Single and thriving: Why being alone doesn’t mean being lonely

I’ve loved before—deeply, always with stars in my eyes, dreaming of a fulfilling, fun life together. Multiple relationships, each a chapter I entered with intention. But every time, I chose to walk away—not out of bitterness, but clarity. I saw how they wanted to reshape my core: my outgoing spark, my kindness that trusts too easily, the way I offer help without a second thought, the place friendships hold in my life—bits that make me me. They weren’t wrong to want what they did; I just couldn’t bend that far to fit their moulds. Still can’t, won’t ever. There’s no grudge between us—in fact, some remain good friends. And I’m not closed off—I’m brimming with love, spilling it over to the world, my family, my friends.

What’s changed? I’m not hunting for “the one.” It’s not a goal on my checklist, and I don’t lie awake fearing there’ll be no one to hold my hand when my hair turns grey or my knees creak. That’s a flimsy reason to settle, isn’t it? It’s often the argument—“Who’ll take care of you?”—but I’ve never seen a partner as an insurance policy for old age. I’ve loved enough to know it’s not the only song worth singing. Now, my days hum with work I adore, friends who light me up, and the small, stubborn joy of a solo coffee run, a refreshing bike ride, an impromptu trip to the hills. Lonely? Barely. Desperate? Never.

Svetlana Naudiyal, 39, Programming Director, APAC at MUBI, shares a similar clarity. “After some meaningful experiences, I began to enjoy singlehood even more in my 30s,” she told me. “With age comes confidence and wisdom. Your priorities become clearer.” On the inevitable shaadi chatter, she’s unfazed: “Depends on who’s saying it… If the tone or intent bothers me, I stop talking to them! Haha! With others, I might turn it around and say, ‘Cool, so who exactly should I meet or marry?’” She, like me, dismisses old-age fears: “Your partner could die before you… Making someone a guarantee for your old age is a strange and unfair expectation.” Svetlana also challenges the loneliness myth: “Anybody could be lonely irrespective of their relationship status… I’ve built a beautiful life for myself. I live with a lot of love. I’m open to meeting someone but I’m not on a quest. Romantic love has to feel like a bonus, not a fix.” When asked what drives her, she said, “I have a job I love… There’s a joy in living life with a quiet momentum,” but not before rightly pointing out, “The question seems to suggest that being in a relationship or having children is what drives most people, and if that’s true, that’s a bit sad, honestly. That makes for a very limited view of life.”

This isn’t just our story—it’s a quiet chorus growing louder across India and beyond. Take Anjali (name changed), 34, from Mumbai, whom I met at a friend’s dinner. She grew up in a home splintered by shouts and silences—abuse that left scars she’s still tracing with careful fingers. “I could’ve repeated it,” she told me, her voice low but firm, “picked a partner to mirror that chaos.” Instead, she chose herself, committed to the work. Therapy’s her compass now, guiding her through the tangle of triggers and old wounds. She’s not ready—not yet—and she doesn’t apologise for it. “I’m healing so I can be whole,” she said, clinking her glass of white wine. “Single” isn’t her wound; it’s her workbench, a space to mend and grow. She’s not running from love—she’s just not rushing towards it either.

Then there’s Meera (name changed), 41, my teacher, mentor, and friend, who lives in Delhi—a 40-something with a personality that could power a thousand suns. She let go of a love that still lingers in her bones, a man whose political flags waved one way while hers fluttered another. “I miss him,” she admitted during our last conversation a few months ago, “but I don’t need him.” She’s found bigger fires to tend: mentoring students, healing others, building a life that hums with purpose. “Lonely?” she chuckled when I asked. “I’ve got too much to do.” Her single life isn’t a loss—it’s a canvas, wide and vivid.

Being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. (Source: Freepik)

Photographer Aditya Mendiratta, 38, echoes this from a different lens. “I’ve had my share of relationships,” he told me in a recent chat, “but I’ve had a fair amount of time being single too.” For him, the shift came when he realized some romances overstayed their welcome. “I lasted longer in some of them than I should have,” he said, reflecting on what held him back. “It was probably just the fear of being lonely that society constantly instills in you—the same fear that keeps people in toxic marriages.” That clicked for him: “It became important to find happiness my own way, to get into a relationship only when I want to multiply this, welcome someone in—not out of fear of aging or being alone.” The shaadi chatter? “Non-stop pressure,” he laughed. “Some days I ignore it; some days it gets to you, especially with life’s stress. But I’m strong-headed—no matter what anyone pushes, I’ll only make choices I feel are right. If I let opinions confuse me, my individuality wouldn’t exist as it does.” Now, his lens captures more than frames—it’s a life he’s shaped, single and steady.

This shift isn’t just some hunch—the numbers prove it too. A 2019 Morgan Stanley report predicted that by 2030, 45 per cent of women in the United States of America, aged 25-44—those prime hustle years—will be single and kid-free, up from 41 per cent in 2018. India-specific data is harder to pin down, but the 2011 Census already showed over 10 million single-person households, a number swelling as urbanisation and education reshape our choices. For men, the picture’s murkier—global trends suggest a parallel rise, with U.S. stats showing 63 per cent of men aged 18-29 single in 2022, dropping to 25 per cent by 30-49. In India, cultural pressures might keep men’s numbers lower, but the trend whispers here too: more of us, men and women, are pausing before the altar—or skipping it entirely.

Why? There’s no single answer. For me, it’s about preserving my core, not moulding it to someone else’s blueprint. For others, like Anjali, it’s healing from a past that taught them to guard their peace. For Meera, it’s chasing a calling bigger than a shared surname. For Aditya, it’s shedding fear to live true. For Svetlana, it’s the wisdom of age, the clarity of priorities, and the joy of a life built with love—partnered or not. Across the board, it’s a choice—fuelled by education, careers, and a world that’s cracked open wider than our parents knew. Apps buzz with profiles, but there’s a growing tribe—me included—saying, “Not yet, or maybe not ever.” It’s not rejection; it’s redefinition.

The data backs this quiet revolution. Studies—like one from the American Psychological Association—hint that single, childless women often report higher life satisfaction than their married peers with kids. It’s not universal, but it’s real. Men’s happiness, oddly, dips more in singledom—perhaps because society still hands them a narrower script: provide, pair up, procreate. For us all, though, the why isn’t just numbers—it’s a shift in what we chase: not a spouse as a finish line, but a life that fits.

So when the question comes—“Kab karoge?”—I smile now, not flinch. “I’m good, just as I am,” I say, and mean it. Because thriving alone isn’t a consolation prize—it’s a choice, a pulse, a love story all its own. It’s me, sipping coffee in the morning sun. It’s Anjali, piecing herself back together. It’s Meera, lighting paths for others. It’s Aditya, framing his world. It’s Svetlana, living with quiet momentum. It’s millions of us, single and humming, rewriting what enough looks like—one brave, happy, content, beautiful day at a time.

Mind the Heart attempts to uncover the unspoken in our relationships—or the over-discussed, without nuance—spanning solo paths, family bonds, and romantic hopes. Join us to discover the whys of our ties.