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From the time I graduated from college, I knew that I would have to live alone at some point…
I’d always loved living with friends and roommates. But I started to long to return home to just myself, to watch what I wanted without taking a vote, to make questionable dinner choices with no risk of being side-eyed. Last year, I moved into the coziest apartment, and I may never look back.
For a while, it was understood that my boyfriend and I would probably live together as soon as my lease was up. We’d already spent a premature cohabitation, riding out a plague; and living together seemed like the natural next step. But ever since moving to my current place, I can’t imagine leaving.
My apartment has an interesting setup. I live on one floor of a Brooklyn brownstone, which I have all to myself; my three roommates live on other floors. We hardly see each other and it feels more like I live alone with upstairs neighbors, which is absolutely ideal. It’s also the first place I’ve felt completely at home, and I enjoy being alone. I love hearing my roommates walk past my door and know that no one will walk in unannounced. I love that I don’t have to wait to use the shower or that I can bleach my hair at one in the morning while watching Project Runway. If I’m overwhelmed with the world, my life can exist in heaps around me, because it’s just me there. I love buying flowers for myself at the end of a hectic week and diffusing oils as I go to sleep.
Living with someone else just isn’t what I want yet, and I’ve decided that if this is the last time I’ll live without a partner, pets or kids, I want to cherish it. I want to make it even more of a sanctuary and remember it fondly someday when I’m in bed with two big dogs and a partner. So, any future moves are postponed. Now I’m off to buy more sunflowers for this weekend.
Do you live alone? Do you like it? I’d love to hear…
P.S. On living alone and a dream solo pad.
(Photo by Entertainment Weekly)
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