Be alone, not lonely.
How my adulting journey started.
I open the door to a still apartment.
I go through my daily routine: I drop the bags here, put my shoes there, change into something more comfortable, and grab my meal from the fridge, accompanied only by its incessant hum.
I sit on the kitchen counter and inhale my food, taking great care to scrape every last grain of rice off the plate.
I place my plate in the sink and turn on the faucet. Who knew water could be so loud.
I pour my evening tea as I sit down for my Japanese lesson. I still sound like a babbling infant.
I sink into my couch and boot up my laptop to start writing. The blinking cursor stares back, taunting me. You know what? I’ll do it tomorrow; I’m just too burnt out today (precisely what I said yesterday).
I watch Netflix to numb my brain. It needs to rest from all the hard work, after all.
I pause the show every five minutes to check my phone. No messages yet, but one will eventually arrive.
I get bored of the show. Time to get ready for bed. Let’s start the sequence: brush my teeth, floss, moisturize, and slide into bed with my book.
I stare at the page blankly, rereading the same paragraph. What do these words mean?
I finally surrender. I close my book, turn off my lamp, and drift into my dreams. It’s much better here.
Fighting the mundanity
Anyone who has lived alone in a small city understands the mundanity it brings. Your unplanned mornings are filled with work, the spontaneous trips are a relic of the past, and your daily routine becomes the thing you look forward to most.
When I first moved out, I saw it as a chance to reinvent myself. I finally have no one to answer to but myself.
It didn’t take long before reality gave me a swift kick in the ass. Socially, I found it virtually impossible to make friends outside of work. Personally, I was inundated with countless chores. Mentally, it was one of the most taxing life events I’ve ever encountered.
Only now did I understand why loneliness has become an epidemic in the US—so much so that the US Surgeon General issued a report on it in 2023.
It can’t be overstated: loneliness is physically and mentally detrimental to those unfortunate enough to experience it.
Everyone needs community, whether it’s an infant in daycare or a senior in an assisted living facility. We’re genetically predisposed to work together since the days of the good ‘ol hunter-gatherers. Those in a tribe survived, and those who weren’t became a fine meal for predators.
So, it should be no surprise that Maslow placed “love and belonging” just above “safety needs” in his hierarchy of needs. We need community, friendships, and love. Being surrounded by people who genuinely care about you—from celebrating your birthday to being with you when you lose a loved one—is a feeling unlike any other.
That’s what makes living alone, especially in an area where you haven’t yet built a community, so excruciating.
In my case, I moved from Pennsylvania to Indiana—where I didn’t know a single soul—for work. After living alone for almost two years now, I can confidently say that it was the toughest move of my life (and this is coming from someone who moved to the US from the Middle East as an adolescent). The emptiness I felt once I was 500 miles away from my friends and family was overwhelming.
Days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and I found myself living in Groundhog Day. Besides the occasional hangout with my coworkers, mundanity became my new norm; it was a bitter pill to swallow. After I had the time of my life in college by seeing people every day, living within walking distance of all my friends, and consistently out-dancing anyone who dared to challenge me at parties, I quickly turned into the boring adult I was weary of once I graduated.
The double whammy of watching my early 20s pass by in a blink, along with experiencing the dread of loneliness, plunged me into an existential crisis. I felt like I had wasted my golden years and was now condemned to live alone in the hamster wheel of capitalism for the rest of my days.
That is, until I understood the value of solitude.
How I learned to be alone
I’ll start with this: I haven’t learned how to be alone—at least not yet. As a self-described social butterfly, I thrive on nothing more than being with people—the more, the merrier.
That’s why my move to Indiana was a shock to my system—so much so that I actively look forward to going to the office because I know I will get to interact with people. But once I return to my apartment, the serotonin quiets down, and I am accompanied by nothing other than that damn fridge humming.
I had to find new ways to live with the void accompanying me. As a result, I turned to the people whose wisdom has rippled across the globe for millennia: stoic philosophers.
As a relative newbie to stoicism, I picked up The Daily Stoic and its journal at the start of this year to learn why this philosophy is timeless. In a nutshell, stoicism boils down to four virtues:
Courage: being brave enough to stand up for what you believe in.
Temperance: doing things in the right amount, not in excess.
Justice: doing the right thing even if—nay, especially when—it’s unpopular.
Wisdom: remaining a lifelong student and being deliberate with what you spend your time on.
In my daily journaling practice, I reflected on the various texts of the stoic philosophers and how their ancient wisdom applies to the modern day. From controlling impulses, creating self-discipline, and focusing on the four virtues in daily life, their teachings had no shortage of wisdom. I began to journal once in the morning and once at night to consistently remind myself of these virtues.
Now, stoicism itself didn’t fix the loneliness I felt—far from it. But it gave me a new perspective on life, shifting my focus from what I lack (community) to what I can work on (myself).
This practice consistently forced me to examine myself critically. It challenged me to find the areas where I fall short, such as working on creative projects like this blog, being constantly distracted, and forgetting my North Star.
Although I still miss the warmth of being around my loved ones, I’m now focused more on being a better version of myself—for my sake and the sake of others.
Comfort in solitude
I realized that it’s not just the lack of community that makes me struggle with loneliness. There’s a bigger culprit.
What intimidates me even more is being alone with my thoughts. Anyone with a brain can tell you that it can often be a scary place. To avoid the dreaded confrontation with those thoughts, we suffocate them with a deluge of dopamine and stimuli that keep our minds preoccupied.
While it may temporarily numb the anxiety, its effects wear off quickly. And we’re left facing our thoughts once again.
What if we didn’t run away from it? What if we instead sat with thoughts and explored them with curiosity? What could we learn about ourselves?
That’s where I currently find myself. Inspired by the stoics, I’ve taken the leap by deleting most social media apps from my phone and instead spending that time focusing on myself. I can work on my hobbies, explore areas I haven’t been to, read a new book, or simply observe my thoughts non-judgmentally. Finding comfort in solitude taught me that I don’t need to be surrounded by people 24/7 to find meaning and fulfillment in my life.
This time alone that I’ve been blessed with may not last forever. I mean, I can only imagine how many burnt-out parents would give both kidneys for a moment of peace and quiet like I have. That’s why I’ve started to appreciate this time with myself because, to quote a dear friend, “The fulfillment that comes from spending time with yourself is the feeling that cancels out loneliness.”
Couldn’t have said it better myself, Kristen.
