Don’t you feel lonely, little girl?

“Don’t you feel lonely, travelling by yourself? Eating alone every night, going to bed in cold sheets. I could never do that. Meals are meant to be shared, magical moments like the one you feel while discovering new places, also. Don’t you feel lonely, little girl?”

I look at him not even trying to hide my annoyance. You have to be some level of entitled to assume only your feelings and experiences are valid.

“I would be alone if I was back home, so what’s the difference?”

“I mean you have friends, no? To share meals with and hangout.”

Does he stop existing as soon as his friends are gone, I wonder.

“But I live alone. I have friends but I also go to cafes, restaurants and movies by myself.”

“Oh, I could never,” he interjects.

Not the first time I hear someone give me that exact discourse. I can understand how terrifying it looks. I was afraid to be alone, too, a few years ago. But then, Covid hit, and I had to. And I learned to enjoy the freedom it provides. And I learned to embrace the silence and channel my thoughts towards writing, drawing, planning my next adventures.

Most of the time, I do not feel lonely. Especially not while I am abroad. All my thoughts are focused on registering as much information as I can, about everything I am discovering and experiencing. All my focus is on remembering the taste of that exotic fruit, the sound of those sheep’s bells in the mountains, the feeling of the cold arctic wind brushing on my skin. As if I could experience all the memories on command, later on, if I really take the time to analyze every aspect of them now.

“You are so cold-hearted. Don’t you want someone to experience all of this with, instead of doing it alone?”

Of course, I do. But not at any cost. I will never compromise what I am looking for by fear of being by myself anymore. And I refuse to wait. I refuse to not enjoy everything I could enjoy with someone, just because I haven’t found that person. There is not a single universe in which this goes otherwise. I want to live. I want to see the world, experience different cultures, laugh, and cry, and grow and learn. And if it means that some people look at me and wonder why the hell I am eating alone, in my cabin above the fjord — “did she do something so awful no one wants to go with her? Does she have no friends to go with? She must be a weirdo or a total bitch” — then so be it.

How I see myself is the most important part. And I hope I can be inspiring and encourage even one person to dare to go alone. To not wait for anyone to live, to enjoy life and its risks, and its fancy lodges, and its wild treks and steamy one-nights and spontaneous meetups, and promises of future plans made with total strangers.

I hope I can make even one person realize that there is nothing to be afraid of. That this world is big and beautiful and that nothing would be more of a shame than to live it in the same small box you’ve trapped yourself in, by fear of going alone.

“Are you just setting your standards too high? I mean how can you not find one person that meets them, it’s crazy.”

Yep, that’s what I thought for a minute. And then I realized that no, I’m just asking for someone who’s done the work. I’m asking for a man, not a child. I’m asking for someone to make love to my soul, not just my body.

We talked about it a lot with my girlfriends — and it seems like this “loneliness epidemic” in men is linked exactly to that. We are done with empty-ass shells that rely solely on their looks or on our fear of being alone. We want someone that did the work. Someone who went to therapy. Someone who got his shit together, so we won’t have to take all his appointments for him, manage his social calendar, remind him to buy a gift for his mom, to clean after himself, to do his taxes, to bring the car to the garage. We. Are. Done.

We can vote, we make money, we have freedom and friends and sex toys — we do not need anyone to drag us down. We do not need to accept or comply with the bare minimum. We want someone educated, who listens and speaks up, someone who can make plans and put effort in, someone who can make us grow and make us want to be the better version of ourselves. We want security, honesty, passionate sex and discussions. We want emotional intelligence, someone that can verbalize and analyze his feelings instead of retreating like a fucking child. We want someone happy, that will make us happier. Oh, and yeah, we want to find him attractive. We want. Nothing. Less. Because until we find this person that will only enhance our life, we can provide everything we require. Why would we sacrifice our peace, our happiness, to try to raise a man that didn’t do the work himself? No fucking thanks.

And the worst part? That loneliness, the one some of them feel, is being twisted into something dark.

Instead of using that feeling to reflect, movements like MAGA or the proud boys are using their vulnerability to rally them, telling them it’s someone else’s fault. Our fault. For having standards. For not mothering them. For not making ourselves small enough to fit their ego. For taking their jobs. For not wanting children.

They find each other online, in angry little echo chambers, where nobody’s allowed to grow, only to blame. Where introspection is weakness and hating is some kind of twisted bonding ritual. And suddenly, being held accountable becomes woke, independence becomes emasculating and every woman who knows what she wants becomes a gold-digging bitch who’ll die alone with her cat.

They aren’t building connection, they’re building resentment. They’re not healing, they’re radicalizing. It’s easier to be part of a hate movement than to sit with yourself and ask why love hasn’t found you yet. And it’s easier to find community in anger than in vulnerability.

So yeah, Tinder hasn’t been great lately. Joke apart, I’ve got mountains to climb, oceans to swim in, strangers to meet and stories to collect. And I’d rather be alone in the world, wide open and alive, than stuck in some bitter little boys’ club afraid of growth.

And just to be clear — this isn’t a call-out on all men. There are plenty out there who’ve done the work, who are growing, learning, and owning their shit. If you’re one of those men, this post isn’t about you. Maybe you’re a friend or someone I’d cross paths with someday, or just someone doing their own thing at their own pace. We need more of you, in this world.

But in the meantime, I’ll continue to explore solo, and I’ll be happy, and I won’t feel lonely. And if or when, one day, I meet my husband -I’ll have all the best stories to tell.