Why Do I Have No Social Life? (And Does Everyone Else Really Have One?)

Why do I have no social life, while everyone else seems to have a vibrant one? Living with strangers made me realize that what we assume about other people’s social lives might not be true at all. 

So, you know what's interesting?

Housemates.

And I don’t mean family members or people you already know well.
No — I mean complete strangers.

And why is that interesting?

Because it gives you a glimpse into someone else’s social life, up close.

And why is that interesting?

Because for a long time, I thought my own social life was… lacking. 
I always assumed that other people were constantly going to parties — and if not that, then going out late into the night, living these vibrant, buzzing social lives.

As for me, I’m home a lot.
And when you have a housemate, you start to notice how often they are home too. 
Or… not home, possibly off to some spectacular party or other dazzling social event. 

(I’m so far removed from that world by now that I don’t even have the vocabulary for it anymore. I wouldn’t know what to call these things, or even what kinds of things exist.)

I’ve been a single mother most of my life. 
Especially in the early years, I didn’t have much money. No money for babysitters meant no going out. And so I came to think of myself as someone who had ended up in a kind of social isolation.

Over the years, staying home just became normal. 
By the time my daughter was a teenager, I could have gone out more. But by then, I wasn’t that interested anymore. I probably preferred staying in, watching TV. And besides — where would I even have gone? And with whom?

Not long after my daughter moved out, I started renting out her room. The house felt too quiet, and I wasn’t really using the space anyway. At first, I mostly rented the room to international students who were far from home. It didn’t surprise me that they weren’t exactly out every night, partying until dawn. But then, for three years, I had an Italian man in his mid-thirties living there. He was from southern Italy and had been living in Lille before moving in. For him, this was his chance to live in Amsterdam.

I asked him why he wanted that so badly. “Because of the free-spirited people and the open-mindedness,” he said, somewhat vaguely. I remember thinking: he must be gay. And I also assumed that meant he’d be out every weekend, staying out late — or even until morning.

Nope.

He had a very strict routine.
Every morning — without exception — he’d leave the house around eight. He’d jog to the park, do his exercises there (push-ups, sit-ups, the whole thing — he had a very well-trained body), then jog back home, take a shower, and leave for work at ten. Around nine in the evening, he’d be back.

On weekends, he’d go to the supermarket on the corner.
And that was it.

The rest of the time, he stayed inside.
Curtains closed.

After he left, a Sicilian student moved in.
She stayed in all weekend too. Curtains closed.

Then came a Spanish dog groomer.
Same thing. Weekends: inside. Curtains closed.

After her, a Dutch student.
He did go out on weekends — but he was always in bed by ten.

So… vibrant social lives?
Not exactly what stood out about my housemates. What did stand out was how regular their lives were. You could practically set your watch by them.

And yet…

All those Facebook profiles I’d been seeing for years — full of photos of lively barbecues, wild house parties, beach gatherings, cocktail nights, groups of people laughing together…

Those images that always made me feel like some kind of social misfit…
That made me feel excluded from the life you’re supposed to be living…
Where do those photos come from, then? 

If everyone is just sitting at home, curtains closed, in bed before ten?

I have no idea.

But what I do know now is this: I wasn’t nearly as socially inadequate as I always thought I was, scrolling through those profiles.
My life wasn’t one long cocktail party.
But I did have friends. I went out sometimes — to museums, to the cinema, to the theatre. Often with my daughter.
And it was actually… quite nice.

And that Italian guy? 

Not gay.

A junkie.

After he left, I found a burnt teaspoon in one of the drawers. And every now and then, I’d noticed a strange smell coming from his room — something I couldn’t quite place at the time.

Does any of this feel familiar? Have you ever felt like this too? Have you ever looked at other people’s lives and wondered if you were the odd one out? Or had a moment where you realized things might not be quite what they seem?

If you recognize yourself in any of this, I’d genuinely love to hear your story. And if this resonated with you, feel free to share it with someone who might recognize themselves in it too.

Photo: Abstral Official