"Good For Her": A Table for One, Please

This week's post comes to you from a crowded D.C. restaurant where I’m currently seated, awaiting my hot chicken and sipping on a non-alcoholic beer.

The idea of sitting alone at a restaurant—or anywhere for that matter—used to send shivers down my spine. But the older I get, and the more my work sends me to corners of the country for solo trips, the more I've come to enjoy my own company.

“Hi, I have a reservation for one,” I said to the host at Yardbird Table & Bar.

“Phoebe?” he said.

“Yup!” I replied.

“Good for her,” I heard the woman behind me say to her friend. I smiled, touched by the comment. A moment later, the host returned and began leading the way—I thought he was bringing me to my table, but he turned and said, “Oh, sorry, this is for them.” As I stepped back, the two women smiled and said, “Well, you’re welcome to join us!” I laughed and thanked them, wishing them a good meal.

Confidence isn’t something that comes easily to me. I have to work at it. But as someone who once couldn't fathom sitting alone at a table, those three simple words, “Good for her”—healed something small within me.

Of course, modern conveniences mean I'm never truly alone. My partner accompanied me via video call as I walked to the restaurant, I sent photos of the White House to my family, and I spent the evening writing this post to you all.

Still, I'm my own company tonight—and I've been a decent date. Also, my love of hot chicken is real, and as you can tell, this place did not disappoint.

This isn't my first solo-dining experience. But when colleagues aren't around, I usually opt for room service or takeout. D.C., however, is different. I feel different here. It's my favorite city—the one I’ve visited the most.

My dad lived here for six months when I was in middle school, and again for three months while I was in high school, with a few other trips sprinkled in. My mom, brother and I joined him when we could, and I reveled in every moment.

I vividly remember walking the very streets I walked today, proclaiming that one day, I would work here.

As I took in the sights this evening, I couldn't wipe the smile from my face. Somehow, I made it happen. I stumbled into a job that brings me here at least once a year, yet I get to work from home—with my boyfriend and dogs as my daily coworkers, in a house close to my family.

Having the best of both worlds is a luxury—and one I don’t take for granted. Tonight, a solo dinner in my favorite city reminded me that confidence doesn’t always come loud or certain. Sometimes, it’s quiet. It’s showing up anyway. It’s ordering the hot chicken, savoring your own company, and realizing you’re exactly where you once dreamed you’d be. Things really do work out—sometimes even better than you imagined.