The Case for Living Alone at Least Once Before 35

I never lived alone until I was 31. Parents, then college roommates, then roommates after college, then moved in with a boyfriend. When that relationship ended, I faced an apartment with just me in it for the first time in my life. The silence was deafening. I didn't know how to cook for one person. I didn't know what temperature I actually liked. I didn't know what I watched when nobody else had an opinion.

The Discovery

Living alone taught me more about myself in one year than three decades of shared living. I learned I'm a morning person — I'd just been dating night owls. I learned I love cooking — I'd just been letting other people decide what we ate. I learned I need thirty minutes of complete silence when I get home from work. None of these things are revolutionary. All of them were invisible until I had the space to discover them.

If you can afford it and the opportunity exists, live alone at least once before 35. Not because roommates or partners are bad — but because you deserve to know who you are when the only person you're accommodating is yourself.