Managing other people’s expectations takes the joy out of pretty much any excursion. Most things are better enjoyed alone. This hit me many years ago when I decided to risk a bullfight in Las Ventas in Madrid. My grandfather wasn’t long dead, and had been a fan of la corrida; I felt that this was something I wanted to do alone, lest whoever I was with think I’m a total sicko.
As a naturally highly neurotic mother, it’s liberating not having to worry if one’s uniquely precious offspring
I’ve since become less cautious about admitting how much I like going solo. Without the pressure of having to think about whether everyone else is having fun, you can immerse yourself fully in whatever new experience it is, and not be subjected to conversational post mortems either.
Exhibitions alone are obviously preferable: the pain of dealing with well-meaning but facile commentary from friends who feel the need to comment, generally uncritically, is a soul-crushing buzzkill.
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