When people find out I live alone in an RV and travel by myself most of the time, they usually ask the same question.
“Don’t you get lonely?”
It’s a fair question. And the honest answer is: sometimes. Mostly I just get really opinionated about coffee and nobody’s around to hear it.
But somewhere along the way, I learned there’s a real difference between being alone and being lonely. One is a circumstance. The other is a feeling. And they don’t always show up together.
Alone Is a Fact. Lonely Is a Story.
Alone simply means no one else is in the room.
Lonely is the story I tell myself about what that means.
For a long time, I assumed they were the same thing. If I was by myself, I must be lonely. But I’ve spent enough nights parked somewhere quiet, just me and the mountains and the sound of absolutely nothing, to know that’s not true.
Some of my fullest moments have happened in complete solitude. Some of my loneliest moments have happened in a crowded room.
What I Used to Fill the Silence With
I didn’t always know how to be alone well.
For years I filled silence with noise — a podcast, a phone call, a google deep dive into something I’d forget by morning. Anything to avoid sitting with my own thoughts for too long.
I think a lot of us do that. We’re afraid of what we’ll hear if things get too quiet.
Moving into an RV by myself didn’t give me a choice. The silence was just there. No roommate. No spouse in the next room. Not even a dog to break it up anymore. Just me, the hum of the fridge, and my own thoughts, uninvited but persistent, like a guest who won’t leave the party.
At first, that silence felt heavy.
Eventually, it felt like a gift.
God Meets Us in the Quiet
Here’s the plot twist I didn’t see coming: some of my clearest moments with God haven’t happened in a church service or a worship set. They’ve happened in the quiet — driving down some empty highway, sitting outside my RV at dusk, lying awake at 2 a.m. with nothing but my own thoughts and His presence.
Solitude has a way of stripping away distraction. And when the distraction goes, what’s left is just you and God. No small talk required.
I don’t think that’s an accident.
Jesus Himself withdrew to lonely places to pray. Not because He needed to escape people, but because He needed that uninterrupted space with the Father. If the actual Son of God needed to unplug and go sit somewhere quiet, I’m going to go ahead and assume I do too.
Lonely Isn’t Solved by Adding People
Here’s something that surprised me.
I’ve felt achingly lonely surrounded by people who cared about me. And I’ve felt completely at peace parked in the middle of nowhere with no cell service, no neighbors, and no idea what day it was.
That told me something important: loneliness isn’t solved by simply adding more people to the room.
It’s solved by connection. By purpose. By knowing you’re not forgotten, even when no one’s physically near. For me, that comes from my relationship with Jesus first, and then from the people He’s placed in my life — even when they’re eight states away and I only get to hear their voices through a phone screen.
Learning to Enjoy My Own Company
I won’t pretend this came naturally.
I had to learn how to enjoy a quiet morning instead of dreading it. How to sit with my own thoughts instead of sprinting from them. How to be content being the only voice in the room most days — and, occasionally, the only vote on where I’m headed next, which honestly has its perks.
Some of that came with time. Some came with practice. A lot came with prayer.
Now? I genuinely enjoy my own company. I like the quiet mornings. I like the long, uninterrupted drives. I like having space to think, to pray, to just be — and to sing badly in the driver’s seat with no-one listening.
I’m not lonely. I’m just alone, and it turns out that’s a perfectly good place to be.
I’m still learning this. I imagine I’ll keep learning it for a long time, one spontaneous solo trip at a time.
But most mornings now, when I step outside with my coffee and there’s no one else around for miles, I don’t feel the ache I used to feel.
I just feel quiet. Full. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Turns out I was never really alone out here anyway.