I don’t know who needs to hear this, but some of you will so I’ll say it. That thing you’ve been itching to do for ages? You should do it on your own.
There are many things we expect people to do in couples or groups that don’t necessarily require company. And – whisper it – many of them are still fun when you do them alone.
That gig. That play. That holiday. The latest movie in the series that you really want to see on the big screen at the cinema. If you want to do it but have no one to do it with, just do it on your own.
As I draft this, I’m sitting in a hotel room in the Austrian alps. Earlier today I cycled across the border from Germany, marvelling at the fact that I couldn’t even tell where the border was because Europe is awesome. I smashed out miles and miles across gorgeously well-maintained and well-signposted cycle paths, listening to a perfect playlist of tunes I completely adore. I didn’t have to argue with anyone over which route we should take or where we should stop for lunch. Yesterday I didn’t even bother stopping for lunch because I wasn’t hungry. I just did the things I felt like doing, as and when I wanted.
Some of you reading this will have something you’re itching to do, but you’ve held back on it because you’re waiting for a partner to come and do it with you. You’re worried it’ll suck if you go on your own, that you won’t have anyone to share it with.
But sometimes it’s enough to share it with yourself.
And your friends, via WhatsApp. And maybe BlueSky and Mastodon. But apart from that, completely alone!
It’s fun doing things on your own. A different type of fun, for sure. You don’t tend to go out and get drunk in the evening when you don’t have anyone to split a bottle of wine with. You are more likely to rinse the museums than the Top 10 Places To Eat. But you get to do the things you like at the times you want to do them. You’re not waiting for someone else to get their shit together or get in the mood. You don’t have to persuade or tempt or encourage. You just do.
Do it on your own (even if that is not the ideal plan)
I’m not going to lie to you, doing things on your own is not always option A. I’ve wanted to do a big bike trip for ages – the short one on which I started drafting this post was practice for a much bigger challenge I want to tackle in 2026. When I told a friend about my dream ride, which will take six weeks and mean cycling around 50 miles per day, he asked in surprise if I was planning to do it alone. I told him ‘yes’ and he looked confused:
“Wouldn’t you rather have someone with you?”
Yes.
Obviously.
Embarrassingly, I think I might have cried. Because of course – of course – I would rather have somebody with me. As with cycling, so with life: the journey is far more fun with a companion. Someone who supports me and encourages me and joins in with the difficult bits. Someone who can help me laugh at myself when I get grumpy because we forgot to eat lunch. Help me push my bike to the nearest repair shop when something goes ‘clunk’. Someone I can help in turn: swapping massages after a long day’s ride, then splitting a bucket of fondue to regain our strength.
That person hasn’t materialised.
So… should I just never do what I want to do? Leave this big, dream trip unticked from my bucket list until my muscles start to waste away and my joints ache too hard to ride at all?
Fuck that.
I will do the big thing on my own – and you should too. Even if it’s difficult. Even if you’re scared. Even if you’re out of your depth and the rhythm of solitude takes some getting used to.
Pathetic to powerful
I’m telling you this from my hotel room in the Austrian alps. I’ve had a ball getting here, but I’m not going to bullshit you by pretending that it’s easy.
Dinner times are lonely, for sure, and it’s weird (and hard) walking into a bar with no idea of the etiquette. Do I just grab a table and they’ll come to take my order? Should I wait to be seated? What if I get it wrong and everyone thinks I’m a dick? The first two nights of this trip, I tried and failed to go out for dinner. I had this beautiful vision in my head of what my holiday would look like: me sitting at a table on the street outside a restaurant, drinking cold beer, eating wurst & sauerkraut and watching the world go by. But each time I approached a suitable-looking place, I chickened out. Too nervous to ask for a table for one. Too intimidated by the couples and groups all laughing and smiling and comfortable. Too worried that my German was abysmal, and the wait staff would give me pitying smiles before responding in English.
For the first two nights of my trip, I ate food I’d bought from the corner shop alone in my hotel. I hated myself for being so pathetic, and I wept.
It’s not pathetic, though, it’s just new, and new is difficult. Staying in your comfort zone is easy, that’s why it’s so fucking comfortable. Stepping outside of it means failing, and failure is inevitable if you want to take on a new challenge. When I tell you that it’s fun to do stuff on your own, I don’t mean it will be plain sailing all the way through, I mean completing the quest is where the thrill lies. If I’m not occasionally weeping in a hotel room, is my trip really adventurous enough?
There’s power in doing things on your own, and a significant part of that power exists because they are harder.
The achievement of getting from A to B knowing that every single thing that needed to happen in order to get you there was done by your own hand. Every little logistical detail was one you tackled yourself. Each map that needed to be read, each ticket bought, each problem solved: you did it on your own.
My trip next year isn’t even that big a thing in comparison to what so many other people have done. There are far greater challenges to tackle alone. The immediate example that springs to mind is solo parents. People who realise they want to raise children, but know there is no one in their life who would make a suitable coparent, so they do it on their own. The power of this choice absolutely floors me – recognising that you want kids but refusing to settle for a relationship that makes you unhappy just so you can have them, and deciding instead to tackle that challenge alone. It’s astonishing and yeah, it’s incredibly hard. It presents different obstacles to those that you’d overcome in a pair, but it gives you a different kind of freedom along the way. No one else nitpicking your parenting decisions, or adding ‘why won’t my partner contribute their fair share?’ to the list of things that are weighing you down.
This is huge ambition, though. If you’re not used to doing things alone, start with something tiny, like a trip to the cinema or a nice meal in that restaurant you’ve had your eye on. Maybe try going for a walk and a pint in the pub. Do something alone that you wouldn’t normally do – enjoy the sensation of being completely in control. The tempo of solitude, where everything happens at your pace. Notice the peaceful calm in your head when you don’t have to worry that someone else might be getting tired or bored or frustrated. Acknowledge your own emotions, needs, desires and ambitons, completely free from the obligation to manage someone else’s.
Do it scared
It’s tough to explain this sensation to those who haven’t experienced it. I understand that many things in life can be frightening alone, if you’re used to always having a companion. But the revelation that you can achieve stuff under your own steam is often outright euphoric.
On this particular trip, I had a fun plan for when I reached a certain place. A cable car that took you to the top of a nearby mountain, with beautiful views and a long, winding road that you could use to get back down. Rumour had it that the cable car people would let you take your bike up, so you could cycle all the way to the bottom with the wind in your hair and your heart in your mouth. I’d never done a downhill ride of that magnitude before and even on smooth, paved roads the idea terrified me.
That’s why I did it.
I don’t know who originally created this image, but if you do please let me know so I can credit them. I think about it often. I should print it out and frame it, probably. Not everyone’s going to feel the same way, of course, I know people who are so happy inside their comfort zone that the outside has become monstrous enough to no longer hold any appeal. If you’re tempted to do things on your own but frightened of taking the plunge, though, I am here to urge you to do it.
Do it scared.
On my way to the place with the mountain, one of my brake pads fell off. I just heard a big, shiny ‘clunk’ and felt something go wrong, so I pulled my bike to the side of the path and scrambled to pick up the bits. Shit. Riding down a mountain with only one set of functional brakes didn’t feel like my idea of a good time. But I still had ten miles to go before I reached the cable car, and luckily I was on a route which had plenty of bike repair shops. So I took a quick detour into a nearby town and asked the man, in German, ‘can you help?’. He replied in English, obviously, and told me that although he didn’t have exactly the right part, to give him an hour and he’d see what he could do.
While I was waiting, I surfed that little wave of confident energy and tackled another hard thing: I walked down the road to a restaurant, ordered beer and wurst and sauerkraut, then sat happily eating and drinking as I watched the world go by.
It was scary. And fun. And I did it on my own.
An hour later I picked up my bodged-together bike, then rode it to where the cable car met the mountain. I hung off my brakes all the way from the top to the bottom – heart pounding and mouth dry and every single muscle clenched with stress, but I made it to my hotel in one piece.
It was terrifying. And fun. Because I did it on my own.
If you want to do something, do it. If you’re scared, do it scared. And if there’s no one to join you, just do it on your own.
I can’t promise it will be the same kind of fun, but I can tell you that beer and wurst tasted better because I’d stepped outside my comfort zone to get it. The ride down that mountain felt more thrilling because I was frightened. And that trip – though short and tentative – gave me a euphoric sense of achievement that I only ever get from solo travel.
I would love to have someone with me on my big trip in 2026. I’m cycling around 2,000 miles, and if I’m brave enough I’ll post updates so you lot can see progress if you like. And every single detail of what I’m planning scares the shit out of me. The distance, the endurance, the fact that I am not very good at changing tyres. Above all, if I’m honest, the most worrying thing is the loneliness. Six weeks of riding alone, with no one to split a bottle of wine with at the end of the day.
It frightens me. It’s hard. And I would rather do it with company. But sitting around waiting for the right companion might mean never doing it at all. And the prospect of that scares me far, far more than walking into a restaurant and ordering beer and bratwurst for one. More than riding down a mountain with dodgy brake pads or having to change a tyre in the middle of nowhere in the pouring rain.
I am far more terrified of wasting precious years than I am of being alone.
This post is tagged ‘advice’ but it’s not really advice, it’s permission if you need that, I guess. Motivation. Encouragement. A dare.
Sometimes I am so frightened of doing something that I have to dare myself to get on with it. Book a ticket, make a plan, tell people my intentions so I can’t just back out later. Once I’ve thrown down that gauntlet, as I have in this post, future-me has to pick it up then ride 2,000 miles. The initial dare gets me over the hurdle of fear, and one step closer to the euphoric joy of achievement.
That thing you’ve always dreamed of doing?
Do it on your own.
