Last year, I started going to the movies by myself. Not because I didn't have friends to go with, but because I wanted to see what it felt like to choose something just for me without consulting a group chat first.

The first time felt awkward. I bought my ticket, sat in the middle row, and felt hyper-aware of every solo person around me.

Were we all here for the same reason?

By the third solo movie, something shifted. I stopped caring what anyone thought. I picked films I actually wanted to see instead of compromises that pleased everyone. I left when I wanted. I sat with my thoughts afterward without having to immediately debrief.

I realized I'd been outsourcing my sense of self to other people's schedules and preferences.

Solo activities aren't about isolation.

They're about building an internal compass that doesn't need constant external validation. They teach you to trust yourself, enjoy your own company, and create space for the kind of quiet growth that only happens when no one else is watching.

1.Cooking a full meal just for yourself

There's something clarifying about cooking when no one else will taste it.

You're not performing. You're not trying to impress. You're just making food because you want to eat something good.

I started doing this on Sunday nights. I'd pick a recipe that took time. Something that required chopping, stirring, tasting, adjusting. Not meal prep for the week. Just one beautiful meal for one person.

The first time I made a proper risotto for myself, I felt ridiculous. All that stirring for a single bowl.

But halfway through, I realized I was completely present. No phone. No distractions. Just the rhythm of adding stock and stirring until the rice released its starch and turned creamy.

When I sat down to eat it, I felt proud. Not because it was fancy, but because I'd taken care of myself in a way that felt intentional.

Cooking for yourself teaches you that you're worth the effort. That nourishment doesn't require an audience. That the act of making something good with your own hands builds a quiet kind of confidence that carries into everything else.

2. Taking yourself out to eat

This one terrifies people more than it should. I get it. Walking into a restaurant alone feels exposed. You think everyone's watching, judging, wondering why you're by yourself. They're not.

I started doing this after a friend told me she'd been eating solo at nice restaurants for years. "It's the only time I get to think," she said. "No one's asking me questions or needing something from me. I just eat and exist." So I tried it.

I picked a neighborhood spot I'd always wanted to try. I brought a book but didn't open it. I ordered exactly what I wanted without negotiating toppings or splitting appetizers.

The first ten minutes were uncomfortable. I felt like I needed a prop, something to justify my presence. But then the food came, and I stopped caring.

I ate slowly. I noticed flavors. I people-watched without apologizing for it. I left feeling more grounded than I had in weeks. Eating alone in public is an underrated act of self-possession.

It says, "I'm comfortable with myself." It gives you permission to take up space without justification. And it trains you to be present in your own life instead of always needing someone else to validate the experience.

3. Going for a long walk without a destination

Most walks have a purpose. Exercise. Errands. Getting from point A to point B. This isn't that. This is putting on your shoes and walking with no plan, no timer, no fitness tracker telling you to go faster.

I started doing this after reading about the concept of "purposeless walking" in a Jenny Odell essay. She argued that in a culture obsessed with productivity, the most radical thing you can do is move without a goal. So I tried it.

I walked through my neighborhood with no route in mind. I turned down streets I'd never noticed. I stopped to look at gardens, murals, the way light hit certain buildings.

At first, my brain kept trying to make it productive. Should I be listening to a podcast? Should I be thinking through that work problem? But I didn't. I just walked. And something loosened.

The constant hum of mental chatter quieted. My shoulders relaxed. I started noticing things I usually blurred past.

Walking without a destination teaches you that not everything needs to be optimized.

That sometimes the point is just to move and see what you find. That focus doesn't always mean intensity. Sometimes it means giving your mind permission to wander.

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4. Sitting in a café and doing nothing

Not working. Not reading. Not scrolling. Just sitting. I know this sounds impossible. Who goes to a café and doesn't do anything? But that's exactly why it's worth trying.

I first did this in Portland a few years ago. I'd finished a meeting early and had an hour to kill. I bought a coffee, sat by the window, and just watched people.

No laptop. No phone face-up on the table. Just me and my coffee and the street outside. It felt strange at first. Like I was wasting time. Like I needed to justify my presence by being productive. But after fifteen minutes, something shifted.

I stopped feeling restless. I started noticing details. The way the barista smiled at regulars differently than tourists. The rhythm of foot traffic. The couple at the next table having a quiet, intense conversation I couldn't hear but could feel.

I realized I'd been so busy consuming content and checking boxes that I'd forgotten how to just be somewhere.

5. Writing morning pages

I already talked about this in the discipline article, but it belongs here too because it's one of the best solo practices for building focus.

Morning pages are three pages of longhand, stream-of-consciousness writing done first thing in the morning. No editing. No structure. Just whatever comes out.

Julia Cameron calls it "spiritual windshield wipers." You're clearing away the mental debris so you can see clearly.

I've been doing this on and off for two years, and the days I skip it, I notice. My thoughts feel cluttered. My decisions feel reactive instead of intentional.

The pages themselves are boring. Complaints about traffic. Grocery lists. Half-formed ideas that go nowhere. But the practice is clarifying.

It teaches you to hear your own voice without immediately judging it. To notice patterns in your thinking. To process emotions before they build up into something heavier.

Writing morning pages builds confidence because it proves you have something to say, even if no one else ever reads it. 

6. Practicing something you're bad at

Not for performance. Not to get good. Just for the sake of trying.

I picked up watercolor painting last year. I have no natural talent for it. My first attempts looked like someone spilled paint on wet paper and called it abstract. But I kept going.

Every Sunday morning, I'd set up at my kitchen table with cheap supplies and paint whatever I felt like. Landscapes. Abstract shapes. Bad portraits of my plants. No one saw them. I didn't post them. I didn't take a class or follow tutorials.

I just practiced being bad at something without needing to fix it immediately. And something unexpected happened.

I stopped being so hard on myself in other areas of life. I started treating mistakes as information instead of failures. I became more willing to try things I wasn't sure I'd be good at.

7. Spending a full day without talking to anyone

This one sounds extreme, but it's less lonely than you'd think. I'm not talking about ghosting people or isolating yourself. I'm talking about intentionally choosing a day where you don't speak out loud to another human.

No calls. No texts. No quick catch-ups. Just you and your own thoughts.

A day of silence teaches you how much mental energy you spend managing other people's needs and expectations.

It shows you what your default state is when no one's asking anything of you. And it builds peace of mind because it proves you can be alone without being lonely.

The bigger picture

We live in a world that's terrified of being alone. We fill every silence with noise, every moment with distraction, every gap in our schedule with plans.

But the people I know who seem most grounded, most focused, most at peace are the ones who've learned to be good company for themselves.

They don't need constant stimulation. They don't panic when plans fall through. They know how to be alone without feeling lonely.

That's not something you're born with. It's something you build, quietly, one solo activity at a time.

So pick one. Just one. Cook yourself a nice meal. Take yourself to dinner. Walk with no destination. Sit in a café and do nothing. See what it feels like to choose yourself first. You might be surprised by how good the company is.