I Forced Myself To Live On My Own

I have never lived by myself before. So for the last month of my travels I decided to do just that. What did I learn in that time?

Well, first and foremost, I’ve learned that I don’t think I’m actually capable of living by myself. Which is honestly a huge bummer considering I’m turning 29 soon. However, it’s also kind of a jackpot considering I live in New York City and absolutely cannot afford to live alone anyway.

Now, I would like to clarify that I don’t mean I’m physically incapable of living by myself because I’m too stupid or incompetent. Like, I can cook pretty well. It’s mostly pasta situations, but the thing about pasta is there are approximately nine million ways to make it, so you never really get sick of it. And everyone who has ever tried my pasta liked it. Or they lied. But I like it, which is honestly what matters because I’m the one eating it most of the time.

I know how to use a dishwasher, microwave, stove, washing machine… though to be fair, I’ve run into some issues with the washing machine here in Vietnam. No matter how little detergent I put in there, there will be foam on the floor.

I know how to restart the router if the internet goes down. I’m perfectly capable of reaching out for help. Believe it or not, I was actually deemed the person in charge of contacting the super and management in my apartment in New York. Even now, after being gone for almost three months, I’m somehow still the responsible one. No clue how that happened.

I discovered that I’m not incapable of living by myself in a practical sense. I’m incapable of it in the sense that I get bored out of my fucking mind. I’m a social person. Which is annoying because I also genuinely love being alone. Just… only to a certain point. And it’s not even that I constantly need interaction. Honestly, half the time I don’t even want to talk. I just like the presence of other people around me.

For example, in New York, I used to go to the public library with my laptop all the time and get so much work done there. Even though I wouldn’t speak to a single person for hours. There’s just something about being around other humans that keeps me productive. Like my brain needs witnesses. Maybe I just can’t hold myself accountable alone.

Even all my jobs have always been social. I worked on film sets, in hospitality, and as an assistant to a busy professional who had me talking to basically everyone all the time. And I loved it. I like noise. I like movement. I like overhearing conversations that have nothing to do with me (I’m not noisy, just highly interested). I like seeing people live their lives around me while I live mine. Apparently silence is only good for me in very small doses.

So while I was supposed to spend the last four weeks of my trip alone in this really cute apartment by the sea, peacefully writing and becoming the best version of myself or whatever… I decided to cut it short and fly to Bali instead where one of my friends is right now.

See, the whole point of staying alone for a month was to write. Which now feels particularly stupid considering I had just spent the previous eight weeks finishing an entire script while constantly moving around, changing locations every few days, exploring new places, and spending time with friends.

Apparently that is my ideal creative environment - chaos. A few productive hours, then going outside and living life. And somehow after learning all that about myself, I decided the logical next step was to isolate myself in one apartment and force inspiration to appear.

As if I’m some tortured writer in a cabin somewhere instead of a person whose entire writing style is basically built around human interaction. I write ensemble comedies. Friend groups. Dialogue. Weird situations.

Of course I stopped feeling inspired when I removed literally all people from my daily life.

Let's just hope my skills come back when I unground myself.