to mass alone.
I go to bed alone.
I sit on my balcony alone.
I run my errands alone.
And the thing is… when I do all of that alone, I’m never lonely.
I was an only child. I’ve always been alone. Even on a trading floor with thousands of people, I’d leave and go off somewhere on my own after the closing bell.
I’ve been to more baseball games by myself than with friends or a date. Nothing better than sitting at Sox Park with a scorecard, a sack of peanuts, and a beer vendor who knows his job.
Thirty some years ago, I was sitting down the first base line at Comiskey on a summer night. A couple buddies of mine were sitting in Mayor Daley’s seats with their family.
“I think I see Jumbo sitting by himself.”
“Let’s go get him.”
I went from shooting the shit with strangers to sitting in those seats near the Sox dugout making memories with the Grace family. To this day, they still give me grief about how they “saved the lonely guy.”
They had it wrong then… and most people still do.
Alone isn’t lonely.
I still live like that latchkey kid from the late ’70s. I take care of myself. I don’t ask for help. I just do it.
There are perks.
I can leave the peanut butter out on the counter.
I don’t have to put the toilet seat down.
I can take a nap when I want.
Wake up at the crack of dawn.
I can make coffee or make a mimosa, it doesn’t matter.
The older the Shepkids get, the less time they want to be around a fossil from the last century. That’s alright, because that is the way it goes.
I have three knuckleheads that love me. I’ve got a job I love going to. I have a good place that I call home. The ladies at the bakery and the hotdog stand know my order by heart. My bartender welcomes me with a big hello when I walk into the pub and all my neighbors wave to me when they walk by the balcony.
Next August, when I turn sixty, I’m taking myself to Gene & Georgetti’s. Big steak, gin martini and a nice bottle of wine. Table for one, no need to make reservations.
I chalked this Sartre quote and it stuck with me. It fits where I am right now in life.
A divorced dad who gets up, makes his bed, goes to work, comes home, goes to bed… and does it again the next day.
Keep good company, Chalkheads, even if that company is yourself.
