This is a beautiful poem, if we all, be so blessed, to find comfort with thy changing years... Time carries the very perception of wisdom, if we open our hearts and minds to it...
May our Spirits sail free amongst thy tide, coming and going of life's unwritten song...
I absolutely love that moment when I experience a solitary joy, frequently arising out of a book I am reading, like mentioned in the poem, and then the look up and out into the world. It feels almost like taking this huge breath, and a pause to acknowledge what I just experienced, that profound moment of insight or that perfectly phrased anecdote that makes me just want to reconnect with the world around me, almost like you said, Susan, looking for someone else to connect with.
It’s such a powerful moment because I feel at the same time isolated from everyone else because of this experience only I had that moment, but also at the same time the experience melts away all divisions, and I feel at one with the universe.
I loved this poem and can relate to the pleasures of eating alone. I do it often. It's a time for me to break away from the demands of my caregiving role. I sit in the back of the pizza shop, watching others, enjoying my meal, sometimes I get to witness the sunset as I look out the window of the shop.
Other ordinary things I do that I treasure are walks with my dog. I enjoy being alone with him, no one to talk to, no one around who needs me. I get to listen to the birds singing, to feel the sun shining down on me from a beautiful blue sky, and to watch my pup sniff around and investigate the neighborhood as his tail is wagging constantly because he's so happy.
The small moments that are very meaningful to me is seeing my kids happy, which is hard to come by sometimes. One example is seeing my daughter bowling well, despite the pain and fatigue I know she's battling through. Another is hearing my kids laughing when they are doing something together--that means the world to me.
In a transcendent moment, a brilliant line from a book broke the spell of his reading and transported the old man back to the everyday mundanity of Chang's restaurant. Yet the vivid detail of the setting before his eyes was like a shimmering still-life painting. Something transformative had happened, imbuing the ordinary ambience with an extraordinary essence and hinting at the internal shift within him. He was no longer the young man he once was. Decades had passed, and he had become wiser, kinder, humbler, and less judgmental, no longer projecting his own reality onto the world. As he became awakened, his perspective softened, allowing him to take delight in aging, eating alone, solitary reading, and savoring delicious food in public - all within his private world at the corner table.
Indulging my imaginative impulse, I envision his younger self, sitting at another corner, chewing on a ballpoint pen in a pensive mood, looking up from a notebook, enraptured by the glowing Muse, and begins to spill words onto the page. Whimsically, the old man waved at his younger version with a forgiving smile.
Beautiful poem! I like so many things about it. I love the "sacred everyday" feeling it evokes and would love to cultivate more. I also love the mystery of it: how nothing is like what it appears. :) I've discovered Billy Collins through you Susan, including some earlier poems and the "millionaire in time" feeling you wrote about, thank you!
This reminds me of a trip I did way back in 1990 when I travelled alone from the east coast to west coast of America on a southerly route and returned on a northerly route, mainly on trains and partly by car, and a lot of walking. It took five weeks, in the autumn in wonderfully warm weather. But every day was a magical experience, in a foreign country travelling alone and eating alone. I have always found that when you travel with a companion, you miss so much because you are interacting with them and not the environment, whereas when you are alone, you are free to explore and take in everything, and interact with other people. I ate in different places every day, in New York, San Francisco, Chicago, New Mexico, Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, and lots of places in between. Sitting quietly enjoying the food and coffee, taking in the atmosphere, observing the people, not in any particular rush. So much to absorb and contemplate, that it feels like a meditation. Eating alone is not always about loneliness, I have some wonderful memories from that trip and others.
Oh, this resonated with me. I know I have lost, somewhat, the ability to appreciate moments like this; I wish I could throw my phone and social media away (but then I wouldn't have seen your post). I remember one summer when I was in elementary school - it was very hot and I spent the afternoon lying on the couch reading The Long Winter; I remember feeling physically cold with goosebumps as I read about Laura and Pa twisting hay into sticks to burn. I miss being able to lose myself in a book; I've started trying to dedicate more time to reading without my phone nearby. This poem and post renewed my hunger for this feeling: reading a magical sentence or turn of phrase, and looking up from the page to imprint it in my memory. And it goes without saying (for me) that to sit *alone* in a cafe, reading, eating my favorite foods, sounds heavenly. Thank you. ❤️
Susan, I really appreciate it! To me, it reminds me that in youth, we experience things, but as we grow older, and hopefully wiser, we learn to savor. Taking the long and winding road versus the shortcut and noticing everything.
He is treating himself like a friend, or an honored guest.
I'm eating alone right now (at home). I'm using one of the placemats that my mother made for us when my son was a boy, a fork that is from my own childhood, a small Le Creuset pot that my son bought at the Gold Nugget flea in Lambertville (during his cast-iron collecting period; the table, the tablecloth, the chairs all have stories. I live alone but don't feel alone when I'm surrounded by things that connect me to people I love, even if they are gone from my life.
For me, eating alone in public happily depends on the place and how crowded it is. But I've gone to many concerts and plays and movies alone, road trips too.
Yesterday morning I read this poem that you posted, and I thought about the many times throughout my life that I have eaten alone. Sometimes it bothered me, and at other times I enjoyed it immensely. That's me. Yesterday, while lunching with a friend at a sandwich shop, an elderly man by himself was seated next to us. The tables were small and close together. Normally I would have tried to strike up a conversation with a solo diner, but yesterday I did not do that. Billy Collins' poem was lingering in my thoughts and I did not try to engage this solo diner. I kept wondering if this man dined solo at this little shop often. Did he order the soup he was eating because that's what he always ordered for comfort and warmth ? What was he feeling ? There were more thoughts swirling in my head regarding this gentleman throughout yesterday and today this solo diner is still in my mind. Anything I think about this elderly man is pure speculation. I will say he looked like a gentle soul, and when he quietly slipped away after eating his soup I wondered where he went to next. Food For Thought
To be so comfortable in your own skin and in the space you occupy made me smile.
Spending time by myself, eating a good meal while reading a good book or while taking in the atmosphere of the place I am having my meal is priceless to me. I am not sure what others see or perceive, I hope what they see is a person at peace.
I love that you said "comfortable in your own skin". I had an aunt who was my favorite human being, and that's how I often described her. I wish I had more of that.
All of it feels sacred because the author has STOPPED to pay attention. Attention to the moment is the most sacred act in a world that is so distracted.
Robert Redford's children reminisced that he couldn't bear to see anyone eating alone in a restaurant and would often embarrass them by inviting the solo person to their table. In 1978, my grandmother confessed to me that she took a bus to a local Chinese place in Boston to have a solo lunch which she said she enjoyed very much. My grandfather had left her a few years before. I remember feeling so sad for her at the time and spent the next few Saturdays with her to make sure she didn't have to dine anywhere alone. Now I am older than she was at the time and although I have been single since 1987, I was busy raising a child alone and therefore, had a built-in dinner companion. I am just now, beginning to dine out alone. I've had a few breakfasts alone and spent some time at my local coffee place reading and writing. When I am feeling lonesome, dining out is too painful. But when I am not feeling alone for some reason, I can do it. I may duck into my favorite Chinese restaurant soon for lunch but perhaps not dinner. I will tell no one lest they feel as sorry for me as I felt for my grandmother all those years ago.
Yes! (to eating with pleasure, to growing old, to Billy Collins always, to you Susan for shining the light again and again, and to fellow commenters for bringing a wealth of perspectives)
Lately, I've been looking differently at the world--really feeling how connected we all are; experiencing deeply the beauty and tragedy of it all. I'm so filled that I seldom feel lonely and find more and more awe. Sometimes I'm practicing, but often, this world and this presence are practicing me! Today, I had duck tacos for lunch on the porch of a restaurant (because my dog was traveling with me) under cover from the rain. Afterward, the hillsides were impossibly green in dazzling sunshine. It may not be heaven, but it's in the same zip code!
Like so many on this thread, I adore the poetry of Billy Collins. He so frequently reveals a depth in what can seem, at first glance, to be ordinary.
For me, this poem creates an atmosphere of melancholy - for the protagonist is now the man eating alone he realizes he would, had he been tempted, have ridiculed when he was young. Yet now the solitary old man is calling attention to both what is sacred – the sun’s light, the immaculate tablecloths, the soft brown hair of a kind waitress – and the horrors of our world, which are alluded to by the specific title of the book he is reading.
In this sense, I am struck not so much by the man’s "alone-ness' as by the (bittersweet?) realization, which often comes with age, of how the sacred and the profane will always coexist in our world.
I often watch older folks at work (I work in a supermarket) and often they appear a little sad, or all alone in their world; sometimes I come across someone who embodies the contentment of the poem. My heart is filled either way.
I love how you say your heart is filled either way. I think - especially now that I am what is considered an "older" person, age brings so much joy and contentment, and at times a kind of sorrow that isn't really sadness as much as a deeper understanding of the profundity of life. It is one reason I think Collins' inclusion of the title of the book the old man is reading is crucial.
Thanks for taking the time to respond and engage in conversation:-)
This is a beautiful poem, if we all, be so blessed, to find comfort with thy changing years... Time carries the very perception of wisdom, if we open our hearts and minds to it...
May our Spirits sail free amongst thy tide, coming and going of life's unwritten song...
I absolutely love that moment when I experience a solitary joy, frequently arising out of a book I am reading, like mentioned in the poem, and then the look up and out into the world. It feels almost like taking this huge breath, and a pause to acknowledge what I just experienced, that profound moment of insight or that perfectly phrased anecdote that makes me just want to reconnect with the world around me, almost like you said, Susan, looking for someone else to connect with.
It’s such a powerful moment because I feel at the same time isolated from everyone else because of this experience only I had that moment, but also at the same time the experience melts away all divisions, and I feel at one with the universe.
I loved this poem and can relate to the pleasures of eating alone. I do it often. It's a time for me to break away from the demands of my caregiving role. I sit in the back of the pizza shop, watching others, enjoying my meal, sometimes I get to witness the sunset as I look out the window of the shop.
Other ordinary things I do that I treasure are walks with my dog. I enjoy being alone with him, no one to talk to, no one around who needs me. I get to listen to the birds singing, to feel the sun shining down on me from a beautiful blue sky, and to watch my pup sniff around and investigate the neighborhood as his tail is wagging constantly because he's so happy.
The small moments that are very meaningful to me is seeing my kids happy, which is hard to come by sometimes. One example is seeing my daughter bowling well, despite the pain and fatigue I know she's battling through. Another is hearing my kids laughing when they are doing something together--that means the world to me.
In a transcendent moment, a brilliant line from a book broke the spell of his reading and transported the old man back to the everyday mundanity of Chang's restaurant. Yet the vivid detail of the setting before his eyes was like a shimmering still-life painting. Something transformative had happened, imbuing the ordinary ambience with an extraordinary essence and hinting at the internal shift within him. He was no longer the young man he once was. Decades had passed, and he had become wiser, kinder, humbler, and less judgmental, no longer projecting his own reality onto the world. As he became awakened, his perspective softened, allowing him to take delight in aging, eating alone, solitary reading, and savoring delicious food in public - all within his private world at the corner table.
Indulging my imaginative impulse, I envision his younger self, sitting at another corner, chewing on a ballpoint pen in a pensive mood, looking up from a notebook, enraptured by the glowing Muse, and begins to spill words onto the page. Whimsically, the old man waved at his younger version with a forgiving smile.
Beautiful poem! I like so many things about it. I love the "sacred everyday" feeling it evokes and would love to cultivate more. I also love the mystery of it: how nothing is like what it appears. :) I've discovered Billy Collins through you Susan, including some earlier poems and the "millionaire in time" feeling you wrote about, thank you!
This reminds me of a trip I did way back in 1990 when I travelled alone from the east coast to west coast of America on a southerly route and returned on a northerly route, mainly on trains and partly by car, and a lot of walking. It took five weeks, in the autumn in wonderfully warm weather. But every day was a magical experience, in a foreign country travelling alone and eating alone. I have always found that when you travel with a companion, you miss so much because you are interacting with them and not the environment, whereas when you are alone, you are free to explore and take in everything, and interact with other people. I ate in different places every day, in New York, San Francisco, Chicago, New Mexico, Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, and lots of places in between. Sitting quietly enjoying the food and coffee, taking in the atmosphere, observing the people, not in any particular rush. So much to absorb and contemplate, that it feels like a meditation. Eating alone is not always about loneliness, I have some wonderful memories from that trip and others.
Oh, this resonated with me. I know I have lost, somewhat, the ability to appreciate moments like this; I wish I could throw my phone and social media away (but then I wouldn't have seen your post). I remember one summer when I was in elementary school - it was very hot and I spent the afternoon lying on the couch reading The Long Winter; I remember feeling physically cold with goosebumps as I read about Laura and Pa twisting hay into sticks to burn. I miss being able to lose myself in a book; I've started trying to dedicate more time to reading without my phone nearby. This poem and post renewed my hunger for this feeling: reading a magical sentence or turn of phrase, and looking up from the page to imprint it in my memory. And it goes without saying (for me) that to sit *alone* in a cafe, reading, eating my favorite foods, sounds heavenly. Thank you. ❤️
Susan, I really appreciate it! To me, it reminds me that in youth, we experience things, but as we grow older, and hopefully wiser, we learn to savor. Taking the long and winding road versus the shortcut and noticing everything.
He is treating himself like a friend, or an honored guest.
I'm eating alone right now (at home). I'm using one of the placemats that my mother made for us when my son was a boy, a fork that is from my own childhood, a small Le Creuset pot that my son bought at the Gold Nugget flea in Lambertville (during his cast-iron collecting period; the table, the tablecloth, the chairs all have stories. I live alone but don't feel alone when I'm surrounded by things that connect me to people I love, even if they are gone from my life.
For me, eating alone in public happily depends on the place and how crowded it is. But I've gone to many concerts and plays and movies alone, road trips too.
Yesterday morning I read this poem that you posted, and I thought about the many times throughout my life that I have eaten alone. Sometimes it bothered me, and at other times I enjoyed it immensely. That's me. Yesterday, while lunching with a friend at a sandwich shop, an elderly man by himself was seated next to us. The tables were small and close together. Normally I would have tried to strike up a conversation with a solo diner, but yesterday I did not do that. Billy Collins' poem was lingering in my thoughts and I did not try to engage this solo diner. I kept wondering if this man dined solo at this little shop often. Did he order the soup he was eating because that's what he always ordered for comfort and warmth ? What was he feeling ? There were more thoughts swirling in my head regarding this gentleman throughout yesterday and today this solo diner is still in my mind. Anything I think about this elderly man is pure speculation. I will say he looked like a gentle soul, and when he quietly slipped away after eating his soup I wondered where he went to next. Food For Thought
I love this. Looking back from a place of wisdom to the younger self, recognizing and rewarding the comfort of having become oneself.
Love this poem
To be so comfortable in your own skin and in the space you occupy made me smile.
Spending time by myself, eating a good meal while reading a good book or while taking in the atmosphere of the place I am having my meal is priceless to me. I am not sure what others see or perceive, I hope what they see is a person at peace.
I love that you said "comfortable in your own skin". I had an aunt who was my favorite human being, and that's how I often described her. I wish I had more of that.
All of it feels sacred because the author has STOPPED to pay attention. Attention to the moment is the most sacred act in a world that is so distracted.
Robert Redford's children reminisced that he couldn't bear to see anyone eating alone in a restaurant and would often embarrass them by inviting the solo person to their table. In 1978, my grandmother confessed to me that she took a bus to a local Chinese place in Boston to have a solo lunch which she said she enjoyed very much. My grandfather had left her a few years before. I remember feeling so sad for her at the time and spent the next few Saturdays with her to make sure she didn't have to dine anywhere alone. Now I am older than she was at the time and although I have been single since 1987, I was busy raising a child alone and therefore, had a built-in dinner companion. I am just now, beginning to dine out alone. I've had a few breakfasts alone and spent some time at my local coffee place reading and writing. When I am feeling lonesome, dining out is too painful. But when I am not feeling alone for some reason, I can do it. I may duck into my favorite Chinese restaurant soon for lunch but perhaps not dinner. I will tell no one lest they feel as sorry for me as I felt for my grandmother all those years ago.
Yes! (to eating with pleasure, to growing old, to Billy Collins always, to you Susan for shining the light again and again, and to fellow commenters for bringing a wealth of perspectives)
Lately, I've been looking differently at the world--really feeling how connected we all are; experiencing deeply the beauty and tragedy of it all. I'm so filled that I seldom feel lonely and find more and more awe. Sometimes I'm practicing, but often, this world and this presence are practicing me! Today, I had duck tacos for lunch on the porch of a restaurant (because my dog was traveling with me) under cover from the rain. Afterward, the hillsides were impossibly green in dazzling sunshine. It may not be heaven, but it's in the same zip code!
Like so many on this thread, I adore the poetry of Billy Collins. He so frequently reveals a depth in what can seem, at first glance, to be ordinary.
For me, this poem creates an atmosphere of melancholy - for the protagonist is now the man eating alone he realizes he would, had he been tempted, have ridiculed when he was young. Yet now the solitary old man is calling attention to both what is sacred – the sun’s light, the immaculate tablecloths, the soft brown hair of a kind waitress – and the horrors of our world, which are alluded to by the specific title of the book he is reading.
In this sense, I am struck not so much by the man’s "alone-ness' as by the (bittersweet?) realization, which often comes with age, of how the sacred and the profane will always coexist in our world.
I often watch older folks at work (I work in a supermarket) and often they appear a little sad, or all alone in their world; sometimes I come across someone who embodies the contentment of the poem. My heart is filled either way.
Hi Katherine,
I love how you say your heart is filled either way. I think - especially now that I am what is considered an "older" person, age brings so much joy and contentment, and at times a kind of sorrow that isn't really sadness as much as a deeper understanding of the profundity of life. It is one reason I think Collins' inclusion of the title of the book the old man is reading is crucial.
Thanks for taking the time to respond and engage in conversation:-)
Vicki