How dining solo became my power move—and why every woman should try it.
There’s something deliciously audacious about telling a hostess, “One, please,” with an air that’s equal parts vulnerable and arrogant. It’s an affirmation of self-confidence—an unapologetic declaration that you are whole, complete, and perfectly capable of enjoying your own company.
I dine out alone every single week. I’ll slip into my favorite dress, throw on some lipstick that makes me feel unstoppable, and treat myself to a cappuccino and salad. It’s become a ritual of self-celebration.
While some might see a table for one as a lonely affair, to me it’s anything but. It’s an oasis. I order at my own pace, get lost in my own world, and sometimes strike up lighthearted conversations with strangers. It’s all on my own terms.
More aligned with myself than with the wrong company
As I’ve been steadily elevating my life, step by determined step, I’ve realized how many people aren’t aligned with me—and how blissful it is to stay in my own energy rather than share space with someone who might just “shit in my Cheerios.”
I never feel isolated. I text my son, my brother, cousins up at the Cape. I pester my publicist with girly musings (even if no one answers—turns out they have lives too). I am my own best partner, my own sweetest friend. I’ll never sabotage myself with jealousy or pettiness. Sure, I’m self-critical—perfectionism keeps me sharp. But I’m also tender and endlessly patient with myself.
Free at last
Honestly? I feel like a princess perched at a two-top. Blessed that I can afford this tiny luxury, free to sip coffee without worrying someone will roll their eyes if I spill a drop. Free to people-watch or drift off in my headphones. Free to live a life that’s delightfully, unapologetically mine.
I’m not lonely. I’m just busy—living, dreaming, writing new lyrics, plotting new projects. I chat with my mom, my aunt, my grandma in my mind. I choose to dwell inside glittery delusions and musical fairytales. It’s more fulfilling than running out to buy eggs for a man who doesn’t truly let me fly.
💋 A pop-artist nun of sorts
Let’s be clear: I’m not a recluse with a split personality. I’m simply a woman who knows her audience—and right now, my energy is sacred. I’ve had men tied to my hip since I could breathe. My dad lovingly tied my shoelaces until I was 11. I was married at 19, again at 24. Only in the past five years have I finally been able to breathe for myself.
And breathe I have— through the highs and lows of this little thing we called life. Iv’e learned not too take life too seriously, and most of us don’t know what we are doing. We all are figuring it out day by day. Just when we think we figured it out, something comes up. So we need to focus on the good and the good gets better.
So here I am on the other side saying, quite simply: I’m good.
💄 The takeaway
So ladies, slick on your favorite lipstick, slip into your queen-bee persona, and run out the door. Love life one cappuccino, one high heel, one solo dining experience at a time.
We’re not here for long. Make it big. Make it count. For God sake order the extra whip cream with your cappuccino and indulge. xxoo Ashley Paul
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