Mia Lasic-Ellis

The other day I was checking out this concert I wanted to go to and clicked “view tickets.” Simple enough, right? Wrong. It only allowed me to pick two or more tickets—apparently, going alone wasn’t an option. Not that I was planning to, but still. Similarly, this past summer, I wanted to take myself out to lunch, but the restaurant only allowed “tables for two or more during peak hours.” And then there was the Airbnb I tried to book titled, “Cozy cottage for two.” Like, I’m sorry—since when did being in a relationship become a requirement for participating in society?

Maybe it’s because I’m getting older and starting to navigate the so-called “adult” world, but there’s this unspoken rule baked into everything: two is the default, one is an error message. A single supplement. A table too small to reserve.

It’s not just logistics—it’s social, too. I don’t know if this is universal or if I just happen to have an abundance of friends in relationships, but I’m constantly third wheeling. So many of my friends ask me for advice about their boyfriends or girlfriends—which I’ll gladly give because I love them—but it gets old. It gets old when lunch turns into couples therapy, when every conversation loops back to someone’s boyfriend, when every group plan somehow becomes a double date.

Even phone calls to hometown friends have turned into relationship status updates. I’ll ask, “How’s your semester?” and before I can even sip my coffee, I’m getting the latest play-by-play in someone’s “long-term, long-distance, high-commitment” love story. I want to hear about their classes, their new friends or a funny professor story. But instead, I get a recap of last night’s FaceTime fight.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-love. Who doesn’t want to be adored? If you’re reading this and you’re in a relationship, don’t build a wall and become defensive to what I’m saying. I just want to question why being single feels so stigmatized. And why so many people my age feel pressured to cling to something, anything, just to avoid being alone. Being single doesn’t mean you’re not dating; it means you get to date. To test the waters, meet new people and figure out what you actually want (or don’t want) without owing anyone an explanation.

Technology has a huge role in the reasons why our generation is leaning toward long distance. FaceTime, texting and location sharing can mimic in-person relationships. But with that comes obsession: stalking locations, overanalyzing why he hasn’t texted back, seeing him “active now” while your message sits unread. We’ve traded the messy unknowns of in-person dating for the constant anxiety of the digital kind. There is also another layer of physical intimacy. Technology can’t replicate physical touch—something that is unbelievably vital for human connection and wellbeing. No number of FaceTimes, heart emojis or phone calls can replace the grounding feeling of your heart pressed up against theirs.

Sometimes I wonder if our generation is terrified of intimacy—not with others but with ourselves. Maybe we choose long distance because it’s safer: You don’t have to go on awkward first dates if you’re still “with” your high school boyfriend. You don’t have to sit in silence and actually feel lonely if you can just call him instead. It’s as if we’ve developed an allergy to our own solitude. But why?

I’m not here to bash long-distance couples. Truly. I think it can be done in a healthy and productive way. All I’m asking is that you consider your relationship with yourself and if you are prioritizing it. If you have the foundations of loving yourself first, go love whoever you want wherever they are.

To wrap this up and make this more lighthearted, let’s uplift those that are flying solo this winter. In retrospect, they are kind of winning—they can choose the TV show, hog the bed and are always on “do not disturb.”

So yes, I’m single. Not tragically, not pitifully, just single. And maybe that’s something to celebrate, not fix. And since people ask me, “So, have you started dating anyone yet?” expect me to start asking them “So, when do you plan to be single next?” Just as a little reminder that single life has its own perks.

Until then, I’ll be booking a table for one and leaving the second chair empty on purpose.

Lily Mott is a member of the Class of 2028.