Thriving Solo

Tag: friends

  • This Is Not Just a Phase

    There’s a certain kind of look people give you when they hear you live alone and like it.

    It’s not always judgement. Sometimes it’s curiosity. Sometimes it’s pity, sometimes naked, often thinly disguised. But almost always, it comes with an assumption: that this, whatever it is, must be temporary. That you’re just taking some time for yourself before you return to “normal.” That eventually, you’ll get tired of the silence. That eventually, you’ll want more.

    More people. More connection. More something.

    Here’s what I’ve come to realise:

    This isn’t a phase. This is my life—right now. Not a prelude to anything. Not a holding pattern. Not a waiting room.

    Just… life. And it’s good.

    A girl, sitting on a bed and drinking tea by a window with potted plants by the windowsill.
    Photo by Ashlyn Ciara on Unsplash.

    I Didn’t Fall Into This By Accident

    I didn’t wake up one day and suddenly find myself living alone. I made choices. I said yes to certain things and no to others. I prioritised autonomy over entanglement. I built a life that fits me, not one that fits a template.

    Also: I don’t claim this is how things will always be.

    People change. Needs change. Circumstances shift. I’m open to the possibility that someday I might want something different.

    At the same time, I’m not looking to change. Simply open to the prospect.

    That doesn’t make this phase less real or less valuable.

    We do ourselves a disservice when we treat every solo life as a transitional one. When we suggest that solitude is only meaningful if it’s leading somewhere else.

    Sometimes, solitude is the destination. Or at least, the right stop for now.

    The Pressure to Evolve Into Something Else

    There’s a kind of self-help narrative that tells us we should always be striving, always improving, always moving forward into the next version of ourselves. And in that worldview, choosing to stay still—or choosing something quieter, smaller, simpler—can feel like rebellion.

    But rebellion isn’t the goal here.

    Presence is.

    I’m not living alone to prove a point. I’m living alone because it’s what fits me right now, because it allows me to be more myself. Because I like the rhythm of my days. Because my space feels good this way.

    There’s nothing unfinished about that.

    It’s a Choice, Not a Life Sentence

    Saying “this is not a phase” doesn’t mean “this is forever.”

    It’s also not entirely true. EVERYTHING is a phase. Nothing is permanent. I had a childhood phase, a university phase, a young professional phase, an engaged phase and a marriage phase. Now I’m having a solitary phase.

    It simply means I’m not treating this as a problem to be solved. Some phases are transitional – engagement, for example. Others, such as marriage, are intended to be indefinite and ongoing—but that doesn’t always work out.

    I’m not measuring this moment against a hypothetical future.

    I’m not living my life like it’s just the trailer for a movie that hasn’t started yet.

    Maybe someday I’ll make room for someone else in this space. Maybe not.

    If I do, it won’t be because I finally “grew out of” living alone.

    It’ll be because my life shifted, and I chose something new from a place of fullness—not from lack.

    Why? Because I don’t lack. I live a full life, on my own terms, and while I enjoy company and companionship, I’m not dependant upon it.

    You don’t have to defend your solitude. You don’t have to treat it like a stopgap. You don’t have to soften the edges for the people who can’t imagine being content in your position.

    This is not a phase.

    This is not a mistake.

    This is a life—a good one, and it’s yours.

    It’s what YOU choose to make of it.

  • Maintaining Relationships When You Prefer to Be Alone

    Living solo doesn’t always mean you’re a loner—but it might mean you have a lower social appetite than most.

    You like your space. You like your routines. You find joy in the quiet, and you don’t need—or want—constant social contact. And that’s perfectly valid. But even the most solitude-loving people still need connection. And relationships, even light ones, need care to survive.

    So how do you keep relationships alive when you’re perfectly content spending most of your time alone?

    Understand Your Own Social Rhythm

    Not everyone thrives on the same amount of connection. Some people need regular interaction to feel grounded. Others (maybe you) can go weeks happily flying solo.

    Knowing your own rhythm helps you make intentional decisions. Are you the kind of person who needs one good chat a week? A text thread that’s always going? A monthly dinner?

    When you understand your needs, you can show up better—on your terms.

    Let People Know You Care (Even If You’re Quiet)

    One of the biggest risks of preferring solitude is accidentally making people feel unimportant. You don’t mean to, of course—you just get caught up in your own world. Days pass. Then weeks. Then months. And suddenly that friend you genuinely like thinks you’ve ghosted them.

    You don’t need to apologise for your nature, but a little effort goes a long way. A check-in text. A link to something they’d love. A meme, even.

    Small gestures keep relationships alive without requiring big energy.

    Low-Effort Doesn’t Mean Low-Value

    If the idea of dinner parties, long phone calls, or scheduled events drains you, lean into low-maintenance connection.

    Some ideas:

    • Replying to Social Media posts directly
    • Sending voice notes instead of typing out long messages
    • Playing low-pressure online games together
    • Watching something at the same time and messaging during

    You don’t have to force yourself into high-energy socialising to be a good friend.

    Be Honest About How You Socialise

    Some people thrive on spontaneity. Others need notice. Some like big groups, others prefer one-on-one. Knowing where you land—and sharing that with people—helps everyone.

    It’s okay to say:

    “I really like hanging out, but I’m a bit socially low-energy, so I might need to flake sometimes.”

    Or:

    “I love catching up one-on-one, but I tend to stay quiet in group chats.”

    The more people understand how you work, the easier it is to maintain relationships without pretending to be more extroverted than you are.

    Also, you can invite the person on the other side to check in with you in the same way – maybe they need a bit more than you’re giving, maybe they don’t always want to be the first one to text, the only one to call.

    Every relationship involves some compromise.

    Make Room—Just a Little Bit

    Maintaining relationships when you live alone and love solitude doesn’t mean overhauling your life. It means leaving just a little space for others:

    • A half-hour chat every now and then
    • A shared hobby or game
    • A standing invitation to catch up (even if it rarely happens)

    You don’t have to go all-in. Just leave the door open.

    Final Thoughts: You Can Be a Quiet Person With Strong Connections

    You don’t have to be constantly available to maintain relationships. You don’t have to say yes to every plan, reply instantly, or be anyone’s social anchor.

    You just have to care enough to show up sometimes, in ways that feel true to you.

    And if you do that? You’ll find that even as someone who prefers solitude, your connections can still run deep—and last.

  • When “Me Time” Turns Into “Too Much Time”

    One of the perks of living alone is that you get plenty of me time. You’re in charge of your space, your time, your routines. You don’t have to negotiate plans, share the remote, or justify your schedule to anyone. It’s freedom in its purest form.

    But there’s a shadow side to that freedom—it can be really easy to drift into isolation without even noticing. Especially if you’re naturally introverted, socially anxious, or just plain tired from life.

    So how do you know when your alone time is doing you good—and when it’s quietly wearing you down?

    Solitude vs. Avoidance

    True solitude is a choice. It’s when you want to be alone, and your time with yourself feels intentional. You read, go for walks, work on projects, rest, cook, clean, stare out the window—whatever. You feel like your life is yours.

    Avoidance, on the other hand, is when you don’t want to be alone, but you’re not doing anything about it. Maybe it’s fear of awkward social moments, the discomfort of meeting new people, or just the inertia that builds after spending too many weekends solo.

    It’s the difference between opting out and shutting down.

    Sometimes, avoidance looks a lot like solitude—until it doesn’t. Until you realise you’ve gone a week without a real conversation. Until even texting a friend feels like too much effort. Until you start wondering if this is just what your life is now.

    I’m fortunate to have family in town – when they reach out with an invitation, my personal rule is that I won’t say ‘no thanks’ unless I’m already booked somewhere else… somewhere that isn’t at home.

    I made this rule for myself because I could feel the self-inflicted isolation happening.

    At the same time, I don’t always have to wait for an invitation. A simple “Hey, you guys up for a visitor this afternoon?” or random drop-by when I’m out for a ride are both on the cards. Just don’t depend on people always being available when you reach out.

    The Gradual Slide

    Living alone doesn’t usually shift from “healthy solitude” to “full isolation” overnight. It’s subtle, insidious.

    It starts with declining a few invitations because you’re tired. Then not making any new plans because it’s cold or you’re busy. Then realising it’s been a month and the only people who’ve said your name out loud are baristas.

    There’s no big turning point. Just a slow slide into numbing routines and low-level loneliness that’s easy to ignore—until you can’t.

    Signs You Might Be Leaning Too Far In

    • You start turning down invitations reflexively—even the ones you might enjoy.
    • You find yourself restless or down but can’t quite name why.
    • The idea of seeing people feels exhausting, but being alone isn’t making you feel better either.
    • You’ve convinced yourself you don’t need anyone, but a part of you wonders if that’s really true.

    None of these signs mean something is wrong with you. They’re just cues—invitations to check in with yourself.

    Rebuilding Connection, Gently

    If you realise your me time has tipped into too much time, you don’t need a dramatic intervention. You don’t need to “get out more” or go full extrovert.

    Start small. Send a message to someone you like but haven’t seen in a while. Make a plan you can cancel without guilt. Go sit in a cafe with a book—just being around people counts.

    Maybe just go and walk somewhere with lots of people around. A popular weekend or evening destination, a shopping centre.

    Final Thoughts: It’s a Balance

    Alone time is essential, but it’s not infinite fuel. Even the most independent people need connection. And it’s not weakness to admit that. It’s just being human.

    When you live alone, you have to be your own emotional barometer. You’re the one checking in, adjusting course, noticing when the silence is restorative—and when it’s starting to echo.

    Me time is beautiful. Just don’t let it become a burden.

  • Don’t You Get Lonely?

    It’s the question everyone asks when they find out you live alone. The assumption is always the same—if you’re on your own, you must be lonely.

    And sometimes, yeah. I am.

    But here’s the thing: loneliness isn’t always a problem to be solved. It’s a feeling, like any other. And like any other feeling, it doesn’t last forever.

    For me, loneliness is often a sign that I’m bored, or somehow dissatisfied with what I’m spending my time on. That I should get off my behind and go DO something. Sometimes that might be with other people, but more often than not, I’ll find something better to do by myself.

    We have this idea that being alone should be an unbroken stretch of contentment, productivity, and peace. That if you’re doing it “right,” you never feel lonely at all. But loneliness isn’t a sign that you’ve failed at living alone—it’s just part of the human experience.

    It’s a contrast. And this contrast makes my social time feel more meaningful.

    Loneliness Comes and Goes

    Living alone doesn’t mean you’re lonely all the time. Most of the time, it’s great. You get to do what you want, when you want, without answering to anyone. You can go entire days without making small talk. You control your space, your schedule, your whole life.

    But every once in a while, loneliness shows up—maybe on a quiet Sunday when there’s nothing planned, or after a long day when there’s no one to share it with. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with your life. It just means you’re human.

    Some people fear loneliness so much that they try to fill every silence with noise, every empty space with people, every free moment with distraction. But being alone isn’t something that needs to be “fixed.” It’s something to live through, sit with, and accept.

    You Don’t Have to Fear the Quiet

    One of the biggest gifts of living alone is learning to be comfortable in your own company. Not every moment needs to be filled, and not every feeling needs to be changed. Sometimes, loneliness is just the background hum of a quiet evening, and that’s okay.

    When you stop treating loneliness as a problem, it loses its impact.  You start to recognise it for what it is—a passing moment, not a permanent state.

    I’m a words guy—words are how I shape my own world in so many ways. So, rather than “I’m lonely”, I reframe it to “I’m feeling lonely right now”. It’s not a huge shift in terms of language, but in terms of the weight of the feeling? For me, that shift is massive.

    It takes it from “I am…” to “I am experiencing…”. Something that I am is a HUGE thing. Something that I’m experiencing is transitory.

    There’s power in being able to sit with your own thoughts. In not needing to reach for your favourite distraction (phone) the second after silence creeps in.

    Loneliness is an experience, and you become more whole by allowing yourself to dwell in that experience when it occurs.

    Loneliness Is Part of the Deal—And That’s Not a Bad Thing

    No matter how full your life is, everyone feels lonely sometimes. Even people in relationships. Even people with big families and busy social lives.

    The difference is, when you live alone, you don’t get to ignore it. You don’t get to just make it go away by pulling other people into your life.

    And maybe that’s a good thing. Because when you face loneliness instead of running from it, you get stronger. You stop fearing time by yourself. You learn to be content with your own thoughts. You realise that being alone and being lonely aren’t the same thing.

    So yeah, sometimes I get lonely. But I wouldn’t trade the life I have—the space, the freedom, the self-sufficiency—for the illusion that being around people all the time would magically make that feeling disappear.

    Because it wouldn’t. And because I’ve learned something important:

    Loneliness isn’t the opposite of happiness. It’s just part of life.

  • Thriving Solo Isn’t a Waiting Room

    Solo living is often framed as a phase—something temporary, something you pass through on your way to a “real” life with a partner. But what if that’s not true? What if thriving solo is just as valid, just as fulfilling, as any other way of living? What if, for you, it’s even better?

    This isn’t about saying solo life is superior—it’s about recognizing that it might be better for you. It might be better for you forever, or just for now. Either way, the important thing is making the most of it, rather than treating it as a holding pattern while you wait for something else.

    The Myth of Solo Life as a Transition Phase

    From childhood, we’re conditioned to see relationships as milestones—the next step in a progression that starts with school, leads to work, and culminates in pairing up with someone. Living alone, especially for an extended period, is often seen as a gap in that journey, an incomplete chapter. People will tell you, “You’ll find someone eventually,” as if that’s the only logical conclusion to your story.

    But what if it’s not? What if solo living isn’t a phase, but a destination?

    While you ponder that for a moment, remember this too: A destination doesn’t have to be permanent.

    Even if you do eventually choose to be in a relationship, seeing solo living as just a waiting room stops you from fully embracing its benefits. You miss the chance to build a life that’s wholly your own, free from compromise, free from expectations, and rich with self-determined purpose.

    You Are Not Half of a Whole

    There’s a long-standing cultural myth that people are “halves” looking for completion in someone else. This idea is everywhere—from fairytales to rom-coms—but it’s flawed. You are already whole.

    A relationship might enhance your life, but it shouldn’t be the thing that defines its meaning. The moment you start living like you’re waiting for someone to come along and “complete” you, you put yourself on pause. You stop building, stop growing, stop fully inhabiting your own life.

    Instead of waiting, why not thrive? Instead of seeing this time as a gap, why not see it as an opportunity?

    The Real Measure of Success in Solo Living

    If thriving solo isn’t just a phase, how do you measure success? Not by whether you eventually couple up, but by whether your life feels fulfilling and satisfying right now. Success in solo living looks like:

    • Feeling content and at home in your own space.
    • Having routines and habits that support your wellbeing.
    • Enjoying your own company without feeling like something is missing.
    • Pursuing hobbies, passions, and interests on your own terms.
    • Building a life that’s not defined by the absence of a relationship, but by the presence of things that make you happy.

    Solo Might Be Better for You—At Least Right Now

    Maybe solo life is right for you forever. Maybe it’s just right for you right now. Either way, why not make the most of it?

    Instead of treating solo living as a waiting room, see it as an open space where you can explore, learn, and grow without constraints. What do you want from your life, on your own terms? That’s the real question—not whether or not you’ll find someone someday.

    Solo isn’t a pause. It’s a path. And it might just be exactly the right one for you.

  • Activity-Specific Relationships

    … or why not every connection has to be your new BFF.

    We grow up with the idea that we should all have a “best friend forever”—one person who knows everything about us, shares every interest, and is always there, no matter what. It’s a comforting idea, but in reality, most friendships don’t work like that. More often than not, the strongest and most enduring connections are activity-specific relationships—friendships that are deeply meaningful, but centred around a particular shared experience rather than an all-encompassing bond.

    The Myth of the All-Purpose Best Friend

    The idea of a single, catch-all best friend is ingrained in us from childhood. We see it in books, movies, and TV shows—two inseparable people who share every aspect of their lives. But real friendships, just like real people, are far more complex.

    The truth is, it’s rare to find someone who aligns with you across every aspect of life. More often, we connect with different people in different ways. The friend you go hiking with might not be the same one you’d talk to about personal struggles. The person who shares your love of old movies might not care at all about your latest work project. And that’s okay.

    Why Activity-Specific Relationships Matter

    Rather than seeing friendships as “all or nothing,” it can be freeing to embrace relationships for what they actually are: meaningful within their specific context. Activity-specific relationships thrive because they remove the pressure of needing to be everything for each other. Instead, they let people connect in ways that are natural and effortless.

    Some of the strongest bonds people form are through shared activities. A running partner, a gaming friend, a book club companion, a gym buddy—these are all relationships built on something tangible and real. And in many ways, they can be even more valuable than an undefined, all-purpose friendship.

    I’ve had great friends that I trained martial arts with. Others that I’ve gamed with. I’ve made friends at work, at the gym, at photo sessions and simply because we both ended up at the same cafe at the same time a lot.

    None of them were BFF’s, but they were all meaningful connections. All of them had value to me, added something to my life, and none of them were permanent.

    That’s OK. There’s a strength in that.

    The Strength in Defined Connections

    A friendship that exists within a defined activity can often feel more stable. There’s a built-in rhythm, a natural way to interact, and no pressure to make it anything other than what it is. These relationships allow for depth and connection without the weight of expectation—no need to be each other’s emotional crutch, no pressure to force a deeper connection outside of the shared space.

    Activity-based friendships can also be longer lasting than general-purpose friendships. When a friendship is built around “everything,” it can be more prone to fizzling out when life circumstances change. But when it’s built around something specific—weekly game nights, weekend cycling trips, an online writing group—it has a strong foundation to keep it going, even if other aspects of life shift.

    Letting Go of the Need for One “Perfect” Friend

    There’s something liberating about allowing friendships to be what they naturally are. Rather than searching for a single person to fulfill every social need, embracing a variety of connections based on shared interests and activities can lead to a richer, more fulfilling social life.

    Instead of asking, “Who is my best friend?” the better question might be: “Who do I connect with in ways that matter?”

    Maybe your deep, meaningful conversations happen with a friend from your book club. Maybe your sense of adventure is shared with a travel buddy. Maybe your competitive side comes alive with your gaming group. None of these friendships are lesser for being activity-specific. If anything, they may be more meaningful because they allow each person to be fully themselves in that space, without needing to be everything to each other.

    Final Thought: A New Definition of Meaningful Friendships

    Friendship isn’t about finding one person to be your everything—it’s about forming connections that matter, in ways that work for you. Activity-specific relationships offer a different kind of depth, one that doesn’t demand all-encompassing closeness but thrives on shared passion and consistency.

    And maybe, just maybe, that’s more sustainable—and even more rewarding—than trying to find a single “best friend forever.”