What Am I Doing Here?

On finding peace in paradise.

It’s an interesting experience to be a single woman moving through the world.

As I write this, it’s early evening on a Caribbean island; a jazz musician is playing wordless covers of Taylor Swift and Beyoncé songs down by the beach; it’s blissfully warm and humid and my hair is still damp from the shower as I sip my third or fourth piña colada of the day. I’m on vacation by myself, something I’ve done a handful of times but never without a work trip buttressing the beginning or end before I go solo. For once, I am completely, entirely alone—no colleagues, no friends, no partner, no family. And the staff at the hotel don’t seem to know what to do with me.

You had me at balcony hot tub

Sure, I made a conscious choice to travel over Valentine’s weekend (I’d rather healing by a pool with a cocktail in hand than in my apartment avoiding the social media love fest, thank you very much) and there are couples everywhere I turn, but the concern from every bartender, server, and bell hop is relentless. They simply cannot fathom that a grown woman would willingly be here, in this very warm, very beautiful place in the middle of winter, all by herself. You’re too pretty to be eating alone the host at one of the hotel’s restaurants told me mere hours ago, his lips curling into a vaguely flirtatious smile. Just one? the server asked as I ordered a glass of champagne, her eyes flitting to the empty seat across from me.

Si, just one, I keep repeating to everyone. Now let me eat my medium rare cheeseburger, extra bacon, in peace.