Popcorn for One

I Took Myself to the Movies Like I Meant It

The other night, I did something entirely wild—borderline scandalous, really. I took myself out. Alone. On a Friday. At 8 p.m. Like one of those glamorous, inscrutable women you imagine lives in a converted lighthouse somewhere on the coast of Maine, drinks whiskey neat, and owns an unreasonable number of trench coats.

It’s been a decade—a full ten years—since I’ve gone to the movies solo. I’d forgotten how strangely holy it feels. Even when the film is just okay, the ritual itself is sacred: the hush as the lights dim, the screen casting that first eerie glow, the whole world softening like butter on a biscuit. For two whole hours, your only job is to sit still and feel something. It’s therapy with a better soundtrack and optional Raisinets.

I saw the 20th anniversary of Pride and Prejudice—because obviously, Mr. Darcy forever—and not only did I not have to share my popcorn, I was the only person in the theater. Can your even imagine? Wallowing in a the glory of a beautifully made period drama in an empty theater? Just me, the Bennet sisters, and a bucket of fluorescent-yellow solitude. I laughed. I wept. I considered faking my own death and living out my days as the eccentric ghost who haunts Row 12.

Frankly, it was the best night I’ve had in ages.

And then—because I was already in my main character enenrgy—I took the long way home on a winding road, lightning cracking across the sky like God was conducting an orchestra. The rain followed and it was so heavy at times, I had to pull over. But it was fine. I turned the music up or left it off entirely. Nobody begged me for snacks. Nobody demanded “Kids Bop Volume 64.” I wore my pajama-quality daywear under my coat, and I was happy and cozy and ready to hang out all night (Read: I was home by 11pm).

10/10. No notes!

Truthfully, I needed that night more than I’d allowed myself to admit. The last few weeks had been what I call “death by a thousand juice boxes”—not catastrophic, but maddening in their slow, sticky accumulation. The kind of low-grade chaos that culminates in crying in a grocery store parking lot because they were out of your favorite cheese spread. (Allegedly.)

Sometimes, you don’t realize how hollow you’ve become until you’re still long enough to hear the echo. Turns out, a solitary date with Jane Austen and a thunderstorm was the top-off I didn’t know I was parched for.

There will come a day when I miss this chapter—but for this one night, the quiet wasn’t lonely. It was a benediction. And I took it. And I cherished it.

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STEAL THIS IDEA

Creative Exercise: The Solo Cinema Ritual

Objective:

Turn your solo movie night into an intentional, joy-fueled ritual for resetting your brain and refilling your creative tank—with popcorn. This activity needs to be done alone. You absorb stories differently when you’re alone. You feel them more. You notice the color grading. You hear the nuance in the dialogue. Your imagination starts whispering again. Get excited!

Step 1: Choose Your Movie Like It’s an Oracle Reading

Scroll through listings as if the Universe is trying to send you a message. Go with the one that makes you say “huh” or “that feels right” or “well, that’s unexpected.” Trust the weird pull. Yes, even if it’s animated dogs in outer space. Don’t limit yourself to the geographically closest theater. Theaters in cities and college towns often have larger, weirder selections.

Step 2: Prepare for the Mood You Want to Have

This isn’t just “going to a movie.” This is you stepping into a story—your story. Cue the music. This is a cinematic rite of passage, starring: you, in the role of “Mysterious Creative With Excellent Taste.”

Dress accordingly. Drape yourself in a scarf that whispers, “I write poetry during storms,” or lace up sneakers that say, “I could outrun a zombie horde and still look cute doing it.” You are cultivating a vibe.

Then, curate your snack like a sacred offering: maybe it’s your signature homemade trail mix (equal parts pretzels and unhinged ambition), or maybe you buy that candy at the counter—the one you haven’t touched since 2009 but suddenly feels right. Order a Diet Coke in a cup large enough to water a horse. Yes, the large. Go big. Go fizz.

This is a ritual, not a routine. And you, darling, are the high priestess of aisle seat transcendence.

Step 3: Observe the Theater Like an Anthropologist (or Ghost)

Arrive early. Watch people. Who’s here? First dates? Exhausted parents? A suspiciously chipper older couple sharing Milk Duds? Write mental notes:

• What does the carpet smell like?

• Is the teenager behind the counter experiencing ennui?

• Do you feel oddly powerful sitting alone?

Step 4: Experience the Movie Fully

Laugh too loud. Cry if you want. Judge the costumes. Imagine you’re on the film’s press tour explaining your vision as a director. Read the names on the closing credits. Let your brain go wherever it wants. It’s playtime in the dark.

Step 5: The Drive (or Walk) Home is the Reflection Period

No talking. No podcasts. Just music—or even better, silence. Let your brain bubble. Ask yourself:

• What scene stuck with me?

• What would I have done differently as the director?

• Did this movie teach me anything or just make me want a soft pretzel?

Step 6: The After-Ritual Ritual

When you get home, jot down a few quick things:

• The best line from the movie (or the weirdest).

• A made-up backstory for a background character.

• One idea it gave you (however loosely related).

Do this every time and soon you’ll have a secret journal of solo adventures that reads like a creative travelogue for your brain.

Why It Needs to Be Solo

Because this isn’t about the movie. It’s about the moment.

When you go to the movies alone, you strip away all the social layers—no checking someone else’s reaction, no whisper-commentary, no compromising on snacks or seat choice. It’s just you and the story on the screen, like a conversation with your subconscious under low lighting and over-salted popcorn.

This is time carved out for you and only you. It’s a sacred little bubble where nobody needs anything from you, where you don’t have to explain your emotions or share your candy. It’s about being selfish in the best, most nurturing way—stepping away from the noise so you can actually hear your own thoughts again.

Why It’s Not Scary (But Feels Like a Superpower)

Sure, the first solo movie might feel a little awkward—like people will stare or wonder why you’re alone. But here’s the truth: No one is paying attention.

They are busy with their own stuff. You are invisible in the best possible way. Once you embrace that? You unlock a level of freedom that feels slightly illegal.

The Benefits: Why It Works

• Mental reset. No decisions. No multitasking. No conversation. Just one task: watch and feel. It’s like a brain spa where the eucalyptus scent is replaced with artificial butter.

• Emotional permission. Cry if you want. Laugh too loud. Feel all the things without worrying if someone else is okay. This is your emotional sandbox—dig in.

• Personal power. Every time you do something alone, it adds to your inner stockpile of I can handle my own damn company. Which is, honestly, a kind of magic.

Give it a try! And let me know how it goes!