“Well, don’t burn the candle at both ends,” my mum said over the phone as I recounted my plans for the week, speed-walking to the station in the December rain. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” I lied, hanging up and jumping on the Tube just as the doors slid shut behind me. She was right, as mums usually are: by that point, the candle had burned down to a stub.
I’ve been addicted to being busy for as long as I can remember, throwing myself into my work and social life full-tilt. Like a true Virgo, every hour of my days would historically be planned to a tee: HIIT class at 7, work at 10, a gig, movie or drinks to finish the day. When the weekend came around, it was chock-a-block with house parties and festivals and hungover walks through Hackney—because God forbid I waste a day “chilling” when I could be out enjoying this city I was paying so much to exist in. Friends had to be “booked in” weeks in advance, and I had to frantically rejig my diary if the guy I liked suggested a last-minute hang. There was little room for impulsivity; spontaneity scared me. Stillness scared me even more. I blamed London, as though the city itself was writing in my calendar, taking control of my limbs, and marching me out of the door, forcing me to say “yes” to a plan when I knew I probably needed a night in.
Of course, it wasn’t London’s fault. Granted, living in a big city means a faster pace of life, but my crazy diary-filling regime was entirely self-imposed. Since then, I’ve realised that, if you’re single, it’s especially difficult not to succumb to pressures to “show face,” “get out there,” and “meet new faces” at every opportunity. What if your one Friday night at home means missing out on meeting your future soulmate—someone good at cooking and with a stupid silver hoop earring, just like you manifested? Even if you’re not desperate to meet someone, should you really be binge-watching Girls and eating Charlie Bigham’s lasagna in bed when you could be finding a name to drop in at Christmas dinner when the conversation edges too close to “expiration dates”? What about all those “day in my life” girls who get up at 5 a.m. to do a 10K run and hair mask, but still have the energy for a Raya date after work? They never make excuses.
The thing is, it’s much more acceptable to be a hermit if you have someone to come home to; if you’re coupled up, there’s no pressure to be endlessly lining up Hinge dates or locking eyes with strangers in clubs. You don’t have to be constantly “bettering yourself,” either: going to the gym, expanding your social circle, indulging in hobbies to make yourself seem more interesting. And if rotting in bed with a significant other is romantic, rotting alone is “tragic,” lazy, a waste of time.
Or… maybe not. Soon after that phone call with my mum, I realised something had to change. After another week of back-to-back plans, my body ached with every move and no amount of brightening concealer could hide the deep bags beneath my eyes. Events I should have been looking forward to felt like chores (even Christmas karaoke, which I’d booked months earlier). My stomach tightened whenever I received a new message because I knew it would probably lead to another plan. So when January came along, I made it my intention to embrace hibernation. I started saying “no,” blocking out weekends to keep free and being stricter with boundaries. My friends posted Instagram Stories of pints of Guinness and Strava PBs, group chats pinged with links to concert tickets and anecdotes of first dates, and I tapped through it all while cocooned in my electric blanket, hair greasy from too many days without a wash. I didn’t feel FOMO. I was glad I wasn’t watching the rugby at the pub with everyone else—after all, I don’t even like rugby. Instead, I finished hardcovers that had been gathering dust and organized my wardrobe and walked along the canal while listening to Julia Fox’s audiobook. If this was being boring, I was all for it.
It seems I’m not the only one starting to reject the constant pressure to be busy; as more people become sober-curious and the cost of living forces us to re-evaluate our habits, we’re naturally becoming more mindful of how we spend our time. On TikTok, people are sharing videos of their so-called “soft life”—forgoing nights out for more sleep and rarely working over their contracted hours—while others are rallying against so-called “catch-up” friendships, sharing tips to bypass the life-update trap and instead start forging deeper connections. It seems that intentional idleness can actually help when it comes to dating, too. “I used to really struggle sitting alone with myself,” says one friend. “I’d go on a new date every week for the dopamine hit, then felt frustrated that none of them seemed to go anywhere. But as soon as I got used to spending more time just chilling, I was able to reflect on what I wanted out of a relationship and felt more confident in who I was when I met potential love interests.”
Of course, it’s a privilege to be able to choose between having a packed schedule and doing nothing, to listen to your body and find a balance—but for me, it was also absolutely necessary. It was like I’d finally grabbed hold of the steering wheel in a car that had been skidding downhill.
It’s a little ironic that, after I write this, I’ll be rushing to put on a full face of make-up and traveling via two buses to get to a friend’s birthday. But being more intentional with how I spend my time doesn’t have to mean being a fully fledged hermit: inevitably there will be a DJ I’m excited to see play or a new restaurant I can’t wait to visit in the weeks ahead, and that’s great. In hindsight, I realize I’d got so caught up in ticking off plans that I was too exhausted to actually enjoy anything. And, in the end, how can you ever expect to make a connection with someone—romantic or otherwise—if you’re never fully present?