When I first booked my Airbnb in the UP, it didn’t really hit me that this would be my first time truly living alone. I’d lived away from my family before, sure — but that was different. Back then, there was a dining hall, a roommate to share my 2 a.m. thoughts with, and a campus full of distractions. This time, it was just me. And when I arrived, dragging my suitcase through the front door of what would be my home for the next month and a half, I suddenly felt the weight of that.
My first night was a bit restless. I was in a completely new space, all alone. I’ve got to admit — I felt anxious. Did I lock the front door? The back door? The windows? I checked everything twice, maybe three times. It was an old house with a lot of creaks, yet somehow completely silent — aside from my fan humming to keep me cool. The stillness made every noise feel louder, like the house was reminding me I wasn’t used to this kind of quiet. But I woke up the next morning feeling surprisingly good. I was excited to create a whole new morning routine for myself: make breakfast, brush my teeth, shower, and do schoolwork. In that order.
Once I settled in, I found that I loved living by myself. The freedom to move through my day exactly how I wanted — without anyone else’s schedule or expectations — was refreshing. As an introvert, I thrived in the quiet. I didn’t just tolerate the silence; I grew to crave it. There was something calming about hearing only the hum of the fridge, the breeze through the trees outside, or the occasional creak of the old house.
The only real struggle? Figuring out what to eat every single day. I love to cook, but there were definitely nights when I stood in front of the fridge just… blank. Too tired to think of a recipe, too stubborn to go out. Still, I found joy in trying new things, experimenting with whatever groceries I had on hand, and eating at weird times just because I could. No one was watching. No one was waiting. It was just me — and it was exactly what I needed.
Living alone in the quiet of nature taught me more than just how to cook for one or enjoy the freedom of my own space. It challenged me to face myself in a way I hadn’t before. Without the constant buzz of people around, I had to get comfortable with silence and the thoughts that come with it. At first, it felt a little lonely, but over time, I realized it was exactly what I needed. I learned to trust my own company and find peace in solitude, something I hadn’t truly experienced before. Most importantly, I found a new kind of confidence — not the loud, showy kind, but a quiet assurance that I could rely on myself no matter what. That kind of growth doesn’t always come from big moments but from the simple act of being alone and present.
Drifted Form 