Learning to Live Alone

and thinking about solitude, while eating the same things several days in a row

Single girl beachside lunch. I only ate it once.

My father-in-law died two weeks ago.

It was a call from Michigan that prompted our frantic moonlit four-hour drive from Northern Portugal back to our home so that J could quickly pack and drive another hour to Lisbon, where he caught a flight to the US. We are relieved that he made it in time to be with his father and family for several days, and to share in an outpouring of love for the man who was the pillar of our family.

J had been planning a US trip for mid-June. It didn’t make sense for him to return to Portugal and then leave again, so he consolidated his trips. The end result is, that after being together pretty much 24/7 since we moved here, and much of the previous year of cancer treatment, we will be apart for five weeks.

It’s the first long stretch of living alone that I’ve had in almost 30 years.

I didn't get married till I was almost 35. We had a long-distance relationship for three years and, in the early years of our marriage, J and I each had jobs that involved international travel, so we sometimes went weeks and even months without seeing one another. I’ve lived alone, I’ve traveled around the world alone, I’ve eaten in restaurants alone, taken long walks alone, and gone to movies alone.

So it was a bit shocking to wake up alone that first morning in Portugal and to feel at loose ends.

I’ll leave the grief portion of the experience aside, except to say that it was gut-wrenching to be alone in another time zone while the family held their vigil and eventually grieved together. To not be with J to comfort him as he experienced this heart-breaking milestone was hard. Thank goodness for technology.

Day 1, I shelled peas and went swimming and then spent two days eating the Pasta Carbonara with English Peas I told you about. I kept myself occupied with swimming and hiking and pickleball, moving fast and furious so I didn’t have time to think. People here were very kind to me. ‘You’re all alone?” they said. “Let us know if you need anything.”

At home, I cooked stuff J prefers not to eat and watched stuff he prefers not to watch and stayed up way too late worrying about what was going to happen, and scrolling on my phone, something I’d been trying not to do at bedtime.

And I wondered. Is living alone like riding a bicycle?

In 2021, I was unexpectedly alone on July 4 in Seattle. The New York Times had recently published 50 Reasons to Love Joni Mitchell’s Blue, to commemorate the 50th anniversary of that seminal album. With nothing better to do, I spent the day listening to Blue, and reading the commentary in the NYT piece that accompanies each track.

At its core, Blue is the story of a young woman’s quest for freedom.

Giving the entire album a close listen at age 60, with a lifetime of experience, human entanglements, and wisdom under my belt, it landed differently than it had when I was an unfettered young woman admiring Joni Mitchell’s adventurous spirit.

In that article, we get to find out what happened to Cary.

Early one morning in Portugal, a few hours after I received the call telling me that my father-in-law had passed away, I went out into the field across the street from my house and picked the last of the fava beans. I then went to the castle down the road (I love saying that) to attend a music festival. I was the only person sitting alone.

A young Finnish woman sang songs of love and entanglement and freedom and loss in the spirit of Joni Mitchell, while a bunch of 60-something mostly couples chattered noisily, far removed from the emotions and questions the singer was grappling with.

But of course, they are or will soon be grappling with their own versions of love and entanglement and freedom and loss in the way that one experiences these things later in life.

I wonder who sings about that? I guess Dolly Parton does.

I came home and cooked Grilled Asparagus with Fava Beans and Walnuts, and Sticky Date and Tahini Aubergine. It took a few days to work my way through them.

Here are other people I know who are currently living alone:

a friend whose husband is working in a town on the other side of the state where they live; their daughter, who is studying abroad at a big university, not part of any organized international student program; a friend battling cancer; some divorced friends, on their own after very long and not so long marriages; my elderly mother-in-law, who lives alone on an island; a friend living here whose husband is working abroad; several friends who moved here and started new lives on their own.

And my step-mother-in-law. Now alone, though rich with many friendships, after nearly 50 years of marriage.

Maybe my solitude feels hard to bear because I am alone in a still unfamiliar country, in a rental apartment instead of my own home, and fresh from the loss of my dog, my constant and very tactile companion of 13 years. Also, Portugal is one of those places where people travel in packs, so you can be acutely aware of your aloneness.

I make One Pot Chicken Thighs and Rice with a rich, garlicky feta cheese sauce and

emily nunn

‘s Health-Giving Papaya and Avocado Salad with Magic Miso Dressing These last for a couple of days and I feel like I’ve got the self-care thing down.

But then I get sick, so I cook an Instant Pot version of Mujaddara with lentils and bulgur and spend several days not leaving the house. Eventually I am sick of lentils and starving for human company.

Our cats have been doing their best to fill the void left by J and my dog Kobe. Maybe the effort is too much for them, as I wake up many mornings to find cat barf in unexpected places, which means I have to stuff comforters and blankets into our tiny communal washing machine and hope the finicky dryer will work.

Daisy likes to climb to the top of the wardrobe in our bedroom. One night, and then the next I hear her scratching up there and I begin to feel uneasy. I’m too short, even when standing on the bed or a chair, to reach the top of the wardrobe, so I climb up as high as I can get and snap a picture with my phone to get a better look. You don’t want to know.

I miss J, who is 10 inches taller than me.

I handle things. We are getting ready to purchase the Blue House and there are many details to attend to and snafus to rectify. I find myself juggling a lot of balls and worrying I will drop one. The car navigation cuts out one night when I am driving home from the city after midnight and I take a dark, circuitous route home. The house key mysteriously falls off the key-laden chain and I never find it. Luckily, I thought to keep an extra key accessible.

It could be worse. I remember a story my friend D told me about having to fish a big toad out of her swimming pool. She held her nose and did so while repeating the mantra, “I love being a strong, independent woman.”

A few months ago I had lunch with a group of women, all married like me. Two of them complained about couples who are “joined at the hip.” Then, one of them quietly spoke up. “My husband and I have quite a good time together,” she said. We make each other laugh.

And it’s true that that’s what I miss most of all.

After J’s father died, I texted many of the people with whom we have shared our lives, some of whom have recently experienced similar loss, and it felt comforting to be in touch with them.

J has been on a memory-filled odyssey in the US, seeing people and places that have been important to him and to us and mourning the people and the time gone bye.

It’s all so fucking bittersweet.

Amy Brown

wrote a profound piece about “the wilderness of solitude” and what it can teach you. I’m not sure I’ve learned much during my current period of aloneness and mourning, though it’s been a stark reminder that we will all be alone at some point, so it’s a good idea to brush up on those coping skills.

Mostly I’m reminded how comforting it is to have people, whether you live with them or not, who bear witness to your life.

What are your thoughts about being and living alone? Let’s have a conversation in the comments.

The Most Celebratory Thing I Cooked This Week (and ate the most days in a row)

The Blue House

After a stressful few days and a whirlwind of activity, I signed the deed for the Blue House, where we will move in a few months.

It’s a good thing I had leftovers of this concoction to heat up and eat with a celebratory glass of wine. It made me feel a little less lonely.

Olive Oil-Braised Carrots and Chickpeas, from

Rebekah Peppler

Le Sud

2 lbs (910 g) carrots, peeled and halved lengthwise

One 15-oz (430 g) can of chickpeas

1 small, thin skinned lemon thinly sliced and seeded

2/3 cup (160 ml) olive oil

1/3 cup (80 ml) dry white wine

3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

3 anchovy filets

2 T capers, rinsed and drained

3 springs fresh thyme

1 bay leaf

sea salt and pepper

optional pinch of red pepper

In a large Dutch oven or pot with a lid over medium heat, add the carrots, chickpeas, lemon slices, olive oil, wine, garlic, anchovies, capers, thyme, and bay leaf. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a simmer, stir, and then cover the pot and cook until carrots and chickpeas are very soft and tender (30-40 minutes), tossing halfway through cooking time. Let cool slightly, remove bay leaf and thyme sprigs. Serve warm or at room temperature.

I had this over couscous and spiced it up with some harissa.