Uncomfortable February Highlights: Week 4
In February 2019, I did a daily challenge to get out of my comfort zone. Here are a few highlights from the final week.
Take only public transit for the day
It was a Friday morning. I woke up extra early and looked up routes on Google Maps. There were several options. I chose the path of least resistance: a 25-minute walk to the Glendale Metrolink station followed by a 7-minute train ride into downtown Burbank, ending with a 20-minute ride on the Burbank Bus to my office. The “media district” line has a stop right outside my office.
All in all, it should have taken just under an hour. Only four times the length of my standard morning commute.
I had a sense of uneasiness as I left my house in the morning. Though I thought I had it all figured out, I hadn’t taken public transportation in LA in several years. It can be hit or miss.
The walk to the train station was pleasant and calmed my nerves. It was a cool February day in Los Angeles. Being carless felt surprisingly freeing. It felt like an adventure.
Of course, I had trouble locating the fastest route to the train station and missed the 8:10 train. But I didn’t care. There was another one 20 minutes later.
I waited on the center platform, which seemed like the logical choice. A southbound train to Downtown came and went, so I knew which track I needed. A few minutes later the 8:30 train came right on time. And… the doors opened on the other platform, not the center one.
Well, shit.
It was more comical than frustrating. I quickly walked along side the train with my hands raised in the air, looking for a sympathetic conductor to let me in. Another man followed me, having made the same mistake. He was visibly more pissed. He may have used a few four letter words.
The doors closed on the opposite side of the track. The train left the station.
Fortunately, another one came five minutes later.
After arriving at the Burbank station, I hopped on the media district shuttle. It left five minutes later. Everyone on board was polite, thanking the driver at every stop as they exited. This was a very different experience than the last time I took an LA Metro bus. This one didn’t smell like pee.
I arrived at my office around 9:15. The whole trip took 90 minutes.
The ride home was significantly smoother. I knew exactly what I was doing. I was more confident. I rewarded myself with dinner from my favorite restaurant on the way home.
The entire experience was fun in the end. Though it took significantly longer than driving my car, and cost $5 round trip (more than gas would cost me round trip), it’s something I might just do again from time to time.
Eh, probably not. But it’s nice to know the option is there.
Take a cold shower…every day
When I put out the request for uncomfortable challenge ideas, my friend Kevin sent me this New York Times article titled The Benefits of Getting an Icy Start to the Day. His email said “I’ll do this if you do this.”
So we both ran our own challenges on opposite coasts. I admit I think I had an advantage not being in New York City, particularly when they were hit with the winter vortex earlier in the month.
I’m pleased to say that I succeeded in taking a two minute cold shower every single day in February. Over the course of the month, that’s just about an hour total.
Here’s how it worked. After my normal shower routine, I called out to Siri to set a timer for two minutes. Then I took a deep breath and cranked the knob of the faucet clockwise, as far as it would go.
I had gotten into a short-lived habit of taking cold showers about five years ago, after reading about some of the supposed-benefits. I remember feeling refreshed afterwards, but the habit did not stick. It was simply too hard to put myself through it.
The hardest part is turning the knob — even harder than bearing the cold water. It takes a weird sort of mental strength to do something you really don’t want to do (why take away warm water, which feels so soothing), but know that you’re choosing to do it just do push yourself to do something hard.
The first three or four days were tough. Once the water began to turn cold, my heart race increased, beating out of my chest. My blood rushed from my internal organs to my skin, trying to keep me warm. I got light headed. I took deep breaths, rotating around to cover all sides of my body. It forced me to be present — there was no mental bandwidth left to think about anything else. Hey, mindfulness!
Two minutes felt like an eternity.
“Why am I doing this again?”
After the first few times, asking Siri to set a timer and turning the knob almost became a habit. It was still very uncomfortable for the first ten seconds, my mind screaming at me. Why are you doing this!
But it became easier.
And once the water was off and I’m in a towel, it feels pretty good.
So much so that I’ve continued the habit into March. But only for one minute, not two.
Eat a meal by myself without looking at my phone
I had a hard time deciding where to do this challenge. Eater LA and Yelp became useless resources — did I want try a new restaurant? Did I want to go someplace I knew well? Was a cool-looking bar a requirement? Or would I sit at a table by myself?
It took me until 2pm the day of to make a decision. While discussing this challenge with a friend earlier in the week, I casually mentioned eating dinner at a “nice” restaurant like Osteria Mozza. The idea was to amplify the experience, to up the stakes. I eat alone at fast-casual restaurants often — this needed to feel significantly harder.
So it hit me: why not do Mozza? I’d been a couple times before, though it had been years. It felt like the perfect spot: great food, some level of theatrics (they have a sommelier on staff and fold your napkins when you get up to use the restroom). Not one but two bars to choose from. After calling to ensure they were open, I learned that they save both bars for walk ins. I imagined snagging one seat on a Tuesday night would be easy.
Shortly after settling on Mozza, my commitment to this challenge was tested. My therapist called to let me know he had a last minute appointment open that night. It was tempting, as I couldn’t make my usual Thursday appointment that week. But I stuck to the plan.
I was tested again while driving to the restaurant. I was feeling uneasy about the plan, when I received a text from a friend. “Do you have dinner plans?” the text read. I said I did: dinner plans with myself. I added that I’d rather have dinner with her, but had to see this through.
I parked a few blocks away from the restaurant and left my phone in my car. While walking down the street, I rehearsed what I would say to the host, like an actor on his way to an audition. “Any room for one at the bar?” I’d gesture a “one” with my index finger, just to be clear that this was a solo endeavor.
There it was: Osteria Mozza, on the corner of Highland and Melrose. A Los Angeles establishment. The light at the intersection changed. I crossed the street and without hesitation opened the large wooden door and strolled inside.
Immediately it felt like I had left the busy streets of Los Angeles. Dim lighting. The low murmur of conversations and laughter. The polite clatter of silverware. The host walked up. I recited my line. She clarified “just one?” “Fuck, really?” I did not say. I felt a sting of self-consciousness. I was literally gesturing a “one” with my finger.
She seated me at the Mozzarella Bar — a giant L-shaped counter in the center of the restaurant, overlooking the station where two cooks prepare cheese and antipasto dishes. I felt like I was on display for the whole restaurant to see. On the corner, two seats to my left sat a couple. To the right, three seats away were two men having what looked like a post-work meal. I took a deep breath.
The standard questions were asked of me: still or sparkling? Anything to drink? And just you tonight?
Yes, just me. Thanks for the reminder.
I ordered a bourbon-honey cocktail called the Gold Rush and began to study the menu, selecting a couple of dishes to ask my waiter about. When she returned, she sold me on the Cuar di ricotta; ricotta flown in from Italy that week, sitting in a bath of roasted garlic puree. She had me at ricotta. A kale salad was added to the order, and I finished with goat cheese ravioli, cooked with five types of onions.
After she left I realized I had ordered equivalent of a gastrointestinal nuclear bomb. Onions, cheese, kale, garlic. Good thing I was alone and going home to my own apartment that night.
As I waited for the first course to arrive I squirmed around in my seat with nothing to do. I was very aware of my body language, wondering what people around me thought of me. I concluded that none of them cared. I’ve seen plenty of people eating solo before and may have noticed them but didn’t think twice about it. In fact, I recall thinking at times that it seems pretty baller; that it takes guts. This thought soothed me.
The ricotta arrived. Imagine the best, creamiest ricotta you’ve ever had. Now imagine something even better than that. That’s what this ricotta was. The couple to my left even leaned over to ask me about it, wide eyed. “Is that the ricotta?! We almost ordered it!” We chatted briefly. I offered to share, but they said they were too stuffed, a half-eaten dessert sitting in front of them.
The kale salad was good but not worth detailing here (it’s kale, after all). The goat cheese ravioli was hearty and flavorful. My waiter, as she cleared the plate, said with a grin that I had “annihilated” the plate. I took it as a compliment.
As I finished my meal, I noticed two men sitting side-by-side on the adjacent side of the bar. At first I thought they were together. But it quickly became clear that they too, were there by themselves. The man closer to me, in his 40s, with facial hair, wearing a zip-up hoodie, looked nervous. His eyed darted around the restaurant for a few seconds at a time, followed by anxious scrolling on his phone. I wondered if we had the same agenda that night. We made eye contact briefly and acknowledged each other.
The man to his left was older, in his 60s or 70s. He seemed more relaxed, like he had done this before. Though he was also on his phone for a significant portion of the evening. Several times he looked right at me and smiled. I kept wanting these two men to just fucking talk to each other. The opportunity could not have been easier. At one point I entertained the idea of getting up and walking over to them to break the ice. “So we’re all here alone, together, aren’t we?” I pictured myself saying.
Instead, I chatted more with the couple next to me and with the woman working behind the bar. These are things I would normally never do. But being alone somehow made it easier. It was freeing.
By the time I paid the bill, I had acclimated to the feeling of discomfort. I was not relaxed, but I was not filled with anxiety either. It felt right. Like I had this. Like I could do this again.
With few distractions, it’s easier to put attention on our food. When dining at an upscale restaurant, it’s almost a disservice to spend most of it yakking away with another person. Once I got over my anxiety, I was able to taste truly fantastic dishes and all of their subtle flavors.
It was 90 minutes and $107 well spent. Before I left I asked the woman behind the bar out on a date. Two challenges in one night.
But that’s a story for another time.
