Deciding to go it alone and pay rent solo amidst Australia’s escalating cost of living crisis felt like a bold move. In hindsight, perhaps not my most strategic one. While the financial strain is a constant hum of worry, I’ve discovered an even more formidable adversary lurking in the quiet corners of my life: loneliness.
I’ve always leaned towards the introverted side, finding solace in my own company and the comfort of my home rather than the hustle and bustle of the outside world. This inclination was precisely what spurred my decision to move out independently in the first place, eager to embrace the freedom and the thrill of my first proper “big girl job”. Initially, the experience was liberating. The ability to curate my living space exactly to my taste and the sheer independence were incredibly rewarding.
However, as the second year of solo living dawned, the relentless pressure of rising living costs and the perpetual cycle of living paycheck to paycheck began to noticeably erode my social life. Staying home became the default, not just for financial reasons but also because the organic opportunities for spontaneous chats and genuine connection that come with sharing a space with roommates or family simply vanished. It became clear that to truly thrive, or even just to survive, living solo required a deliberate, structured approach. I needed to impose discipline on myself to make the most of my independent lifestyle.
To combat the creeping isolation, I’ve developed a personal set of “rules” to navigate these challenges.
Embracing the Role of Host
Before striking out on my own, socialising often meant shelling out cash at trendy eateries or expensive watering holes in Melbourne/Naarm. Now, by shifting the venue to my place, my friends and I can significantly cut down on expenses. Better yet, it allows me to tailor gatherings to our collective interests. I can organise movie nights for my film-buff mates, complete with a curated selection of their favourite genres. For those who love to cook, we opt for communal pot-luck dinners. And for my craft-inclined pals, we indulge in some satisfying scrapbooking sessions.
Cultivating a Creative Outlet
If I could whisper a piece of advice back to my younger self, it would be to pick up a hands-on hobby much, much sooner. Engaging my mind, especially during extended periods spent indoors, has proven to be incredibly beneficial. My chosen pursuit, scrapbooking, offers a constructive alternative to mindlessly scrolling through YouTube videos for hours on end. It provides a much-needed distraction, steering my thoughts away from the unsettling territory of existential dread or the insidious habit of comparing my life to the curated highlight reels on social media.
Making a Conscious Effort to Leave the House
Working from home presents a unique challenge: the blurring of lines between personal and professional life. Without the natural separation of a physical workplace, the built-in social interactions it offers, or even the daily commute to get me out and about for some fresh air and exercise, I have to actively engineer these elements into my routine.
I make a concerted effort to step out, even if it’s just to a nearby cafe or, weather permitting, a local park. With my work laptop in tow, these excursions offer a welcome change of scenery, provide opportunities for people-watching, and foster a sense of connection to the wider world. It’s a small but significant act of self-care.
The Unwavering Commitment to Social Plans
My tendency to cancel plans at the last minute was at its peak during those initial years of living alone. Resisting that strong urge to retreat into the comfort of my home has been a primary goal ever since. I’ve discovered that the fleeting jitters of social anxiety are a small price to pay compared to the gnawing dread of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) or the profound isolation I create for myself when I bail.
This habit of chronic cancellation nearly cost me some of my closest friendships. Consequently, I now prioritise making plans and then commit to seeing them through with every fibre of my being. This approach has, without exception, been a positive force. It gets me out of the house, allows me to connect with people I cherish, and has instilled in me a newfound appreciation for exploring different corners of my city, both with familiar faces and new acquaintances.
Interestingly, I now find myself attending events alone, something I would have lacked the courage to do before embracing solo living. This newfound independence forces me to initiate conversations, and in doing so, I’ve forged deeper connections with individuals I might otherwise have remained strangers with. And when I do return home, I know The Sims will be patiently waiting for me.
The Comfort of Other Living Creatures
When my parents relocated overseas and my brother moved out, the family cat unexpectedly became my responsibility. This furry companion, with his persistent demands for food and his four AM wake-up calls, provided a surprisingly welcome respite from the solitude. His presence also instilled a much-needed routine that I had to adhere to.
Sadly, since his passing last year, I’ve felt that familiar sting of loneliness begin to creep back into my life. While they don’t offer quite the same level of companionship, my plants have become a source of solace. They provide something to care for, to nurture and keep alive, and to share my living space with. I won’t pretend to have a magical green thumb; my care primarily consists of sunlight, water, and the occasional plant food. Nevertheless, my efforts to keep them thriving add a layer of activity and structure to my quieter days.
The Dual Nature of Independent Living
These personal “rules” serve as essential guideposts, helping me to stay grounded and making the experience of living alone more manageable. However, there are still days when the weight of financial uncertainty and the sheer solitude feel almost unbearable.
The allure of independence is undeniable, but the value of camaraderie, and indeed a healthy bank balance, cannot be overstated. While I might consider sharing a flat with housemates again one day, for now, I’ll continue to savour the independence I’ve cultivated for as long as I possibly can.
Eleanor Burnard (she/her) is a writer and journalist based in Naarm/Melbourne.
