Growing up as an only child with two working parents, I became well-acquainted with the art of entertaining myself. Quiet evenings, the luxury of having my own bedroom and bathroom, and zero arguments over the TV remote? Absolute paradise.
Well, it’s safe to say…starting college last year flipped my peaceful, only-child lifestyle on its head.
Dorm life was my first big wake-up call. Suddenly, my personal space became communal. Sharing a room with two roommates, a bathroom with over 50 people, and my downtime with what felt like half of UCLA’s student body was a far cry from the solitude I was used to. Luckily, I hit the jackpot with my random roommates, who respected my space, understood the perfect balance between yapping during the day and having quiet time at night, and quickly became my mini family away from home (needless to say, I’m rooming with them again this year!). That said, adapting to this new dynamic definitely took time, and my only-child self cried a little inside every time someone on my floor left toothpaste in the sink or blasted music in the hall during my “me time.”
I also quickly realized that my post-school routine of crashing on the couch and remaining unbothered for hours wasn’t always an option anymore. It felt as if every time I left my dorm, there was some sort of event on campus I was getting pulled to, and I often felt my social battery draining well below its minimum. When I joined my sorority (which I absolutely love, but which was a lot for my introverted self to handle at first!), this became even more true.
That’s when I discovered the life-changing joy of solo adventures. I started taking myself on dates often – exploring LA’s hidden gems, sipping overpriced coffee while walking to the park, or curling up with a book in my favorite area behind Powell. Although I also love outings with friends, there is an equal joy in only having myself to worry about. These solo moments were far from lonely – they became my way to recharge in a college world that rarely slows down.
I also mastered saying “no.” No, I don’t need to go to every party. No, I don’t have to grab dinner with friends for the third night in a row. Yes, I instead need to sit in bed and binge my true crime docs for a couple hours. I realized I was happier when I struck a balance between social outings and much-needed alone time.
Of course, there have been times when I’ve wondered if having siblings would have better prepared me for all this. Maybe I’d have been less jarred by having to share spaces, better at going with the flow during unexpected outings, or more of an expert at navigating disagreements. But ultimately, what being an only child gave me was a sense of independence that has been invaluable in college. It taught me how to enjoy solitude without feeling isolated, prioritize what I need to thrive in my next chapter, and grow without always needing validation from others (although my need for academic validation is a whole different story).
Now, whether I’m pulling late-night study sessions in YRL with friends, going full extrovert mode during Thursday nights out, or savoring the quiet on my favorite bench on campus (with the only company being the squirrels trying to steal my food), I’ve found a balance that feels right for me. And in a place as lively and unpredictable as college, I think that’s one of the best lessons I’ve learned so far.