The Art of Doing Things You Probably Wouldn’t Do If You Weren’t Alone

When there’s no one to convince but yourself, you end up doing all the weird little things you’d normally skip

When you’re alone, you become your own entertainment committee. And honestly? It’s really not that bad.

\There’s no one to veto your ideas. No one to say “nah, let’s skip it” or “let’s go next time.” No one to make it A Thing or ask follow-up questions about why you want to go there. It’s just you, boredom, and an open afternoon. So you end up doing things you’d absolutely talk yourself out of if anyone else was involved.

Like kneeling on a wooden dock at a tourist spot to feed fish. You’re not doing it for the photo (well, not just for the photo). You’re not doing it because it’s on some list or because it’s going to be a memorable experience you need to document. You’re doing it because you’re there, the water’s turquoise and weirdly beautiful, and honestly, what else are you going to do? Sit alone at your accommodation? Doom-scroll? No. So you feed the fish.

The Casual Tyranny of Being Your Own Reason to Say No

Here’s the thing about living alone that no one really talks about: the person most likely to talk you out of things is yourself.

I’ve always been someone who postpones. “Maybe next time.” “Let’s skip it.” “Do we really need to go?” Group dynamics can make decisions harder sometimes; sure there’s negotiation, consensus-building, the logistics of coordinating. But if I’m honest? The real second-guessing machine? That’s in my head. Alone, you don’t have that external friction to blame. It’s just you and your comfort zone, and your comfort zone wins a lot.

You want to go to a random café you spotted? But maybe it’s not that good, so why bother. You want to stand by a waterfall for twenty minutes doing absolutely nothing? But that sounds kind of pointless. Want to try that street food that looks slightly questionable? But what if it’s a waste of time. Want to take a walk at 7 AM just because the light looks nice? But it’s early and unnecessary.

Everything becomes something to optimize out of doing.

What Two Years Locked Indoors Teaches You

Then COVID happened. Two years of lockdown, mostly alone. And somewhere in all that, I realized something: I’m really good at saying no to experiences. So good, in fact, that I’d said no to everything for 730 days. Not by choice at first, but the habit stuck.

Even when I could go out again, something in me was still saying “let’s skip it.” That’s when I understood that solitude isn’t actually a personality trait, it’s a choice I make every single day.

And I’d been choosing small and safe for so long that I almost forgot what it felt like to just… do something.

The Things You Do When You Finally Stop Avoiding Them

I’ve been living abroad for seven years now. And I’ve noticed this pattern: the things I actually force myself to do when I’m alone are rarely the Big Experiences. They’re not the famous temples or the Instagram-perfect viewpoints. They’re the weird, mundane stuff. Sitting in a café for three hours with one coffee and a journal. Taking a different bus route just to see where it goes. Trying the restaurant that looks like a local spot instead of a tourist trap. Crouching on docks. Standing awkwardly by waterfalls. Buying a snack from a convenience store and eating it on a bench somewhere random.

These things feel insignificant when you’re alone. And that’s exactly why they happen, because I’ve stopped needing a grand reason to justify them. Because there’s no one to answer to but myself, and I’ve learned I’m actually worth showing up for. No one asking “but why?” No narrative you need to build around them. No proof you need to gather.

You’re not collecting experiences like merit badges. You’re just… existing. Doing things. Moving through space.

Why Being Alone Changed My Math

When you’re with others, there’s often external momentum. Plans get made. You show up because you said you would. Someone else’s enthusiasm can pull you forward. Alone, you don’t have that. So you have to become your own momentum.

For someone like me, someone who defaults to “maybe next time” that’s actually the point. Because alone, there’s nowhere to hide from the fact that if I want to do anything at all, I have to decide to do it. No one else will make the plan. No one will text to confirm. It’s just me and my willingness to step outside for an hour.

And somehow, that makes it easier to actually go. Not because I suddenly became brave or adventurous. Just because I ran out of people to blame for staying still.

The Weird Bravery of Running Out of Excuses

Here’s what I’ve learned: being alone doesn’t make you brave. It just removes your best escape route. You’re not suddenly more confident or more adventurous. You’re just out of reasons to postpone.

When you’ve spent enough time alone, you start to notice how small your world gets if you keep waiting for the perfect moment or the right company. You realize that “I’m curious” is actually reason enough, not a liability, not an excuse. “Why not?” is a valid plan. “Because I’m here” is a good enough why.

And so you end up feeding fish on docks. Standing by waterfalls. Trying local food that you can’t even identify. Going to cafés that no one recommended. Doing all these small, inconsequential things that somehow add up to actually… trying things.

Not because you’re brave. Just because you finally stopped talking yourself out of it.

The Thing About Solitude

I think we talk about solo living all wrong. We turn it into this big thing, personal growth, finding yourself, stepping outside your comfort zone. All of it true, maybe. But mostly? It’s just practical.

I do value my solitude. Deeply. The quiet, the unstructured time, the space to just be, these aren’t things I’m trying to outgrow. I need them. But there’s a difference between choosing solitude and hiding in it. When you’re alone, you can’t wait for someone else to make it happen. So, you either do something, or you sit alone with your thoughts and a closed door. And after two years of exactly that, I learned which one I actually prefer, not because solitude is bad, but because I realized I was using it as an excuse. It’s just what happens when you stop being your own best reason to say no.

I’m currently building a space where I’ll be sharing more about this — still figuring it out as I go.