49: From Social Butterfly to Content Hermit: Why I'm Ok With My Quiet Life

A few years ago, my weekends looked a lot different. They were filled with packed bars, late nights, and group plans that sounded exciting in theory but often left me drained. Fast forward to today: my Friday nights are more about unwinding at home than closing down the local pub. My social life has plummeted, sure—but the strange part? I’m totally fine with it.

The change didn’t happen overnight. Like so many others, the pandemic forced me to reevaluate everything: my priorities, my habits, and yes, my friendships. When COVID shut down the world, it also shut off the pressure to keep up appearances. The FOMO that once tugged at me faded as I realized something profound: I genuinely enjoy my own company.

In the aftermath of isolation, I found myself skipping the loud bars, the endless rounds of drinks, and even the occasional shopping mall frenzy. Now, if I pass by a noisy group spilling out of a pub, I feel less envy and more…annoyance. (I’ve officially become that person.) My drinking habits have dwindled to the occasional beer with dinner, and even that feels like a rare treat instead of a necessity.

For many, this might sound like the ultimate buzzkill. But for me, it’s the opposite: it’s clarity. According to a 2021 study from Pew Research, 36% of adults said the pandemic made them appreciate solitude more. It seems I’m not alone in this shift.

There’s a term for what I’ve embraced: the Joy of Missing Out (JOMO). Instead of agonizing over missed invites, I’ve discovered the happiness in staying in. Online shopping eliminates the need to brave crowded malls, streaming platforms deliver endless entertainment, and my work-from-home setup keeps the daily grind remarkably convenient.

Even my daily outings are simple: a morning trip to the gym and, soon enough, visits to the park with Cooper, my new French bulldog puppy. Once he’s fully vaccinated, he’ll be my outdoor buddy—but until then, I’m happily nesting.

Sure, there are moments when a group activity sounds appealing, but those moments are rare and fleeting. For the most part, my quieter lifestyle has brought unexpected rewards. With less alcohol in my life, I’ve noticed better sleep and far fewer sluggish mornings, not to mention a gym routine that’s solid and consistent. The mental clarity that comes from avoiding the noise of constant social plans has been invaluable, giving me space to focus on hobbies, goals, and the things that genuinely matter. Financially, staying in has been a surprising win—bars, parties, and outings add up quickly, and skipping them has been a boon for my wallet. Most importantly, the friendships I do maintain feel deeper and more meaningful. Without surface-level socializing, I’ve been able to nurture connections that truly count.

Does this mean I never feel lonely? Of course not. Humans are social creatures, and even the most introverted among us need connection. But loneliness is different from solitude. While loneliness feels like a void, solitude feels like a choice—a conscious decision to prioritize peace over noise.

For me, that choice has been transformative. I’ve learned to be comfortable with myself, to find joy in quiet moments, and to embrace the life I have rather than chase the life I think I should have.

Would I trade my peaceful nights for a whirlwind social calendar? Occasionally, sure. But on the whole, I’m content, maybe even happy—a word I use sparingly because it’s not a fleeting emotion but a steady, satisfying state. And if that makes me a hermit? Then pass the remote, because this hermit is thriving.

After all, who needs a loud bar when you’ve got a quiet mind and a Frenchie puppy waiting to be walked?