Fridge Politics and Emotional Intelligence: A Grown-Up Guide to Coliving After 40
It’s not the Wi-Fi that makes or breaks a coliving — it’s the dishwasher politics. A candid take on big feelings, bathroom etiquette, and knowing when it's time to go to bed.
COLIVING CONFIDENTIAL
If you’ve been considering a more location-independent life, even just for a season, coliving can be one of the most civilized ways to try it.
We’re not talking bunk beds and backpacker kitchens. Think restored manor houses in France. Thoughtfully designed homes with private bedrooms and proper desks. Fast Wi-Fi. Coworking rooms. Gardens. Maybe even a sauna, a library, a pool, or a long dining table where someone else has already uncorked the wine.
Maybe all of the above (a girl can dream).
For those craving travel with built-in community and connection, and maybe more luxurious amenities than you can swing on your own, coliving spaces can feel like a sweet spot.
You know the upsides. But what happens once the novelty wears off? Then, you rely on everyone involved to bring their coliving A-game for the benefit of the group as a whole. Even in the prettiest setting, the little things matter a lot more than the square footage.
Take something as simple as the kitchen.
There is no faster way to understand group dynamics than to watch five capable adults negotiate appliance timing.
In a well-run coliving (like the château-style setup I’ve been loving lately in Normandy), the expectations are clear from the start.
You should receive detailed guidance before you arrive: what’s communal, what’s personal, how shared supplies are handled, what “quiet hours” really mean. That clarity sets the tone. From there, the unwritten layer begins.
Use your labeled shelf in the fridge. Replace what you finish. Toss expired food before it becomes a group science project. Leave any space better than you found it.
These aren’t petty rules. At our age, that shared understanding matters. We’re not here to prove we can survive chaos (been there, done that, thanks).
We’re here because we want to work well, sleep well, live well, and maybe have an interesting dinner conversation with like minds at the end of the day. (And maybe we want to live in a castle, or have a pool. Did I mention the pool?)
ICYMI, our latest:
Anyway, cook boldly, but ventilate generously. If you’re making something aromatic, open windows, run the fan, and maybe offer a taste. What could be perceived as intrusion can quickly become connection with a little awareness.
Wash dishes when you’re done with them. Don’t leave a sink full of plates for someone else to navigate around. Run the dishwasher when it’s full, and empty it when it’s done instead of waiting for an invisible volunteer.
Don’t let shared bathroom anxiety scare you off coliving.
Bathroom etiquette is usually far less dramatic than people imagine, especially in adult-oriented colivings.
We’re not talking hostel rows of plastic flip-flops and fogged mirrors. In most well-designed spaces, you’ll have a private bedroom and often a private or semi-private bath. If it’s shared, it’s typically between two or three people, not an entire floor.
Still, this is where courtesy becomes visible. Mornings in a working coliving have a rhythm. Some have calls at 9, while others might have worked a different timezone and will sleep til 11. Don’t judge. There’s coffee brewing. Someone is ironing a shirt they swore they wouldn’t need. The bathroom becomes part of that choreography.
Keep showers reasonable during peak hours. If you know others are working similar schedules, don’t turn 8:30 a.m. into your Everything Shower. Notice patterns. Adjust if needed.
Replace the empty toilet paper roll without theatrics. Wipe down the sink if you’ve left water everywhere. Put your toiletries away instead of slowly colonizing shared shelves with serums, supplements, and a hairdryer that lives permanently plugged in.
No one is perfect. Again, these are just signals that you care about this community you’re in, and making sure it runs smoothly.
Ventilation matters, too, especially in older buildings where moisture lingers. Open a window. Run a fan. Leave the room in neutral condition for the next person.
And perhaps most importantly: read the room.
If someone’s waiting outside with laptop in hand and that tight expression that says they’re five minutes from a client call, that’s not the moment to reorganize your travel-size shampoo collection.
None of this is complicated. But it does require a level of self-awareness that not everyone has practiced. In well-curated colivings, most people have, or they’ll have it drilled into them in short order.
When everyone quietly handles their part, the bathroom stops being a stress point and simply becomes another shared space that functions.
Beyond the physical space, though, there’s something super important to remember: Coliving amplifies energy.
In a good space, it can feel like you’ve landed among peers; smart, curious, self-directed adults building interesting lives. You might find yourself deep in conversation over dinner, comparing notes on work, travel, reinvention. It can be unexpectedly energizing.
But proximity also magnifies mood.
If one person storms through the house slamming doors after a rough call, everyone feels it. If someone turns every shared meal into an emotional unloading session, the air begins to suffocate. Even relentless enthusiasm can be draining in large doses when you live under the same roof.
This is where you need to make sure you’ve packed your emotional intelligence and regulation and brought them along.
Feel your feelings, absolutely. But notice the impact of them.
Ask yourself whether the kitchen table is the right venue for processing everything in real time. Sometimes the mature move is taking a walk, or making yourself scarce for an evening. Or calling a therapist instead of turning the common area into a group counseling session.
And sometimes a coliving genuinely becomes a safe container for those deeper conversations. The difference lies in consent and awareness; in knowing which space you’re in and when.
Choose your battles wisely.
Even in beautifully run spaces with thoughtful community managers, the tone of a house is co-created. Guidelines help. Clear communication helps. But day-to-day harmony depends on the adults in the room.
If a house feels chaotic, it’s rarely just one person. It’s usually a slow drift… small irritations unspoken, expectations misaligned, assumptions piling up.
You will disagree with someone at some point… maybe about dishwasher timing, noise, or how “shared” the shared olive oil really is.
Before you say something, it’s worth pausing. What exactly is bothering you?
Is it about the dish in the sink — or the feeling that you’re carrying more than your share? Is it about the volume of someone’s laughter — or the fact that you’re overtired and craving quiet?
This is where being older actually helps. You have the gift of perspective here. Not every annoyance requires a summit meeting. Not every irritation deserves airtime. Choose your battles wisely.
If it’s a pattern that genuinely affects your ability to work or rest, that’s worth addressing calmly and directly. Most reasonable adults respond well to clear, neutral communication. “Hey, I’ve got early calls this week — would you mind using headphones after 10?” goes a long way.
But if it’s a one-off? Or a personality quirk that isn’t truly harming you? It may be more powerful to adjust your expectations than to try to recalibrate the entire household.
Coliving will surface your own preferences more quickly than living alone ever could. You may discover you need more quiet than you thought. Or less structure. Or more.
Sometimes the real question isn’t, “Are they being unreasonable?” It’s, “Is this actually the right environment for me right now?”
That’s useful to know for next time, but maybe doesn’t mean immediate action needs taken right this minute (especially if that immediate action is an expectation that someone else change how they live to suit you).
Social pressure deserves a mention, too.
In a lively coliving, there will almost always be something happening: shared dinners, outings, spontaneous movie nights, maybe structured programming depending on the space. It’s part of the appeal.
But you do not have to attend everything.
I’ve absolutely overestimated my social battery more than once and ended up feeling fragile and snippy the next day, not because anything was wrong but because I forgot I’m not 23 anymore and just didn’t want the night to end.
Midlife often brings a clearer understanding of your social bandwidth. You might crave connection one night and quiet the next. You might just want to cut out early. That’s not antisocial, and you don’t have to explain or apologize for it. (The pressure is usually coming from within, anyway.)
Before you book, it’s worth asking how much is organized versus organic. Some colivings lean heavily into programming. Others are more loosely communal. Neither is wrong; they just attract different temperaments, and may call for different energy levels or extrovertedness. It’s better to know what you’re signing up for.
Money is another place it can get weird quickly, if things are not clear from the start.
Are shared household items included? Cleaning supplies? Lightbulbs? Is there an app like Splitwise to track communal purchases, or is it handled centrally?
Small ambiguities around money can create outsized tension over time.
The best places over-communicate before you ever arrive. Pre-arrival emails. Clear guidelines. Shared documents outlining expectations. It might sound bureaucratic, but it creates ease. You’re not guessing. And when the basics are handled, the experience can be surprisingly fluid.
If that communication hasn’t happened before you arrive, absolutely make sure you have clear ground rules around who contributes to what, how shared house expenses are handled, what happens when the waiter won’t split the bill, etc.
So, is coliving really for you?
For someone exploring location independence — not as an escape, but as a deliberate choice — coliving can be a smart entry point. You have structure without isolation. Community without permanent commitment. Amenities you might not replicate on your own.
Would I live this way indefinitely? Probably not. I value long stretches of solitude, too.
Will I return to colivings, especially when I’m tired of short-term rentals and being mostly alone? Absolutely. With each new one I experience, I’m more intrigued with the possibilities and want to explore others.
With that said, it takes some effort. The setting can be beautiful. The Wi-Fi can be flawless. The amenities can be impressive. But what makes it work (or not) are the daily decisions you make… to leave the bathroom better than you found it, to be the one who organizes a game night, to take a night off when you’re feeling grouchy.
Coliving works best for people who are self-aware, reasonably tidy, and comfortable sharing both space and responsibility. Think of it this way: The house isn’t the experiment. You are.
The amenities are a bonus. The real work is just… being a decent adult in shared space, even when you’re mad or upset. Even when you lost a client, your passport was stolen, or your relationship just imploded. Life is still going to happen, and now it’s happening under a shared roof vs. behind a locked front door.
That’s part of why I love coliving so much.
Sometimes I want the long table. The shared coffee. The person across from me passing the salt and asking, “How was your day? Want to play a board game after dinner?”
Sometimes I just want the reminder that we’re not doing this — any of it — alone.
If that all sounds manageable, you just might want to give coliving a try.
✌🏻 Miranda
P.S. If you’ve tried a coliving space, what was the unspoken rule that made the biggest difference in your experience? Share your thoughts.