How to get started with offline living when you have no friends, a dysfunctional family, and live in an antisocial city

Answering a reader's question

Feb 27, 2024

Hi there,

I recently got an email from a reader asking for tips on how to get started with offline living when you have no friends, a dysfunctional family, and live in an antisocial city. Well, gather around children.

One thing to share:

Hi Mehret!

I love your newsletters, but it pains me to admit that most of the tips apply if you already have a strong group of old friends who keep in touch, and a family that is mostly not deeply dysfunctional (I would love it to be just in terms of Normal, tolerable levels of dysfunction, but unfortunately it is not). Any tips for getting started being more offline when you're already very isolated, and in an overall pretty antisocial city (Singapore)? There's a reason many of us turn to the Online for escape!

First of, apologies if most of what I have been sharing here applies to those who already have a strong group of friends and family that is mostly not deeply dysfunctional.

I don’t know when such things happened to me.

When I became someone with a strong group of friends and a family with a tolerable level of dysfunction. It is an important distinction to make, tolerable levels of dysfunction, a reasonable request for the heavens, and worthy of daily gratitude if you managed to have it. Perfect families only exist on Instagram— Anyone can act normal and functioning for a photo, but if you know of any IRL, if they exist, please ask them how they manage such miracle and share.

I also live in a very antisocial city, voted the loneliest city in the country. When that one time she looked at me funny because I said I love the city and remarked, “Toronto lacks bass!” I cackled with delight and knew immediately I wanted us to be friends forever: She was so concise, so accurate.

Despite such lack, I make it work. It is the only home I have ever known.

A little over a year ago…

I had to abruptly move back to Toronto after I could no longer fathom another night spent staring at the screens to numb the pain of having to endure an ill-fitting life, after I could no longer pacify the rage. I had no job, I had to move back in with my parents— I wouldn’t wish this feeling upon my worst enemy, and only a couple of friends remained in the city. I was grieving, isolated, and extremely lonely; it was rock bottom. I had every excuse, reason, justification to turn to the internet to numb the pain; to ignore how alone, miserable, pathetic I felt during those endlessly dark times in my life. But I didn’t. In fact, I was so grateful to be off social media, to be away from the noise, away from the avatars, to tune out the world and to pay attention to my life and make sense of the pain, loss, and fear that completely consumed me. Instead of running away, scrolling away my misery, I got curious. I wanted to find out, if I were to pay attention, if I were to show up to my life, day after day, bit by bit, would it change anything? I don’t have any advice to give, of course, only stories to tell of how I achieved a deliciously fulfilling life mostly spent offline, starting from rock bottom.

1. Find something you do on consistent basis that gets you out and around people

In 2017, around the same time as I quit social media, I went on Google and found a fitness studio that offered a free monthly membership in exchange for volunteering four hours a week at the studio. As a poor college student without social media and looking for a better way to waste my free time, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to try something new. That’s how I got introduced to the world of group fitness and I have not looked back ever since. A fitness instructor once told me, “You either learn to love the pain or love the result,” and sometimes in my post-workout, sweat-drenched, endorphins-induced haze, I look in the mirror and wonder if one can learn to love both.

Years later, the first thing I did after finding myself back in Toronto was to go on Google and find a fitness studio that suited my preferences: The internet is an excellent tool for offline living. After scrolling, tapping, clicking, I was able to find one that checked off all my preferences and I signed up for their trial membership option. It was grueling at first, to endure a new space, new pace, new faces. I didn’t go to the first three classes I signed up for because I was too sad, and too tired of being too sad, and too afraid of the unknown and too sad that I’m yet again left with the unknown to find the courage and energy to go. But the other option terrified me. I knew exactly what awaited me if I stayed home; comfortably and miserably scrolling my life away on the internet— isolated, alone, miserable.

I still clearly remember the first class I managed to attend and the instructor who led it because one, I almost turned around and went home after peeking inside and feeling nauseated by the newness of it all, and two, I still go to that class to this day and have cultivated a wonderful connection with the instructor that I look forward to most Mondays and Sundays. This happened overtime. Over time, I have also cultivated wonderful connections with other studio members and instructors that I seriously adore: It’s not deep, it’s not personal, and it rarely leaves the studio, but it’s a necessity to the human experience to have people you see on consistent basis, committed to similar ideals, values, and goals, and get to shoot the shit with on a regular basis, or event just smile/nod at in acknowledgement— I know you, I see you around. The studio is my most cherished third space; home away from home, my sacred space. The classes also force me to be completely offline for a couple of hours between commute and the class: My phone is a dumb tool.

More: Reality scales

2. Do things solo (Or, how to show up for delight)

After finding the fitness studio, and encouraged by how much I was enjoying having something to do that got me out of the house and away from the internet, the next thing I did was go on Meetup.com and look for groups I can join to connect with people: The internet is a great tool for offline living. The first meetup I went to was brunch at a fancy spot in the city and mind you, I was unemployed, living with my parents, and navigating grief with rage up to my eyeballs, and the last thing I wanted to do was get dressed and go somewhere new alone to mingle with people I have never met before. To add insult to the injury, I was nursing a raging hangover from the night before. I felt miserable but I gave myself no choice. The thought of turning to the internet to escape my misery made me feel way worse.

I still vividly remember it was a crisp autumn Sunday morning. The air felt soothing on my face as I waited for the streetcar and felt a sense of glee taking in all the hustle and bustle of the city; the people, the cars, life going every which way. I thought, oh, how lucky I am to have made it back intact! If I had stayed home that Sunday, scrolling, tapping, reading what the avatars were up to, I wouldn’t have reality to pay attention to and receive this life-affirming feeling. The brunch ended up being okay but I connected with the organizer and I have attended amazing events with the group. This coming weekend, I’m going to watch a stage play with the group that I am really looking forward to.

Committing to doing stuff alone is also how I ended up finding the book club that is now a staple part of my monthly delights. Last year February— by then, I have found a job, a place, consistently showing up for my after-work workout classes, but still feeling isolated and craving more IRL connection— I went on Google and found a book club meetup that meets monthly and RSVP’d for that month’s book. The book was Homegoing and I devoured it happily during my commute and before bed, anticipating the book club discussions, hoping it will be just as marvelous as the words that kept me company. That ordinary Tuesday in February, rushing from my 9 to 5 to my workout class, and then to the book club meetup to discuss Homegoing, I met Annie: A stranger then, a total delight now: A staple part of my life. I also read some of my absolute favourite books from last year with the book club: The Dry, The Forty Rules of Love, The Nightingale, Run Towards the Danger, and I'm Glad My Mom Died: Delight, delight, delight!!!!

Doing stuff alone also makes your life more interesting and when you connect with people you have interesting things to share that makes your interactions stimulating and enjoyable. No good story ever starts with, “So I was scrolling on Reddit last night and…” It doesn’t work like that. If you leave your house often and make yourself available to miracles, you are bound to stumble upon stranger things waiting to be noticed all around you. I have interesting stories to tell for days just because I leave my house often and deal with reality with wonder and marvel: It is a wonderfully amusing world out there. And when you are someone who does things all the time, (alone or otherwise) when you meet people, you can just invite them to join you on your joyful explorations. Everyone likes getting invited to an already happening plan— Nothing kills the mood like “Let’s hangout sometime!” Ughhhhhhh. It just doesn’t work like that.

More: Showing up for delight

3. Go on a self-recovery journey

All addiction is escapism. Why do you hate yourself so much? I read a lot of good books last year and bell hook’s Sisters Of The Yam was amongst them. hooks gave me two concepts I held onto for dear life as I trudged through all the loss, grief, rage, and all-consuming sadness during that time: Living in community and self-recovery. In simplest terms, self-recovery is the journey of honestly, but gently, confronting the ills that prevent healing in your life.

By then, around May of last year, I was keeping a busy schedule, most of my days spent out and about, indulging in strolling through the city, barely remembering the internet existed and feeling grateful to be amongst a sea of strangers, amongst friends searching for delight, and one day it dawned on me this search for offline delight has also become another form of escape, another plea to get away from myself— less pathetic than scrolling, but still just as dangerous. I couldn’t be left alone, and if I were left alone, I simply could not be left alone. And so that early morning in April, tucked away in the corner of my apartment reading Sisters Of The Yam, with no internet, no devices to distract me from the truth, lost in that blissful early morning silence, I understood when Audre Lorde spoke of the brave, bruised girlchild; a victim of generations of victims— A collateral damage.

Therapy is useful. You can either endure the pain, or endure the pain of healing whatever ails you. Cheaper still is my most cherished morning routine, what I look forward to as I close my work laptop for the day, while sweating profusely through eight rounds of 20 seconds of strenuous exercise, and getting through my nightly disciplines of solitude: My completely, totally, wholly unplugged offline morning routine. I get up, I grind coffee beans in my manual coffee grinder, make coffee in my stovetop espresso maker and then I sufficiently caffeinate my brain while I read for about an hour and I journal for another hour. That’s two hours spent completely offline each day, and sometimes much longer. Good books are good company, and if you get curious and ask the pain what it needs, what it’s searching for while endlessly rummaging through the avatars and Facebook posts, you might be pleasantly surprised by what it tells you, and what you find out just might save you.

I could be left alone now: No internet connection required. I don’t even own a TV, I don’t watch Television— It kills the appetite for living. And so, this past Sunday with the throwback R&B channel on AccuRadio keeping me company while I peeled, chopped, and sautéed veggies for the week ahead, cleaning as I go, dancing and signing along as I go— no internet to scroll, distract, repress, suppress— the rage irrupted. It caught me by surprise; there were no thoughts preceding its irruption, no warning signs of the oncoming onslaught of tears— Emotions just want to be felt, don’t you know it, and all that repressing ain’t for free anyway. A few moments later, as quickly as it came up, it left me completely fine; Much lighter in fact. I went back to the music, the chopping and singing along as I go. … expecting a little less from her gargantuan efforts to excel… to love her in the light as well as in the darkness… quiet her frenzy toward perfection and encourage her attentions toward fulfillment.

More: From you, to me

4. Talk small to me!

My life is composed of half-assed but consistent efforts over time with a few sprinkles of complete fuck ups along the way that I mostly get away with because I’m not a complete idiot and we live in society, but one thing I don’t half-ass, I don’t fuck around with, and I pursue with a surprising amount of vigor and passion is the art of small talk. I love small talk. Mostly because whenever we manage to break into the bigger talk, the big stuff, I’m left with stories that sustain me, that hold me close and whisper, See you’re not alone, he knows, he understands, and she’s been through much more and look how beautiful, how wonderful. I collect these stories like my life depends on it— it does— and the only way I know how to get to these stories is starting with small talk: Nobody wants to get to the restaurant and the first thing they hear is, “My wife is such a bitch!” Whoa, the burger looks good, and the weather… How are you?

For many years, the internet years when reality was composed mostly of the world wide web, I foolishly believed small talk was something to be despised, to be mocked and ridiculed— The weather!? Yikes. Why suffer such indignity when you can go on the internet and get to the sex part right away? No lubrication required. The first few years in reality, attempting to talk to strangers in place of the avatars, I’m a complete blabbering mess. With remnants of the past still in their blood, it’s usually the old people that strike a conversation with the stranger unprovoked (me); while waiting in line, at the doctor’s office, the bus stop. After a while, I become accustomed to the signs of small talk about to irrupt; the body shuffle, the glance, the subtle clearing of the throat before, “Is this line going to move or what?” Before, in the beginning, with remnants of the internet years still in my blood, I would barely manage eye contact, mumbling like an idiot, lost for words. What do you even say to such obvious remark? I mean, yes, the line isn’t moving— Duh, grandpa— What do you want me to say???

You can say whatever you want, of course. It’s real life, there aren’t hundreds of people reading, assessing, judging every word you dare to utter. Seriously, say whatever you want: “Yeah, the line isn’t usually this long,” “Maybe it’s the lunch crowd,” “My mom/sister/cousin/dog were telling me the place is understaffed,” Whatever suits you, say it with conviction. There are no rules, and whatever you say dissipates into the air as soon as you utter it; You’re just amusing yourself, the person in front of you, to pass the time, not to impress the avatars. Follow up with questions: “Do you come here often?” “Do you live around here?” If you have the personality, the wit, egg ‘em on: “You’d think they could afford to hire more staff for the price these things cost.” Add that knowing smile, a smirk— You know what I mean, Whatever. Small talk is life’s simple pleasure. At first, until you get used to the pace of IRL conversations, you’ll feel like utter fool. A blabbering mess. Then one day, years later, it’s just that you know, The cancer came back; You must keep your heart pure, you understand? Stress ages you; Oh, thank you; I need you inspired, I need you excited/ I don’t wanna fight it.

More: I’m the crazy one

5. Practice the art of flaneur; to stroll, lounge, saunter

I love strolling around town, wondering, wandering. A total adventurer. A lover of all things IRL. And what the city deprives us of in connection, it makes up for in its endless, diverse, wild offerings of reality to delight in. The trick is to pay attention and notice.

One Saturday this February, on an unusually warm, crisp winter day, I left my phone at home and went to my noon workout class— A small offline delight of mine, to be out and about in the world for short bursts of time completely untethered; It almost feels naughty to be so offline like I’m transgressing a social contract to be plugged in and connected at all times. With no plans afterwards, indulging in the feeling of lightness that comes from being out in the world without a device, and encouraged by the sun beaming at me as if to say, please, stay out and enjoy yourself! I decided to go on a solo adventure in the city unplugged. You don’t realize how little life requires of your phone until you leave the device behind: No emergency, nothing you can’t figure out or discard at whim because there’s no access to the internet, nothing and nobody that can’t wait until you get home to the phone.

That Saturday, for no other reason than to make life more entertaining, I decided to hunt down 48 Laws of Power IRL for a book club meetup happening next month. My Indigo order was cancelled because they no longer had a copy and to spite Amazon, I made it the adventure of the day to find a copy of 48 Laws of Power on foot while enjoying the sunshine along side the hustle and bustle of the city: This took about four hours. I went to thrift stores, the library, second-hand book shops, and even chatted with an older man selling books for $2 on the street while hoping to catch a glimpse of 48 Laws of Power amongst the books scattered on the sidewalk— It was the wildest conversation of the day. A few blocks down, I found a copy at one of the biggest bookstores in the city and while checking out, the cashier said she’s happy a woman is buying the book and we had a light banter about gender and power. Then I took the subway home, feeling sufficiently satisfied with my adventure, with a copy of 48 Laws of Power in hand and anticipating the sweet feeling of rest after a day of physical exertion.

Even with a deeply satisfying social life, I still carve out time to go on solo adventures; to flaneur, stroll, lounge, saunter around town. Not having my phone with me makes it an extra special treat; an experience just to myself— literally just myself. There are no photos, videos, nothing to capture the experience but my own senses. A reality just for me, just in the moment. A curious, adventurous spirit is a necessity for offline living. Act like a tourist/a child, it is far more entertaining than staying home looking for another internet article to pass the time. And yes, I could have just ordered a copy of 48 Laws of Power on Amazon but no good story starts with “So, I was on Amazon ordering a book and….” But later that evening, I say to him over the phone, “So there was a man selling books on the street and he said global warming is fake and they control the weather. What do you think?” And we blabber to amuse ourselves.

More: time spent wandering

BOUNS: As is with most things in life, time spent offline just takes getting used to.

100 ways

A little over a year later…

My life is nothing sort of a miracle today: Dreams do come true. When I forget, when bits and pieces of the past— the loss, pain, rage— threatens to surface, to consume, I call her and I cry. She’s kind, gentle, patient as can be; she listens and reminds me, but what a beautiful life, it’s an honest life.

On that note, I will not be answering any more of readers’ questions: Obligation makes me bitter. If you want advice, if you really want it and you really mean it, here’s the only advice that has ever worked for me (everything else is a personal consideration; sorry, we don’t know each other like that):