There’s nothing more emotionally charged than going home alone after a night out.
Looking out the window of a cab, watching the stations flash by from the express train, slowly getting closer to sleep- it’s vulnerability hour.
After spending many nights in high school and college nearly blacked out, I used to think this ruminating, emotional, post-game was strictly a drunk experience – but no. When I stopped drinking, the familiar nostalgia / anxiety / exhaustion on my way home after meeting up with friends at bars, clubs, restaurants was still there.
I blame the harsh transition from loud music, screaming people, and disco lights to the back seat of an Uber with nothing but the indicator and the road’s bumps to break the silence. It’s shocking, and all of a sudden there’s a lot of room for thoughts and reflections about the night, life, and the reasons for going home alone to an empty apartment.
It gets very introspective, watching strangers toddle from one bar to another in laughing, leaning groups. Romanticized memories of nights not going home alone, or simply not going home at all pop up to stifle feelings of comparison. Simultaneously, there’s a sense of relief in the fact that the night is over and entirely under control. It’s the perfect time to play out hypothetical ‘what-ifs’ and ‘why-nots’, to debate texting someone for the first time in three years.
Emotions just feel heavier during these trips, everything from the red lights to the steam vents seems to be choreographed to enhance the dramatics. Of course, in the morning it becomes clear that it’s not that deep and last night’s introspection was brought on by the late hour, but still, I appreciate the thirty to forty-five minutes of forced contemplation.