I Go to Museums Alone
From Oct. 8, 2021 and edited on Nov. 18, 2021
Green Lady Lounge. Oct. 8, 2021. Photo by Margaret Burke.
As I sat at Green Lady Lounge in downtown Kansas City, I drank a Manhattan. Alone. There are couples there; some appear to be long-term, while others look like Bumble first dates. Groups of girlfriends gather for ladies' night. Then there is me, wearing a yellow men's workman jacket, feeling rather lonely but content.
The memory of an awful date from nearly a month ago lingers, and it is more funny than sad. My date was a Tinder match from the east coast, and the guy practically talked about himself the whole time. The date lasted about an hour and fifteen minutes before I decided I didn't want to keep conversing with this man anymore. I escaped by using my sister's dead cat as an excuse to leave.
Writing about being alone as a white cis-gendered lady is not exactly revolutionary writing, and it has been reported to death. Countless bestsellers are about white ladies discovering themselves via adventure/trips. My story is no exception other than I am autistic with an anxiety disorder.
The thing is that I am used to being alone, and it is nothing that novel to me. Growing up as an autistic girl, I could keep myself occupied for hours being in my own head. Daydreams of appearing on shows like Sabrina, the Teenage Witch. Zoning out while noticing patterns in my bedroom's textured ceiling, much like making shapes in the clouds.
Friendships have always been a tricky thing for me. I would think I was friends with someone, and then one day, nothing. No more friendship. Later on, I realized this had something to do with being autistic. Maybe it was my bluntness or my weird sense of humor that alienated me from others. Navigating friend group dynamics still baffles me. Aside from some amount of whisper mockery, I was mostly left out. It is a kind of cruelty of its own. After a while, I figured being alone was more manageable, and it was easier. No longer was I constrained to a group of friends where the foundation of friendship was built on sand. This is how I have been since the fifth grade. I have exactly one best friend and a few friends that live in town. Some are co-workers, and others are friends I have met through what most people would have called a cult but disguised as an activist group. Even with that, people are busy with jobs, relationships, and other living things. Sometimes, when I see a group of people hanging out, I feel that I am missing out on something.
Being alone is not a bad thing. After a recent heartbreak, I am not looking for a hot date anytime soon. Okay, a slight lie; I was checking out some cute guys around the bar but too afraid to approach them.
The guy who recently broke my heart listed many reasons why he couldn't see me anymore. One of them thought I was only dating him for his looks, and he didn't have time for me.
It didn't help that up until he broke it off with me; he seemed to like me for me and wanted to explore more of KC with me. I, too, liked him for him, or at least the version he presented to me. A guy who loved plants, his dogs and who wanted to be a children's writer at one point in his life. Then again, I passed so many red flags because, in my head, I wanted a fantasy to be true rather than face the person in front of me. I am a romantic, after all.
After receiving good news this afternoon, I decided to take an impromptu date with myself to KC. The last week, I had been in a funk and knew I needed to get out. It wasn't exactly well planned out. I wanted to see art and went to one of my favorite museums, the Nelson-Atkins Museum. The Nelson is open later on Fridays, so I didn't feel as rushed to get there.
I checked out a range of paintings. At this point, I know my way around the museum, and I wander around without a set agenda. After getting vaccinated and moving out of co-habitation with my last long-term boyfriend, I made it a point to go to more museums, and I needed an excuse to get out of the house.
One of the reasons I go to museums alone is so I can let my mind wander. I can breeze through certain rooms while spending more time in others. I don't feel so pressured to explain pieces or to really know a lot about art. While I studied it in my undergrad, I still cannot help but think that I am still under scrutiny. I worry about spouting some art terms and either sounding like a dummy or a pretentious ass. The worst being both.
One thing that annoyed me was in the quiet; my mind would wander over to memories of my exes. Little flashbacks to moments of closeness and care. I sometimes miss being in a couple.
Being reminded of your status as an unattached, unmarried woman also comes with its own annoyances. Be it through seeing other couples dangling their hands together as they walk together down the street. Another pregnancy announcement from an old classmate when doing a monthly Facebook check-up. Being alone in a world filled with dating apps made for finding relationships or hooking up comes with mixed feelings. Constantly trying to heal and become the best version of yourself.
Walking through the American Art collection, I came across a Georgia O'Keeffe painting titled Apple Blossoms, 1930 during my visit to the Nelson. This striking painting with an up-close perspective white and pink blooms with a soft sky blue background. It is tiny compared to the other paintings in the gallery, but it is pretty distinctive. What I like about O'Keeffe's paintings is that they portray softness but never convey weakness. In many ways, abstraction is often shown in nature, and O'Keeffe decided to put those elements into her paintings. Of course, this led to critics thinking that her paintings of flowers equal vagina/sex despite O'Keeffe stating that it had nothing to do with her genitals.
As I looked at the piece, I started to think about the chapter on Georgia O'Keeffe in Olivia Laing's Funny Weather. Laing wrote about how often O'Keeffe had battled with wanting to maintain her independence while falling under the spell that is love. To support her ability to make art and maintain her independence, she would teach. This also allowed O'Keeffe to use her time to hike alone and take in the deserted land that lay ahead of her. Much of it inspired her expansive paintings of the American West.
I have been thinking of O'Keeffe as of late. As I have stumbled towards building independence again, it reminds me how important it is to have space. Space to create, rest, connect and work. In moments, I am grateful to be alone. Having a home that is curated and designed with what I want to do in it. My time is of my own freedom and responsibility. No one to judge me when I am sleeping in on my days off. There are times where I get pangs of loneliness, missing physical touch, and envy of others' relationships. These are, of course, normal and very human things to feel. At some point, when I feel less heartbroken, maybe I will take someone along to a museum. For the time being, I am okay with looking around on my own.
Reference:
Laing, Olivia. “Lady of the Canyon.” In Funny Weather: Art in An Emergency, 58-70. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2020.
