I like to be alone,but my kind of alone looks like
I like to be alone… but my kind of alone looks a little different.
It’s the kind of peace you find on a quiet morning feeding cattle, watching your breath rise in the cool air while the sky turns pink over the pasture. The kind of alone that smells like hay and fresh coffee, not loneliness.
My alone is walking through the garden, picking what’s left to can — tomatoes, zucchini, carrots — the last bits of summer saved for winter. It’s filling jars, hearing those lids pop, and knowing I made it from scratch. That’s my version of self care.
It’s bottle calves bleating for breakfast, the dogs chasing after me, and the horses standing close enough to nudge my shoulder. It’s sewing when the day slows down, embroidery hoops scattered across the kitchen table, and the radio humming in the background.
My alone isn’t quiet because nothing’s happening — it’s quiet because everything that matters is here. The rhythm of simple living. The comfort of a handmade home. The joy of doing things the old-fashioned way.
This is my cozy, country kind of alone.
Canning, stitching, gardening, caring, creating — one peaceful day at a time. 🤎🐄🌾🪡
... Read moreIt's funny, before I discovered my current rhythm, I used to think that "being alone" automatically meant "loneliness." That's what society often tells us, right? We see those search queries like "humans are not meant to be alone," and they tap into a very real fear. But what I've learned on my little homestead is that there's a huge difference between being truly lonely and simply choosing solitude.
My "cozy, country kind of alone" isn't about isolating myself from the world. It’s about creating moments of deep connection with myself, my surroundings, and the simple tasks that bring me joy. If you're someone who often feels lonely, or even just a bit adrift, I truly believe you can find your own version of this peace, no matter where you live.
One thing I've realized is that solitude often blooms in the doing. For me, that’s tending to my garden, watching those tomatoes ripen, or getting my hands dirty with canning the summer's bounty. The satisfaction of seeing jars lined up, knowing I created something wholesome from scratch, is incredibly grounding. You don't need a sprawling farm to experience this! Maybe it's a window box herb garden, or learning a new craft like knitting or embroidery. The quiet focus on a tangible task can be a powerful antidote to feeling adrift.
It's also about tuning into the rhythms around you. Even without cattle to feed or horses to greet, there are small moments. A quiet morning with a cup of coffee, watching the sunrise from your porch, or taking a mindful walk in a local park. These aren't just empty moments; they're opportunities to breathe, to observe, and to reconnect with your inner self. Think about the joy of nurturing, whether it's a houseplant, a pet, or even just your own well-being. That gentle care can fill the "aloneness" with purpose.
And what about those times when genuine loneliness creeps in? It happens to all of us. My advice is to acknowledge it without judgment. Sometimes, it’s a signal that you need to reach out, even for a brief chat with a friend. Other times, it's a call to dive deeper into your creative outlets. Put on some music, pick up that sewing project, or try that new recipe. The key is to transform passive "being alone" into active "choosing solitude." It's about finding your unique blend of simple pleasures and purposeful activities that make your solo time feel rich, not empty. Don't let the idea of "loneliness" overshadow the immense comfort and strength you can find in embracing your own company.
Glad this popped up on my feed. I’ve been diagnosed with cancer and will eventually have a lot of time on my hands. You have inspired me to make the most of those days!!!!! 🔥❤️
Glad this popped up on my feed. I’ve been diagnosed with cancer and will eventually have a lot of time on my hands. You have inspired me to make the most of those days!!!!! 🔥❤️