Off the Clock: The Radical Freedom of Doing What You Love by Yourself
There is a profound difference between being lonely and knowing how to steer your own ship.
Somewhere along the line, we decided that doing things alone is an act of desperation rather than an act of pure liberation. You see a great tour announced or a movie coming out, and the immediate, conditioned reflex is: “Who can I get to go with me?” If nobody is free, the ticket doesn’t get bought, the seat stays empty, and you stay home.
We starve our own curiosity waiting for a chaperone.
Here is my confession: I love people, and by nature, I am a chronic nurturer. When I’m with someone, a piece of my brain is permanently clocked into customer service mode. Are they having fun? Are their feet hurting? Do they like this band? Can I get them a drink? Are they uncomfortable? It is woven so deep into my DNA that at my own father’s funeral, when Jon tapped me on the shoulder to say he was there, my automatic, autopilot response to him was: “Do you need anything?” At my dad's funeral. The day was literally about my grief, and I was still trying to cater to someone else’s comfort.
I don’t hate that about myself—I love making people feel safe and cared for. But when you are built like that, going places with an entourage comes with a mental tab.
When I go alone, the tab is zero. I am off the clock.
Going to an event solo means complete autonomy over my own experience. If the concert is mind-blowing, I can scream the lyrics, stay for the very last encore, and dance until the lights come up. If the opener is terrible and the vibe is completely dead, I can turn around, walk out to my car, and go home without holding a committee meeting or apologizing for cutting the night short.
It’s why Friday night movies alone have become my sacred boundary. That dark room with a tub of popcorn is where I flip the switch from the grind of the work week to my own playground. The phone goes dark. I get to sit with a story, laugh as loud as I want, cry without feeling silly, and completely inhabit whatever feeling comes up without scanning the person next to me to see if they’re bored.
The best part of taking on the world by yourself isn't hiding; it’s being present. I’ll show up to a concert hours early—partly because parking is cheaper and closer, but mostly because I get to sit on the grass with a good book and just people-watch. I keep my phone tucked away. And you know what happens when you aren’t frantically managing someone else's good time? You actually connect with the world around you.
When I went to see Brandi Carlile, a lovely gay gentleman walked right up to me while I was reading and said, “You are a whole vibe.” The week before that, a group next to me realized I was solo and said, “You’re with us tonight. You have amazing energy.”
When you don’t know a soul in the venue and you’ll never see them again, the social anxiety evaporates. You don’t have to wonder if they’ll bring up your weird dancing on Monday. You don’t have to dim your light or shrink your laugh because you're worried about making someone else uncomfortable. You get to bring forth the exact version of yourself you actually want to be.
Stop waiting for someone to hold your hand to live your life. If someone wants to join your journey, incredible—bring them along. But never let someone else’s schedule or lukewarm interest keep you from the things that set your soul on fire.
Buy the ticket. Take the seat. Drive your own damn ship.
