Is starting to live alone a sign of maturity?

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Leviathan Press:

In the movie The End of the Tour (2015), during a conversation with a Rolling Stone reporter, writer David Foster Wallace said something that left a deep impression on me: "... when I want to be alone, like when I'm writing, I really need to be alone. No matter what it is, once you put all your heart into it, one of the side effects is that you become very, very self-conscious, and you end up using other people, keeping them around when you want them to be with you, and sending them away when you don't. " Wallace's self-reflection led him to this kind of self-blame, which was both painful and full of contradictions: on the one hand, as a writer, that strong sense of self was of course extremely important; on the other hand, he felt that he had no right to keep others around for his own selfish interests (the so-called "come when you want them, send when you want them to."

Wallace's identity as a writer may be special, but I think most people can relate to this confusion. Some people who choose to live alone may really realize that they cannot share a life with others: he/she cherishes self-awareness, but does not want to see others make concessions and sacrifices for themselves. Of course, there are also many people who live alone because they have no choice: they regard it as a transitional period before entering marriage.

Recently, someone I’m close to confessed that he was embarrassed to be living with roommates in his early 30s. I assured him that this feeling was ridiculous, but considering that I also lived with two friends, I understood his feelings; I knew that the same social clock was ticking, and I was just a little younger.

I wasn't under pressure to find a spouse or start a family - my social circle was full of singles, and the prospect of homeownership seemed ridiculous; I couldn't even keep a spider plant alive, let alone a child. But I did see more and more people my age renting their own apartments. So I searched online for "single apartments," hesitated when I saw the prices, and closed the page.

Throughout the 20th century, it became increasingly common for Americans to live alone. In 1940 , only about 8% of Americans lived alone; by 2020, that number had soared to nearly 28%[1]. The trend is growing fastest among young people. Between 1950 and 2010, the number of people aged 18 to 34 who lived alone increased tenfold[2]—from 500,000 to 5 million (although it fell slightly from 2010 to 2020[3]).

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The researchers I spoke with seemed to agree that there’s a reason: People are marrying later and later. Today, the median age of first marriage for women is nearly 29; for men, it’s 30. It’s not uncommon to have a decade or so between high school and marriage, during which time one can develop a career and have a bank account. And, as New York University sociologist Eric Klinenberg notes in his book Going Solo, many people, especially young professionals in urban centers, have come to view living alone as “a rite of passage and a reward for success.”

Yet it’s an odd choice as far as rites of passage go. While some people live alone their entire adult lives, for the vast majority this arrangement is just a brief transition before starting a family. It may feel like an accomplishment because it teaches you independence, but it doesn’t reveal the complex intimacy inherent in adulthood. And the value that American society places on it shows how confused we are about what it really means to grow up.

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Historically, living alone in the United States was uncommon—especially for women. Steven Mintz, a professor at the University of Texas at Austin and author of The Prime of Life: A History of Modern Adulthood, told me that women in the colonial period “couldn’t really survive” without getting married. By the late 19th century, more people were still single, but they often lived with extended family or in boarding houses because they couldn’t support themselves. Men also had a hard time living on their own and didn’t know how to support a family.

Even during much of the 20th century, people tended to spend very little, if any, time between living with their parents and living with their spouse.

But now, living alone has quietly become normalized. Children are more likely to have their own bedrooms. More college students are living in their own rooms, Mintz said. In adulthood, the idea remains widespread, even among those who can’t afford rent. Virginia Thomas, a psychologist at Middlebury College who studies loneliness and the transition to adulthood, told me that when she asks her students what makes someone an adult, “at the top of their list is always financial independence and self-sufficiency.”

They see their early 20s as a time to live with friends and imagine having spouses and children of their own years later. But before they settle down, “they want to more fully experience adult life, and living alone reflects that.”

Unfortunately, this association can be misleading.

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To be fair, there are many benefits to living alone. For one, many young people find satisfaction in knowing they can take care of rent, utilities, and fix leaks all by themselves, Jeffrey Jensen Arnett, a psychologist at Clark University, told me. To some extent, autonomy can lead to emotional maturity, Thomas said. Not only do you develop hardcore skills, you also develop the confidence to believe you have learned them.

You may become accustomed to spending time by yourself, which is a good way to avoid codependency because you won’t be seeking out a partner just to fill your void. Also, you won’t be alone all the time: Klingberg found[4] that young people who live alone tend to be busy participating in the outside world. But this arrangement does allow you to plan your social life, choosing when to be alone, when to have people over, and when to go out; you’re in control.

This is a deeply ingrained American value. Living alone has become common in other countries, too, even in cultures we might think of as more collectivist. But in the United States, the trend fits into a long tradition of individualism. Older Americans, for example, tend to value “closeness at a distance”—they don’t want to be too far away from their loved ones, but they don’t want to live with them either,[5] Susan Brown, director of the Center for Family and Population Studies at Ohio State University, told me.

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Now, young people seem to want that kind of life, too: controlled connections, love that doesn’t infringe on their freedom, social activities that fit into their schedules. It’s basically the opposite of a shared apartment, which is often chaotic and frustrating, even if it can seem great sometimes.

Living alone doesn’t prepare you for what you’ll often face in the future. People who move back in with others after a few years on their own (perhaps especially those who eventually start a family) may need to relearn some hard lessons. You need to be flexible, work with others, and be okay with things not going your way—skills you gain from living in a household. “You can’t furnish your room any way you want,” Arnett told me, “and you can’t spend your money any way you want.”

We don’t always equate growth with self-sufficiency. Most people are used to growing with their spouse. Mintz told me that people now tend to view marriage less as a step toward adulthood and more as the pinnacle of adulthood. Of course, you don’t need a romantic partner to find your identity. But we shouldn’t assume we can do all this growth alone. Discovering what you care about, getting to know other people and the world, trying and learning from your mistakes—all of this growth is easier with the perspective and support of others.

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Ultimately, your career may benefit from early independence; indeed, young people are the group most likely to move between geographic locations, often in search of work. But it’s likely to be a frustrating kind of freedom.

Mintz points to the 1950s sociologist Talcott Parsons, who idealized the nuclear family as a “productive unit” that allowed people to move around in search of work without having to bring their entire extended family with them. Young singles, who don’t have to consider roommates or cohabiting partners, may be a more isolated version of Parsons’s “productive unit.” “Without any ties or obligations, you are free to adapt to the market,” Mintz says. “Everyone around you is an interchangeable part. Wherever you go, you find friends who, in some ways, replace the ones you left behind.”

Whereas adulthood was once marked by parenthood, it is now marked by economic participation, Satya Doyle Byock, a psychotherapist and author of Quarterlife: The Search for Self in Early Adulthood, told me. In this new paradigm, living alone is seen as a sign of success. But owning your own place doesn’t actually mean much unless you can pay the (potentially high) rent—or your parents can. In many cases, it’s a sign of wealth, not maturity.

Still, Brown told me, as people marry later and in smaller numbers, the number of Americans living alone will likely continue to grow. Hopefully, our accepted pathways into adulthood will grow, too. Growing up, after all, is about becoming a certain person, functioning in a certain community, shaping others and being shaped by others as you go. Living alone can be part of that process, but a 401(k) or a promotion or even a coveted one-bedroom apartment shouldn’t be confused with maturity itself.

Maybe in the future, when Thomas asks her students what makes someone an adult, she won’t get a consensus at all — she’ll get a debate.

By Faith Hill

Translated by tim

Proofreading/tamiya2

Original article/www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2024/01/living-alone-adulthood-growing-up/677235/

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