Thriving Solo

Category: Home

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Living Alone Doesn’t Mean Going Unprotected: How I Use Tech to Watch My Back

    You don’t have to be elderly or unwell to benefit from having a bit of backup. Living alone means full independence—but also full responsibility. And when something goes wrong, you’re the only one there.

    I read a story recently about someone who slipped down their stairs and broke a leg. They were home alone. No one expected them. But they were wearing a smartwatch that let them call an ambulance without crawling to a phone.

    That stuck with me. Because it’s easy to assume “that won’t happen to me” until it does.

    Here’s how I use a few bits of tech to make living solo feel safer, more supported, and—honestly—less lonely.

    1. My Smartwatch Is a Quiet Lifeline

    I wear an Apple Watch, and I’ve set it up for fall detection and emergency calling.

    I don’t expect to use it—but if I ever hit the ground hard, I like knowing it’ll prompt me to check in. And if I don’t? It can call for help.

    I’m also a motorcyclist, and I ride solo most of the time. Out of the way roads, some with steep drop-offs on one side of the road or the other. Crash detection, or the ability to call for help if I come off the road in a catastrophic way.

    It’s peace of mind, not panic.

    2. My Phone Reminds Me of Things No One Else Will

    Living alone means there’s no one asking,

    • “Did you take your meds?”
    • “Weren’t you going to call the dentist today?”
    • “Hey, when was the last time you watered the plant that isn’t fake?”

    So I let my phone ask.

    I set reminders for the things that matter, even the ones that feel small. Not because I’m forgetful—just because I don’t want to rely on memory when I don’t have to.

    3. I Use Smart Home Tech for Safety, Not Just Convenience

    I’ve added smart plugs and lights I can control with my phone or voice—especially helpful when I come home late or want the house to look “lived in” while I’m away.

    Motion-sensitive lights in hallways.

    A camera at the front door.

    A smart speaker to check the weather before I ride out.

    It’s not paranoia. It’s preparedness.

    4. Check-Ins Don’t Have to Be Constant—But They Help

    I’ve got one or two friends who know that if they don’t hear from me by a certain time on certain days, they can check in. Not a formal system—just enough to keep things human.

    Some people use daily check-in apps. Others have shared calendars or group chats where silence is a flag.

    You don’t need a panic button if you have a soft safety net.

    5. I Let Automation Do the Things I’d Ask Someone Else To

    If I lived with someone, I’d probably say, “Hey, remind me to…”

    Since I don’t, I let technology take that role.

    My reminders app is full of one-off prompts like:

    • “Move the meat from freezer to fridge”
    • “Cancel that trial before they bill you”
    • “Call Mum”
    • “Empty the bin before it smells”

    Solo living doesn’t mean solo remembering. Offloading small thoughts keeps my brain clearer—and my life smoother.

    Final Thoughts: Living Alone, Not Unguarded

    Technology isn’t a replacement for community, but it can be a solid backup.

    It won’t stop things from going wrong, but it gives you more tools to handle them when they do.

    You don’t need to be afraid to live alone.

    You just need to think ahead.

    Because independence isn’t about doing everything alone—it’s about knowing what’s worth doing smarter.

  • How I Keep the Place Clean (Enough) Without Hating It

    When you live alone, no one else is there to hold you to account for your mess.

    There are no passive-aggressive notes on the fridge. No housemates to argue over chores. No one else using your dishes or mysteriously leaving toast crumbs all over the bench.

    But also—there’s no one to share the load of making that mess go away.

    Every dish, every pile of laundry, every dusty corner… it’s all on you.

    So how do you keep your space clean without it feeling like a never-ending job?

    Here’s what works for me.

    1. I Clean in Layers, Not All at Once

    The idea of “deep cleaning” my whole place is enough to make me want to lie down. So I don’t.

    Instead, I clean in layers.

    Maybe I do all the dishes and clean the bench, but skip the floor. Maybe I vacuum the living area today and save the bedroom for tomorrow. Maybe I wipe down the bathroom sink but ignore the mirror for now.

    Progress over perfection. Layers over burnout.

    2. I Do 10 Minutes a Day

    You can get a surprising amount done in 10 minutes.

    Wipe the kitchen benches. Take out the rubbish. Run a cloth over the bathroom counter. Sweep the worst of the crumbs.

    Ten focused minutes is often more than enough to stop things spiralling—and it doesn’t feel like a thing. It’s just part of the day. Maybe I go over a bit—’I’ve started so I’ll finish’.

    I treat it like brushing my teeth. It doesn’t need to be heroic—it just needs to happen.

    3. I Clean While I Wait

    There’s a weird amount of dead time in everyday life.

    Waiting for the kettle to boil. Waiting for something to finish cooking. Waiting for a file to download.

    That’s when I do something tiny.

    • Pick up a few clothes off the floor
    • Unstack half the dishwasher
    • Give the bathroom mirror a quick wipe
    • Put three things back where they belong

    It’s not a “cleaning session”—it’s just turning waiting into something useful.

    4. I Stack Cleaning With Audio

    If I’m going to be scrubbing or tidying for more than five minutes, I’ll grab an audiobook or put on a podcast. Sometimes I’ll call a friend and chat while folding laundry or doing dishes.

    It makes the time pass faster, and turns something dull into something almost enjoyable.

    It’s not multitasking—it’s mood-enhancing.

    5. I Lower the Bar—Just a Little

    Clean doesn’t have to mean spotless.

    Clean means “I’m not stressed by my surroundings.”

    Clean means “I can walk into my kitchen without muttering under my breath.”

    Sometimes that’s a full tidy. Sometimes it’s stuffing things into a basket so I can clear the table.

    And sometimes, it’s just making the bed so the room feels like it’s trying.

    6. I Use Tools That Make It Easier

    There’s no prize for scrubbing with elbow grease when a spray and a cloth will do.

    There’s no shame in using disposable wipes, having a robot vacuum, or keeping cleaning gear in multiple spots so it’s never far away.

    Work smarter, not harder.

    7. I Make It Visible, But Not Stressful

    I keep a small whiteboard near my desk with 3 rotating chores on it:

    Clean fridge shelf. Wipe bathroom mirror. Vacuum rug.

    When I finish one, I erase and add another. No deadlines, no pressure—just a little nudge.

    It keeps me aware of what I’ve done and what’s next without needing a full-blown chore chart.

    Final Thoughts

    Your home doesn’t need to be perfect.

    It just needs to feel liveable—to you.

    Clean enough to be calm.

    Clean enough to be functional.

    Clean enough that it doesn’t whisper guilt every time you sit down.

    When you live alone, you get to define what “clean” means.

    And that’s a freedom worth using well.

  • Dinner for One Is Still Dinner

    Tonight’s dinner was a good one. Steak, garlic and herb butter, fried haloumi, a fried egg, and a generous helping of coleslaw. A solid meal, cooked just for me, because it’s Saturday night—and weekends deserve to feel a little different.

    That’s something I’ve come to appreciate more since living alone: the ritual of eating well, even when there’s no one around to see it.

    Photo by Zoshua Colah on Unsplash.

    You Don’t Need Company to Eat Like You Matter

    There’s a weird cultural idea that solo meals are supposed to be throwaway affairs. A can of something over the sink. Dry toast at the bench. Maybe takeaway, if you’re “treating yourself.”

    But a real meal? A plated one? With sides and intention and seasoning? Surely that’s too much for one person.

    Except it isn’t. Not at all.

    Dinner for one is still dinner. You still get hungry. You still have taste buds. You still deserve to enjoy what you eat.

    Not Every Night Needs to Be Fancy

    Most weeknights, I keep it simple. Quick protein, something green, maybe an egg on top. Honestly, most of the time I eat in front of the TV with the plate on my lap. No shame in that. It’s comfortable, and I like it.

    But a few times a week, I make a point of sitting at the table. I plate the food nicely—not fancily, but nicely. Sometime’s I’ll even light a candle, or just take a moment to breathe and appreciate how the meal looks before I take the first bite. It’s a small ritual, but it changes the tone of the meal. It turns dinner from a fuel stop into something more intentional.

    It reminds me that I’m worth a bit of effort—even if no one else is watching.

    Solo Doesn’t Mean Second-Rate

    When you live alone, no one’s there to nag you into eating your greens. No one is there to ask if you’ve had dinner yet. It’s all on you. That freedom is a gift, but it comes with a quiet responsibility: to still take care of yourself like you matter.

    That includes food.

    That includes presentation.

    That includes eating at the table when you feel like it.

    Not because anyone expects it of you. Just because it feels good.

    Final Thoughts

    There’s something satisfying about cooking for yourself and making it count. Not every meal needs to be a production. Not every evening needs to be candlelit. But when you live alone, those small acts of care—of choosing the steak, of frying the haloumi, of using the nice plate—send a message to yourself:

    This matters. I matter.

    Dinner for one is still dinner.

    And it’s worth doing well.

  • A Home That’s Just for Me

    When you live alone, you don’t have to compromise on how your home looks or functions. You don’t have to explain your layout, your colour choices, your furniture (or lack of it), or why your desk is there instead of a kitchen table. (Easy access to the fridge is important, OK?)

    You don’t have to think about whether the space “makes sense” to anyone but you.

    And that’s the joy of it.

    My home isn’t designed for guests. It’s designed for me. It’s set up for how I actually live—not for how I’d want someone else to see it.

    I have a sofa I rarely use, and for the rare occasions I have a friend stay, it folds out into a bed. Mostly, it has a jacket or two on it. I have a stand near my front door, that’s for my motorbike jacket and helmet. It makes sense there. For me.

    The chair that fits my back. The desk that holds just what I need. The cushions that make me smile. The stack of books that migrates across the house, always close but rarely tidy.

    The way I’ve arranged things is personal, functional, and occasionally unconventional, whimsical. I’ve moved desks between rooms when the light changed. I’ve changed the purpose of a space because my life changed. I’ve chosen comfort and utility over convention.

    I had a spare desktop bookshelf, so my bedroom chest of drawers now has a bookshelf on top of it. Why not?

    My living room is my workspace and gaming zone. My bedroom has no TV, no distractions—just calm. My kitchen has a drawer full of random things that make sense only to me. It’s not chaos. It’s mine.

    My writing desk is cluttered but curated, it’s an intentional space, and everything on there makes me happy in some small way—the satanic duck (that’s Baphomet) I talk to when I’m thinking things through, the helpful raven (That’s Matthew, he holds a light for me), the brass octopus (who doesn’t have a name yet) who sits atop my small stack of index cards that relate to my current WIP.

    When you live alone, you get to create an environment that reflects your habits, your moods, your priorities.

    And maybe that means you eat dinner on the couch with your feet up. Maybe it means your ‘home gym’ is just a yoga mat that never gets put away. Maybe it means your bookshelf is organised by mood, not alphabet.

    The point is, it doesn’t need to impress anyone. It just needs to support you.

    Your home isn’t a showpiece. It’s your launchpad, your hideout, your sanctuary.

    So build it for who you are—not who you think you should be.

    And definitely not for who might be visiting.

    That’s the freedom of living solo. That’s the magic of making a home just for you.

  • Being a Good Neighbour (When You Mostly Like to Be Left Alone)

    I live at the back of a courtyard. I have three sets of neighbours – two couples, one older lady who lives alone.

    We mostly ignore each other. Not in a bad way—we just live separate and distinct lives. If we happen to be in the courtyard or the driveway at the same time, we exchange a few friendly words. Other than that, we see each other, and we don’t need to interact.

    And honestly? That suits me fine.

    I don’t want to host street barbecues or get drawn into neighbourly drama. I like my space. I like not feeling obligated to make small talk just because I took the bins out at the same time as someone else. But at the same time, I want to be a good neighbour. I want to be someone who contributes to a sense of ease and quiet goodwill, not tension or suspicion.

    You don’t have to be sociable to be considerate. You don’t have to be friends to be friendly.

    The Quiet Art of Neighbourliness

    For those of us who enjoy solitude, neighbourliness isn’t about being outgoing. It’s about creating an atmosphere of mutual respect. A sense of “we don’t need to be in each other’s pockets, but we’ve got each other’s backs.”

    That can look like:

    • Giving a quick wave when you pass someone in the driveway.
    • Keeping your noise to a minimum (especially at night).
    • Not blocking shared spaces.
    • Offering a hand if you see someone struggling with shopping or furniture.
    • Returning packages that get left at your door by mistake.

    It’s not a social contract. It’s just shared decency.

    Knowing the Vibe

    One of the best things you can do as a neighbour is read the room—or in my case, the property.

    Are your neighbours chatty? Do they keep to themselves? Has anyone ever invited you to something, or is it more of a nod-and-carry-on place?

    You don’t need to match their energy, but it helps to understand it. That way, you’re not accidentally being standoffish, or—on the flip side—too familiar in a place that values boundaries.

    Small Gestures, Big Impact

    You don’t need to do anything grand. Just being the kind of neighbour who doesn’t cause problems is enough. But if you want to go a step further:

    • Shovel a bit of someone else’s driveway if you’re already out there.
    • Water their plants if they’re away (and you’re asked).
    • Let someone know if their car lights are on, or if there’s a parcel sitting exposed in the rain.

    In my case, my nearest neighbour and I will bring each other’s empty rubbish bins in. Whoever happens to go out and clear theirs first, they’ll also grab the other person’s, and drop it where it belongs. No stress, no commitment, just neighbourly good natured behaviour.

    None of these require commitment or ongoing involvement. They just show that you’re paying quiet attention—and that you care, even if you’re not looking to become best friends.

    Final Thoughts: Neighbourly Without Needy

    Living alone doesn’t mean isolating yourself from the world around you. It just means you get to choose how you engage.

    Being a good neighbour doesn’t require extroversion. It requires thoughtfulness, respect, and the willingness to look up from your own life every now and then to make someone else’s a little easier.

    You don’t have to be social to be part of a community. You just have to be kind.