Inquisitive.me

“Who did you run the marathon with?”

“Ehm…what?”

“Did you run it alone?”

“Ehm, yes?”

“Why wasn’t your family there cheering for you?”

Well, my mom was taking care of Leto so that I could run for five hours and be nearly dead afterward. I would consider that supportive.

This was basically the conversation I had with numerous people after finishing my marathon.

Almost everyone seemed surprised that I didn’t have somebody with me. Someone running beside me. Someone waiting at the finish line. Someone standing along the course with a sign and a cowbell.

Otherwise, apparently, how could I possibly do it?

But I can do things on my own.

I don’t always need a fan club for every activity—or every weird and potentially stupid thing—I decide to do with my life.

I know that feels unusual in the age of social media. We are constantly shown people achieving things while their families cheer from the sidelines, their friends hold handmade signs, and somebody records the emotional finish-line hug.

And that can be wonderful.

But I don’t need it.

I wasn’t always like that.

Until my early twenties, I usually needed someone to do things with me. I was afraid of going somewhere alone, which often resulted in me sitting at home playing video games because nobody had asked me to do anything cool.

At some point in my late twenties, I realized something:

I don’t need someone else to do cool things with me.

I can go on my own.

I can enjoy an experience without sharing it with someone. I can try something new without bringing a familiar person along. I can cross a finish line without knowing anybody in the crowd.

That realization changed quite a lot.

I was probably one of the few people whose everyday life was barely affected by the social side of the COVID lockdowns. I didn’t mind staying at home. I didn’t suddenly deep-clean my apartment. I didn’t develop a new sourdough-based personality.

For me, surprisingly little changed.

Okay, one thing changed: I couldn’t go for a run without my conscience reminding me that this would be a particularly stupid time to injure myself and turn up at an overloaded hospital with a preventable running injury.

But socially?

For the first time in my life, staying home and reading a book was considered responsible behavior.

I didn’t have to attend social gatherings. I didn’t have to invent excuses for not wanting to attend social gatherings. There simply were no social gatherings.

Doing things alone wasn’t weird anymore.

It was actively encouraged.

And I was very well prepared.

If I still weren’t comfortable doing things on my own, I would have missed many of the best experiences of my life.

I wouldn’t have run two half-marathons.

I wouldn’t have run a marathon.

I wouldn’t have seen amazing places or climbed really cool mountains.

I wouldn’t have learned paragliding and continued doing it for several years—which was a fucking amazing experience.

I wouldn’t have become good at skiing and snowboarding. I signed up for a ski instructor course by myself because nobody else wanted to do it with me.

Fine.

I would meet new people there.

I moved to different cities and villages without already knowing many people. And every time, someone asked whether I was moving because I had a partner there.

No.

I moved there because I love mountains, Karen—not because some guy told me to relocate 500 kilometres in his direction.

Now I’m planning to build a house by myself.

I don’t know whether it will work.

If it does, cool.

If it doesn’t, I’ll figure something out.

And again, people ask whether I have a partner.

Why the hell do I always need a partner by my side to do something big?

At some point, I stopped waiting for other people to join me.

Not because I don’t value other people. Not because support doesn’t matter. And not because every experience is better alone.

But because waiting would make my life much smaller.

I am perfectly happy doing things by myself. I don’t need somebody beside me for every adventure. I don’t need a cheering crowd at every finish line. I don’t need to post everything on social media to prove that it happened.

Sometimes, I can simply experience something.

Quietly.

For myself.

And I think that has become surprisingly rare.

Doing something alone can feel uncomfortable at first. You might feel awkward. You might wonder whether everybody is looking at you.

Most of them aren’t.

And once you stop waiting for your best friend to have time, your family to come along, or someone to stand on the sidelines and cheer, your world becomes much bigger.

You don’t need a fan club.

You need enough courage to begin without one.

You will probably meet people along the way. Some will stay. Some won’t.

Either way, you’ll have one hell of an experience.

🧪 Let’s Experiment

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Waiting for company can quietly make your life smaller.

Choose one solo mission for the next few weeks.

Something you genuinely want to do—not an activity selected purely because it sounds like respectable personal growth.

🎯 Try This:

Choose one thing you would usually wait for someone else to do with you.

Go for coffee.

Visit a museum.

See a movie.

Take yourself on a small day trip.

Do it alone.

Then, once that feels normal, choose something a little bigger. Not because doing things alone is always better, but because your life shouldn’t depend on somebody else being available.

🧠 Final Thought:

A fan club can be wonderful. But it shouldn’t be a requirement for beginning.

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