Thriving Solo

  • Microadventures for Introverts

    Adventure doesn’t have to mean backpacking across continents or throwing yourself into crowded festivals. For introverts, the sweet spot is something small, manageable, and low-pressure—a break from routine that still leaves you with energy at the end of the day.

    A microadventure can be as simple as:

    • Taking a solo train ride to a town you’ve never visited, just to wander its streets for an afternoon.
    • Packing a thermos of coffee and finding a quiet hilltop, beach, or riverside spot to sit and watch the world go by.
    • Trying a museum, gallery, or historic house you’ve walked past a hundred times but never gone inside.
    • Going for a long walk in your own city, but in a neighbourhood you rarely visit, following curiosity instead of a plan.

    The magic is in the scale—it’s something you can do without weeks of planning, without having to negotiate with anyone else’s timetable, and without returning home exhausted. You get the spark of the new without the overwhelm of a big production.

    For me, the best microadventures often happen on impulse. A sudden urge to ride out to the coast with a stop at the supermarket on the way, or just a walk into town to check out a café I’ve never tried. No social commitments, no need for a plus-one—just the freedom to follow whatever catches my attention that day.

    Big adventures have their place, but when you live alone, microadventures are a way to keep life fresh and interesting, while still honouring the quiet that fuels you.

    10 Microadventure ideas

    1. Ride to the end of the line – Take the bus, train, or ferry to its final stop just to see where it goes. No bus/train/ferry where you live? Just walk or drive somewhere you haven’t been before.
    2. Explore a “never been” neighbourhood – Walk slowly, notice the details, stop at one café or shop that catches your eye.
    3. Go museum-minimalist – Visit a small gallery or museum you’ve overlooked, even if you only spend an hour there.
    4. One-hour nature escape – Drive or walk to the nearest park, reserve, or beach, and stay until your head feels quieter. Take some water with you, and just enjoy.
    5. Sunrise or sunset watch – Pick a spot with a view and make the time to just watch it happen.
    6. Bookshop wandering – Spend an afternoon browsing, with no agenda to buy—just explore. You might consider leaving your money at home though, bookshops are dangerous.
    7. Café tourism – Try a café you’ve never visited before, even if it’s only a few blocks from home.
    8. Night-time walk – When it’s quiet, explore the streets or waterfront with the city lights as your guide.
    9. Library dive – Grab a random book from a section you never usually visit, and read it there.
    10. Micro road trip – Pick a small town within an hour’s drive and treat it like a day-long getaway.

  • Your Own Weatherproof Life

    One of the quiet luxuries of living alone is that your plans can bend to the weather without negotiation. When the forecast turns or the rainy day dawns, there’s no juggling calendars, no group chat consensus—just you, deciding what feels right.

    Rainy weekend? Pull the curtains, make something warm, and let the sound of water on the roof dictate the pace. Cold snap? Stack the blankets, keep the kettle busy, and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist. Heatwave? Move slowly, eat cold food, and let the AC hum through the whole day.

    Photo by Cole Keister on Unsplash

    No-one to comment on your choice to spend all day in your PJ’s, fluffy slippers on and not an effort to get through the shower.

    Fluffy blankets and cocoa? A day spent curled up with a good book (or a bad one, no-one to judge, you do you). Or maybe a binge of that series you’ve been meaning to get around to watching.

    You don’t have to explain, justify, or compromise. Your home becomes your shelter, your rules, your rhythm—whatever the skies are doing.

    That’s freedom.

  • The Comfort of Ritual


    Living alone doesn’t mean living without structure. Over time, you find your own quiet rituals—the ones that make the day feel right.

    When you live alone, you start to build your days around small moments that matter only to you. They’re not traditions you have to share, or routines shaped by someone else’s preferences. They’re yours—quiet anchors that give your life rhythm.

    For me, it’s the morning coffee at my writing desk. My mornings start with a shower, then I head downstairs and make a coffee.

    What coffee exactly? Some morning, it’s a Japanese style filter. Others, it’s a classic stovetop espresso. Either way, it’s not a rushed takeaway on the way to somewhere else, but the slow ritual of making it, setting it down beside the keyboard, and taking that first sip while the day is still unfolding.

    Later in the day, it’s the laptop on my knees, writing in front of the TV late at night. No one to complain about the blue glow or the clack of keys, no one to ask me to pay attention to the show, or ask what I’m working on.

    Photo by Lee Campbell on Unsplash

    Weekends, it’s dropping the needle on a Jesus and Mary Chain record—or maybe something from KMFDM—while I do my Sunday housework. The bassline rattling the windows, loud enough to overwhelm the vacuum cleaner’s humming, the satisfaction of knowing I’ve done enough for the place to feel right again.

    When energy levels are high, it’s standing at my work desk with a bass guitar slung across my back, an amp by my feet, letting a few notes ring out while I think something through, a few snarls or a smooth 12 bar while I’m decompressing between tasks. A habit that would seem absurd in a shared office, but here, it’s just part of the day.

    Rituals don’t have to be grand. They just have to be yours. In solitude, these little patterns become more than just habits—they’re proof that your life has shape and meaning, even in the quietest moments.

    Every one of those examples above? They’re mine. They work for me.

    If you’re living alone? Find the small, steady rituals that make your solo life yours.

    What are yours?

  • Living Alone Means Sacrifice

    I’m a big fan of solo living, but it’s not all quiet mornings and total freedom.

    Living alone comes with sacrifices—things you give up in exchange for the independence you gain.

    Some are practical, some are emotional, and some you don’t even think about until you’ve been on your own for a while.

    Here are a few of the trade-offs:

    1. You pay more for the privilege.

    There’s no splitting the rent, mortgage, or utility bills. No “let’s share a meal” grocery budget. Every dollar is yours to earn and yours to spend — and that can stretch a budget thin.

    2. Everything is your responsibility.

    From cleaning to cooking to remembering to put the bins out — it’s all on you. There’s no one else to quietly pick up the slack, or even remind you if you drop the ball.

    Photo by Nico Smit on Unsplash

    3. No built-in backup.

    If you’re sick, injured, or just having a rough day, there’s no automatic safety net at home. You have to be proactive about asking for help when you need it.

    4. Less spontaneous connection.

    You can go days without meaningful conversation unless you make it happen yourself. When you live alone, maintaining friendships and contact becomes an intentional act.

    5. Big tasks stay big.

    Moving furniture, deep cleaning, or tackling a repair project? It’s you, your own muscles, and maybe a YouTube tutorial. There’s no housemate or partner to help you muscle through. Sometimes? It’s another expense you need to find the money for.

    Living alone is worth it for many of us—the peace, the space, the freedom. But it’s not free of trade-offs.

    If you understand those sacrifices, you can prepare for them, soften their impact, and make solo living not just doable, but enjoyable.

    For me, living alone is how I thrive.

  • Signs I’m Doing Better Than I Could Be

    Living alone can mess with your sense of progress. There’s no one to notice when you vacuum the living room, fold the laundry, or remember to defrost the chicken in time for dinner. No applause, no gold stars.

    Lately, I’ve been noticing the small things. Not the big, flashy achievements—just the little markers that remind me: Hey, I’m doing okay. I am adulting successfully. YAY ME!

    • I put the laundry away the same day I washed it.
    • The bathroom sink isn’t growing a toothpaste crust.
    • I remembered bin night without seeing my neighbour drag theirs out first.
    • There are groceries in the fridge, and I know roughly what I’ll cook tonight. Tomorrow night too.
    • I watered the houseplants before they started to look sad and droopy
    • I changed the sheets last week… and I might do it again this week, because the second set is already washed and dried and folded (even the fitted sheet) and away where they belong.
    Photo by Spacejoy on Unsplash

    I know that these aren’t huge accomplishments; they’re quietly affirming. They say: I’m functioning. I’m caring for myself, my space, my rhythm.

    It’s easy to overlook those wins when no one else sees them.That doesn’t they don’t matter. Especially when life’s a bit hectic, or you’re not feeling your best, or you’re just tired of being the only one responsible for everything. Those small victories are still victories.

    The small losses though? They mound up. They compound.

    If you’ve been living solo for a while, you might have already found that out. The dishes that sat in the sink for a couple of days longer than you’d like to admit, the sheets that went unchanged for, yeah, let’s just not mention how long.

    The floordrobe. Don’t get me started on the floordrobe.

    So if you’re reading this and thinking, “Yeah, I did some of that too”—that’s worth acknowledging. You’re showing up for yourself.

    You’re doing better than you could be.

    Well done.

  • It’s Okay to Be Boring

    …if boring makes you happy and content.

    There’s a lot of pressure—spoken or unspoken—to make life look interesting. Social feeds full of perfect meals. Friends talking about their big weekends. Even when you live alone, that pressure can sneak in: shouldn’t I be doing more?

    But one of the quiet joys of living solo is that you don’t have to perform for anyone. You don’t have to make your life look exciting. You just have to make it work for you.

    And sometimes that means being boring.

    The Freedom of “Good Enough” Meals

    When I was married, we had a rule: the first one home started cooking. Later, when I worked from home, that almost always meant me.

    Cooking for someone else brings a kind of unspoken obligation. You feel like you need to make proper meals—dishes with names, things that belong in a recipe book, meals that look like meals.

    Now? Not so much.

    Dinner for me is often the same simple routine:

    Grab some frozen mince out of the freezer around lunchtime. Dinner time rolls around, and I’ll throw that into the wok. Chop a few vegetables. Add flavour boosters (spices, a dash of soy, maybe some chilli), crack in an egg or two. Ten minutes later, I’m done.

    Is it thrilling? No.

    Would it impress anyone? Absolutely not.

    But I’m fed, I’m not hungry, and I can get back to what I want to do. That’s the whole point.

    Boring Can Be Brilliant

    Living alone means you get to choose what matters. Sometimes that’s a carefully plated dinner. Sometimes that’s throwing together whatever works because you’d rather spend the extra half hour reading, gaming, or writing.

    There’s no audience to impress.

    No one’s taste buds to please but your own.

    No judgment—unless you decide to judge yourself (and why would you?).

    Permission to Be Ordinary

    The same applies beyond food.

    You don’t need to fill every weekend with activities to feel valid.

    You don’t need a constantly spotless house if a “clean enough” one feels fine.

    You don’t need hobbies that sound impressive when you tell other people about them.

    If something keeps you content, healthy, and calm, that’s enough.

    Final Thoughts

    Living solo gives you the freedom to drop the performance. To stop chasing “interesting” for its own sake.

    Your life doesn’t have to look like anything. It just has to feel good to you.

    So eat the boring meal. Wear the same comfy clothes two days in a row. Spend a Saturday doing nothing much.

    Boring isn’t bad.

    Boring is peaceful.

    And peace is worth choosing.

  • When the Weekend Doesn’t Go to Plan (and That’s Okay)

    Living alone means you get to respond to your needs, not fight them.

    Some weekends are productive. Others are social. Some are quiet, restful, tidy.

    Then there are the ones like I just had: scattered sleep, middle-of-the-night wakefulness, seeing the dawn from the wrong side and naps at odd times. Nothing quite linear, nothing terribly structured.

    Nothing particularly bad going on—just a few things on my mind and an ill-considered second coffee on Saturday morning combined with a new game that I’m finding far too easy to sink myself into.

    It would’ve been frustrating—if I’d had to explain myself to anyone else.

    I didn’t.

    This, it turns out, was a blessing.

    The Gift of Responsiveness

    Living alone gave me the freedom to follow my own rhythm. To nap without guilt. To eat at strange times. To be awake at 3am reading, then sleep until the sun was high. To take a nap on the couch at 10am and another at 3:30pm.

    Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

    No one needed anything from me.

    No one asked why I wasn’t “doing more” with my weekend. No-one around to pressure me with demands or even unspoken expectations.

    That kind of space can feel indulgent, but it’s not. It’s humane. It’s what it looks like to treat yourself with understanding instead of judgement.

    Not Lazy, Just Listening

    Sometimes solo living means keeping a clean house, cooking nourishing meals, and ticking things off your list. Sometimes it means allowing yourself a weird, offbeat, barely coherent couple of days—and knowing that’s okay, too.

    No partner to apologise to.

    No kids to wake.

    No social schedule to uphold.

    Just a chance to listen to what your body and mind need, without outside pressure.

    Final Thought

    You don’t have to be productive to be worthy.

    You don’t have to have a “good” weekend to feel content.

    Solo living doesn’t guarantee ease, but it does grant flexibility. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need.

  • I Decorate for Me (Flowers Included)

    Living alone doesn’t mean living without beauty.

    I bought flowers last week. Not because I had guests coming over. Not because there was a birthday or a dinner or a reason. Just because I wanted to.

    They were bright and a little chaotic — not the kind of tidy bouquet you buy to impress someone else. They made me smile every time I passed by — which I did a lot; they were on the central table in my living room, beside my comfy chair.

    That little smile, that hint of a scent? That was enough.

    A Home That Reflects You

    When you live alone, you have a choice: you can treat your space like a storage unit, or you can make it feel like home. No one else is going to do it for you. No one else is going to care whether you put up art, or grow herbs on the windowsill, or change the cushions with the seasons.

    So the question becomes:

    Do you care enough to do it just for you?

    You deserve nice things. Not as a reward. Not as a performance. Just as part of the life you’re already living.

    Beauty Isn’t Just for Company

    It’s easy to fall into the trap of only making an effort when others are watching. Fancy meals for guests. Clean counters for visitors. Art on the wall just in case someone drops by.

    But what if you’re the one worth making the effort for?

    My space has soft lighting and a few too many cushions. There are plants I talk to, and art I picked just because I liked the images and the vibe. Plants (low maintenance, so they don’t die) to soften the space, give it some life. None of it’s for show. It’s not even “finished.” It feels like me though.

    When I’m sitting here, coffee in hand, surrounded by things I chose, I’m reminded: this is my life. This is my home. And I’m allowed to enjoy it.

    Final Thoughts

    If you’re waiting for company to make your house feel like a home, you’ll be waiting too long. Choose the curtains. Light the candle. Buy the flowers.

    Even if — especially if — no one else will see them.

    You’re worth the beauty.

    You’re worth the effort.

    You’re worth the flowers.

  • You’re Not Alone in Feeling Alone

    I’ve been seeing more and more posts lately—people talking about how hard it can feel to live alone. The quietness. The evenings that stretch a little too long. The sense that everyone else is busy with someone else, while you’re just… here.

    If that’s you, this post is for you.

    It’s Not Always a Choice

    Some people live alone by choice. Others don’t.

    Maybe you lost someone. Maybe a relationship ended. Maybe you moved to a new city, or away from flatmates, or just reached a point in life where circumstances put you here.

    Whatever the reason, living alone can sometimes feel like being stuck between chapters. You know this isn’t the final destination—but you’re not sure what comes next.

    That’s real. And that’s hard.

    Solitude and Loneliness Are Not the Same Thing

    Solitude can be beautiful. But when it’s not chosen—when it creeps in rather than being welcomed—it can feel heavy.

    Even when it was chosen, some days still hit harder than others.

    Even seasoned introverts can feel the ache of too much quiet. Me included.

    So if you’re feeling it right now? There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not doing life wrong. You’re just human. You’re just in a moment.

    You’re Allowed to Miss People

    It doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t mean you’re failing at independence. Missing connection is part of being alive.

    Send the text. Call your sister. Say yes to a catch-up. Or no, if you’re not up to it right now.

    Loneliness isn’t always solved by people—but people do help. And if you don’t have people right now? That doesn’t mean you never will. Life turns. Chapters end. New ones start.

    This is just one part of your story.

    In the Meantime, Be Kind to Yourself

    You don’t need to love every moment of living alone to still take care of yourself in it.

    Eat real meals.

    Make your bed.

    Light the candle.

    Put on music.

    Talk out loud to yourself if it helps.

    Be kind. To yourself.

    Do what you can to make your space feel less like a holding cell, and more like a home.

    Not because it fixes everything, but because small comforts matter.

    Final Thoughts

    If you’re struggling with living alone, I want you to know this:

    You’re not broken.

    You’re not a failure.

    You’re not alone in feeling alone.

    It’s okay to not be okay all the time.

    This season won’t last forever. While you’re in it, I hope you can find ways to feel okay. Not perfect. Not amazing. Just okay.

    That’s more than enough for now.

  • How I Keep My Relationships Alive (Without Living With Anyone)

    Living alone doesn’t mean living without people.

    It just means you have to be a little more intentional.

    There’s no one passing in the hallway. No one sitting on the couch when you get home. No “What’s for dinner?” moments that spark casual conversation.

    So you reach out, with intent.

    Sometimes that’s a message.

    A dumb meme. A “saw this and thought of you.” A photo of whatever you just cooked, even if it’s toast.

    Sometimes it’s a call.

    To a friend. A sibling. A parent. Not always long. Not always deep. Just checking in, hearing a voice, being heard.

    Sometimes it’s inviting yourself over.

    “Mind if I stop by for lunch?” With a supermarket stop on the way so you’re not empty-handed.

    They say yes, because they’re glad you asked. Because they were thinking of you too.

    You don’t need to talk to someone every day.

    But if you care about the relationship, it needs a little oxygen.

    A little effort.

    A little presence.

    It’s not about being social.

    It’s about staying connected—on your own terms.

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