A Solo Date in the Making: Walking, People-Watching, and the Anticipation of a Movie

Do you ever take time for yourself, just to be your own company?

I didn’t think much about it until recently, but I’ve decided to do just that—take myself out on a solo date.

I’ve decided that tomorrow, Sunday, I’m going to take myself on a date. A movie—simple, yet it feels like an event. It’s not just the movie itself; it’s the idea of stepping out of my routine to spend time with me.

I had this thought while I was walking Peppa, my canine companion, enjoying the lovely December weather here in Greece. The air is crisp, and the sky is wide open, reminding me that there’s something quite special about the slower days—especially when they’re unhurried yet purposeful.

My walk had two purposes: one, to give Peppa her daily exercise, and two, to clear my head and think about what I might write today. It’s my little ritual—"emptying" my mind while I walk.

But let’s be real: I’m always in my head. The internal dialogue never really ends, and honestly, I don’t mind it. I rather enjoy the little world I live in, full of observations, musings, and—let’s be honest—judgments.

As I walked, I noticed a bald man, walking just a little too close for comfort. I’m naturally cautious, especially when it’s a man behind me. I wouldn’t call it fear, just a heightened awareness. It’s just the way I navigate the world, especially when I’m alone.

Anyway, Peppa was busy sniffing everything in sight: garbage, plants, the occasional potential dog friend. As we paused, I kept an eye on the bald man who had passed me and was now ahead. He had his phone sticking halfway out of his back pocket, and I couldn’t help but think, How easy would it be for someone to snatch that? It struck me as careless. The phone hung there, practically begging to be grabbed.

As I continued walking, I noticed another sight: a forty-ish-year-old man on an electric scooter. He zipped past me, and I couldn’t help but think, Bro, just walk. Seriously. It’s a pedestrian walkway, not a race track.

And then, as if on cue, I saw a group of three young girls—maybe 16 or 17, hard to tell these days. They were all dressed up in what looked like outfits designed for a social media photoshoot. Full makeup glamour, posed smiles, and the whole vibe screamed: “Dopamine hits via likes.”

I couldn’t help but think back to when I was their age. Sure, we’d hang out, too, looking for attention or meeting boys, but we weren’t chasing validation in the same way. It wasn’t all about the perfect Instagram picture. Nowadays, though, it’s almost as if they’ve traded their innocence for constant performance.

As I crossed the street, I kept an eye on the bald guy and saw him turn sharply down a side street. Ah, I thought to myself, good, I lost him. It’s funny how you can go from an automatic vigilance to feeling relieved by a simple turn in the road.

As I kept walking through the strip of stores near the supermarket, I was reminded of how much I love these little local spots—there’s a nail salon, a tech repair shop, and a little café. Today, though, it was the smell of popcorn that grabbed my attention. I had forgotten there was a movie theater nearby—mostly because it’s only open during the colder months when the outdoor cinemas shut down for the season.

Naturally, I paused to inhale the popcorn scent and check out what was playing. It’s been years since I’ve gone to the movies—maybe three? I think the last time was at an outdoor cinema to watch the last James Bond movie. But the mosquitos made it hard to focus on the film with all the blood-sucking going on.

Scanning the posters, I stumbled upon a movie about Maria Callas, starring Angelina Jolie.

I’ve watched other documentaries and films about Callas over the years—usually focusing on her tumultuous relationship with Onassis. But something about her always fascinated me: the way she carried herself, the class, the elegance, the mystery.

She was called a 'diva,' but to me, that seemed like a way to dismiss her complexity. As a woman in the spotlight, she was expected to be a certain way every single day—and when she didn’t meet that expectation, the world reacted with judgment.

What struck me most, though, was the way her life played out. The more I learned about her, the more I saw a woman who, despite her success, was just looking for love—real love, not the kind that comes with fame or status.

She was in love with a man who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—commit to her the way she wanted, and in the end, it seemed like that broken heart was her undoing.

I wonder if that’s really how it happened. I guess I’ll find out when I see the movie tomorrow.

So, on Sunday, I’ve made a promise to myself to go see that film. It feels like the perfect day for it—Sunday, a day I often associate with loneliness and rest. It’s the day of the week when everything slows down, and the world feels a little quieter. And maybe that’s what I need right now: to sit in a dark theater, lost in someone else’s story, and think about my own.

I’m not sure what lesson I’m meant to learn from Maria Callas’s life, but I know I’ll be paying attention. Maybe there’s something I’ll learn about myself through her story. Or perhaps, I’ll just enjoy the quiet moments of the day, taking myself out for a movie, and remembering that sometimes, the best company you can keep is your own.