Date Night.

Wow.  Gang.  Between this, that, and the other thing, I have had a hell of an October.

My horoscope tells me that Mercury is in retrograde - has been for the past three weeks - and that I can pretty much expect every single aspect of my life to feel unsettled and off-kilter until this cycle ends.  Normally I don't put too much stock in horoscopes, reading them more for fun than anything else.  However, given that unsettled and off-kilter are exact adjectives I would use to describe the past three weeks AND the crazy (purely coincidental?) forecasts for some things that happened this month on the exact day in the exact way the stars said they would...well, color me a believer.  At least for the rest of this month.

(Though if the masterminds behind astrology charts tell me that November is going to be as challenging as October?  Then I'm heading for the hills.)

Add to the unbalanced fray the fact that it has been raining every day this week and you can likely understand why at the end of the work day yesterday I had simply had. it.

So I did what any normal, self-respecting, girl should do.

I took myself on a date.

Years ago, when I had just moved back from New York City and was settling back into life as a newly-single Bostonian, I invented Kelli date nights.  To be fair, I'd actually been taking myself on plenty of them as a New Yorker too, though I hadn't yet coined a specific term to describe them. But one night, that first winter I was back in Boston, as I took myself out to a book reading and then decided to stop on the way home and spoil myself with some sushi from one of my favorite spots in town - and - feeling ridiculously indulgent, also decided I would order a glass of champagne, I realized that I was on what had pretty much been the best date I had been on in eons.  Turns out, I make pretty good company.

Oh, I don't always want to be on solo dates with myself.  Let's not be extreme.  Still, there are moments when I absolutely and completely do want to do just that...be out with myself, alone.  To me, sneaking off to a movie alone now and again and treating myself to a bag of popcorn and a diet coke is a wonderfully decadent indulgence.  There are nights, when, after a long day at the office or a hectic schedule, I don't really want to talk to or engage with anyone, but I don't necessarily want to just home and stare at the television either.  Like anything in life, alone time is utterly and completely about balance and as with anything, moderation. (Including moderation, naturally.)

But back to last night.

The Wyeth family are some of my absolute favorite painters in the world. Earlier this fall, when I'd read about the Jamie Wyeth exhibition at the MFA, I knew the exhibit was a must-do.  It just so happens that the MFA is open late certain nights of the week, which made for the perfect opportunity, - despite the lousy weather - to shut my computer off at 5pm, break my routine, and go see some art.

One of the reasons that I love the Wyeth family's paintings (I adore N.C.'s illustrations, am simply mad for anything Andrew Wyeth ever produced, and dig Jamie's quirky yet realistic paintings almost as equally as his father's) is that the majority of their paintings are set either in coastal Maine, a place I have come to love and treasure, or in the Brandywine Valley of Pennsylvania which is very close to where I grew up in New Jersey.  When I look at their art, I often find myself relating to the New England side of life, which I have come to know as an adult, or reflecting back to my own childhood, recalling drives through the Pennsylvania countryside with my parents and my brother, knowing that the Wyeth's are absolutely accurately painting and portraying life in that part of the country.   

Yesterday evening, once I purchased admission into the museum and checked my wet coat and umbrella at the complimentary coat check, I immediately felt my shoulders drop, relax.  Just as I find a solo trip to the movies exhilarating, to me there is something wildly exciting about the idea of a few hours left to roam hall after hall of art completely on my own timeline and agenda.  Last night I was free to stand and stare in front of each piece of artwork for as long or as briefly as only I wanted.  I was able to circle back past a few of my favorite paintings, pausing to stare at certain aspects that drew my eye, letting my thoughts drift in and out and wander as they pleased.  Sometimes I forget what a wonderful "brain break" art museums can be.  When I lived in London, where the National Gallery was free, I used to pop in and out of that museum on a routine basis. Sometimes I went for entire afternoons, other times I would just pop in for ten minutes to catch yet another glimpse of one of my all-time favorite paintings.

Art. It is good for your soul.

Which is why, last night, I finally treated myself to an individual membership for the year.

For all the more date nights I have ahead.

Solo.  Or not.