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I was standing at my car, new windshield wiper blade in one hand and instructions on how to install it in the other, when the realization hit me.

I'd just read the instructions, then carried on a whole conversation about how to implement said instructions and how you'd think a college-educated person like myself could figure out the "easy installation" promised on the packaging.

It wasn't until a car drove by and the driver looked at me a tad funny that it dawned on me: I'd been having this whole conversation aloud and alone.

And then the realization: I talk to myself … a lot.

Now, talking to myself in the confines of my home has happened for years. I've had many a meaningful exchange while cooking dinner, showering, or watching TV. I've devised plans for my workday, processed important world events, berated myself for playing too much computer solitaire, and often cracked myself up. At times I think others are missing out on some great material, but more often than not, I'm really grateful no one's listening in.

The talking to myself in public, however, is relatively new. When I pulled up to the gas pump near our office recently and noticed the new TV screens at each stand rolling film about the latest blockbuster, tonight's episode of Scrubs, and the wonders of the gas I was pumping into my Civic, I said aloud, "Seriously? Is there no space free of a word from our sponsor? Can't a girl pump her gas in peace?" I piped down when I noticed the woman at pump five making worried glances in my direction.

The other day at the grocery store I stood in the tea aisle audibly amazed. I'm a relatively new tea drinker and am still exploring what I like. I wanted to try something new, but the 347 varieties of tea on the shelf before me were a bit daunting. "What exactly does Zen taste like?" I wondered aloud. "Royal plum, midnight plum, sugared plum – what's the difference?" Then, "Oooh, Passion in a box. Handy!"

When a woman with a heaping cart and two toddlers in tow rounded the corner, I grew suddenly silent. I didn't want to burden the poor mom with also having to answer, "Mama, who's that lady talking to?" She already had enough on her hands.

My latest self-talk oddity is my tendency to use the royal "we," especially when posing questions to myself. As in, "What are we in the mood for for dinner?" "Have we brushed our teeth yet?" or "What are we going to wear today?" Seriously, I don't get it either.

Todd, a single friend of mine, eased a bit of my concern over my self-talk tendencies when he relayed a recent conversation with a married friend of his. Joe's wife had been out of town for a long weekend, at the end of which he asked Todd if, since he lives alone, he talks to himself a lot. When Todd assured him he does, Joe was visibly relieved.

And I was, too, when I realized this is also a married person phenomenon. Maybe I'm not becoming Crazy Single Lady.

So what am I becoming? When I listen to what comes tumbling out when I chat myself up, I get an interesting peek. Sometimes I hear feelings, thoughts, dreams, and joys I wasn't conscious of before. Sometimes in my thinking aloud, I come face-to-face with pains and aches I need to feel.

A while ago I was home alone verbally processing a dating situation. I was beginning to realize I needed to walk away from a good guy who wasn't my guy. As I was talking it all through—with myself and a bit with God—I heard myself say, "Oh, I know I'll be okay. Maybe not for a while. But eventually I'll be all right again." I'd been dreading this decision for weeks, fearing another back-to-square-one situation. It was somehow heartening to hear that deep down I had more faith in myself than I'd realized.

Recently when it dawned on me that most of my self talk was pretty snarky and a bit complainy, I realized I needed an attitude adjustment. I had to hear the overflow of my heart spilling out my mouth (Matthew 12:34) to see it needed a tune-up. And it was a small mercy that no one else had to listen to all the muck in the process.

So often the busyness of life drowns out these hopeful or tough feelings, sometimes by design. But when I can actually hear my thoughts aloud, I'm often forced to see and feel them—necessary steps in knowing the true condition of my heart and in dealing with issues it's all to easy to miss in my noisy life. And bringing these issues to God. I love the way these conversations with myself often morph into prayers. He's there listening anyway, might as well bring him into the conversation.

Sometimes when I'm in think-things-into-the-ground mode (read: all the time), I wonder if all this talking to myself is a sign I need to call others more. Is it easier to talk with myself about the big issues in my life because there's no one there to talk back, to offer accountability? Is talking to myself out in public a sign that I spend too much time in my own company? I'm sure I'll have a meaningful discussion with myself sometime soon to talk through these valid questions.

For now, I like to think all this talking to myself means I'm comfortable with my own company—even when that company is out in public. When I was newer to this singleness gig, I used to feel self-conscious out there on my own navigating my way amidst the couples and families of the world. Now, I hardly even notice there's no one next to me. I still love hanging out with my friends and family, but my own presence has also become enough.

So this is the season of talking to myself. Of spending time in my own company. Of talking things out alone if there's no friendly sounding board handy. Of learning to trust my own voice … and use it. To tell myself honest truths, to give voice to joy and hope, to talk through the issues of life, to bring this all to God.

And to laugh at life's little absurdities. Like 347 varieties of tea.

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Read more from 'Single Minded'

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