I said, "If you don't come any closer I don't mind if you stay"

For me, opting to get a studio apartment when I moved to Boston seemed like a no-brainer decision. For one thing, no one I knew lived here, and as much as I loved the prospect of spinning the Craigslist lottery wheel and hoping that it didn't come up "rapist," I wasn't keen on the idea of having a stranger-roommate combo. The second major factor was moving. I'm sick of boxing up all of my possessions every 364 days. If I lived alone, I wouldn't be subject to a roomie's moving whims, and would automatically have the opportunity to (dare I dream it?) stay in one location for more than a year if I so choose.

The decision was so automatic and [weirdly enough, given that I was long-distance real-estate shopping] so painless, that I didn't stop to consider the fact that by living alone, I've entered into a whole new sociocultural group, complete with stereotypes.

For example: in 2007, a medical research organization decided that "living alone" was an alarming enough condition that they conducted a study for the purpose of discovering whether a middle-aged person, living alone, would die sooner than average. (Fortunately for my gender, only the men fulfilled the early mortality prophesy. In fact, single-living women were not only less likely to die, but also less likely to be obese or hypertensive.) Of course, the fact that this study occurred in the first place is telling. The researchers began their report by explaining that choosing to live alone, "especially in urban areas," is "considered a psychological risk factor" associated with "social isolation" and "emotional loneliness," and thus worth studying for its life-and-more-likely-death implications.

Thanks a lot, science.

To be fair, I've been in my apartment for less than a month, so my eyes are potentially still too fresh and rose-colored to judge. There's ample time for me to fall into various and sundry stereotypes, Thoreau-ian and Unabomer-ish alike. Yet I'm already feeling a little defensive on behalf of my kin. Thus far, I really like living alone. I like that the mail is always for me. I like not having to quarantine my food to "my half" of the cabinets and refrigerator. While I'm not keen on taking the full hit on the utility bills, I'm comforted in knowing that I am personally responsible for every cent of electricity that I'm obliged to pay for. (Is this what it felt like to be an only child?)

As for feeling "socially isolated" or "emotionally alone," I have yet to feel either -- partially due to the fact that I'm contractually obliged to converse at length with my grad school classmates on a regular basis; partially due to the fact that I am, after all, making friends; and partially due to the fact that Skype keeps people even 1,000 miles distant from forgetting what I look like. Having had several roommates over the years, I'm loath to accept that having another person proximal to my bedroom would somehow increase my chances of Being an Objectively Successful Human over the next few years.

...
On the other hand, you should probably come talk to me again after I find the first spider or cockroach in my apartment. Without a roomie to kill it, there's at least at 45% chance that I'll surrender territory and take up residence in the hallway.