My husband recently returned from a business trip that had him away for a week. I missed him terribly, and couldn’t wait to have him home. Of course, I do have the following confession to make: I didn’t mind having the place to myself for a few days.
Before we co-habited, I lived alone. Even throughout my early 20s, I made a point NOT to have roommates as long as it was financially reasonable. I loved living by myself, doing my own thing, feeling that I was truly independent (whether I actually was independent is another story).
When you hear married people talk about things they miss from their single days, it usually revolves around going out more often, partying, spending “quality time” with members of the opposite sex (or same sex, be it for friendship or romance). For me, any one of those items is a very, very distant second on the list compared to how I miss having my alone time every now and then.
It’s not like I do anything that spectacular when I am on my own. Sometimes I like to enjoy the silence and just keep the TV off … other times, I dive into whatever trashy TV or reality show marathon is running. Cereal for dinner? In my underwear? Washed down with a beer? Of course! It doesn’t matter if dinner is at 5 p.m. or 11:30 p.m.
Even now that I work from home, I find that the non-working time to myself is relaxing. I don’t get cabin fever, feel lonely or feel that I need to get out and be around people. Not to sound old, but in some ways I feel like I’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt — and am now in recovery from an overly active social and professional life. When isn’t the calendar overscheduled and every free moment booked? A quiet night in is a welcome change.
So now, I embrace the time I have to be by myself, with no obligations or plans, to clear my head and just … be. (while missing my husband and hoping for his fast return, of course!)