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As a hardworking, single woman who turned 30 this year, I was "living the dream" by most people's standards. The dream is to earn enough money to pay my own bills, to make my own decisions, and — maybe most importantly — to live by myself.
In adulthood, I have found living alone to be a point of status. When I told people I lived alone, I got responses like: "Isn't it the best?" or "Oh, I'm so jealous!"
It seems to be what everyone my age is chasing: to be the queen of their own castle.
But I found it wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. I decided to leave my one-bedroom and move into a house with a friend.
I lived in a one-bedroom apartment in Denver for a year. It was a luxury building with a pool, hot tub, and gym.
I loved that I could walk around naked any time of day, leave dishes in the sink overnight, and finally listen to movies with the surround-sound quality they deserved. It was my modern-day fairytale happy ending.
But after living by myself for a year, I found it to be quite a lonely experience. Sure, I could spill ice cream on my pajamas and keep wearing them for three days without judgment, and everything was right where I left it, but I found it hard coming home to total silence.
I started imagining that scene from "Sex and the City" where Miranda chokes on her Chinese food. What if I choked on my take-out? How long would it take for anyone to find me? Ok, admittedly, this got dark quickly, but that's what happens when you spend too much time by yourself.
I found myself craving companionship, a sounding board, someone to give me the Heimlich — if it came to that.
Sitting by myself on my plush sofa — big enough for a family of four — I started wondering if the dream I'd been sold was a big fat lie. I worked hard, made the money, got my own place, and now I felt cripplingly isolated.
Why was I paying more to feel worse? Suddenly, it became a no-brainer to live with a friend.
I found a friend I had known for six months who was looking for someone to move into her house. We spoke at length about what kind of roommates we were and our deal-breakers. Once we had the tough conversations, I decided to move in. I traded my one-bedroom for a bigger house, a private backyard, and someone to come home to.
The compromises are the biggest change from living alone to moving back in with a roommate. I need everything separated by a shelf in the fridge so we don't share groceries. She needs the shades closed during the day to keep in the cool air. I need a Sound Bar in the basement for my movie marathons. She needs shoes to come straight off when I come into the house.
It is difficult to adjust your way of living after getting used to having everything your way. But I am also finding that I am learning to have more patience and to improve my communication. It's far more rewarding than living on my own.
Most importantly, my feelings of loneliness and isolation were gone instantly upon moving in. I am now met with "good morning" notes next to cups of hot tea and hugs after I get home from work. I get to recount our exploits out in the world when we get home a little less put together than we went out.
Now that I have chosen to live with a roommate, I am saving money, growing and learning more about myself, and getting companionship. I'd say I'm living the dream.
