I embrace risk when I decide to travel solo.
The adrenaline begins from the moment the ticket confirmation appears in my inbox. And it stays with me for the entire trip until I board the plane home, feeling nostalgic and that yearning for something with no name.
I’m always thinking about when and how I can save enough money to travel again.
Costa Rica. Bermuda. Where to next?
I was reflecting and writing the other night about how awkward it’ll be when someone asks to travel with me, and I’ll have to do a dance to explain why, well, I’d rather go alone.
The truth is, traveling is one of the only times I focus only on me. There’s no one else I should take care of. And everyone (men and women) need these moments and experiences in their lives.
Women who love traveling solo seem to agree — sometimes, we’d just prefer to leave our own comfort zone to feel the unfiltered joy, terrifying bravery, and starry-eyed curiosity.
I went to New Orleans with someone some years back. And while the trip was absolutely unforgettable and incredible beyond words, there’s the juggle of when to wake up, when to eat, and often, a compromise or concession on what to do. There are accommodations, and at times, sacrifices to be made.
Let’s pretend I’m not craving seafood one night, but the other person is just so eager to go. Guess what I’m eating.
But for the moments where I just don’t want any fish or oysters or calamari, and perhaps we end up eating burgers instead, it’s almost not as enjoyable. I’ll sit with guilt that perhaps the other person isn’t having fun. And it doesn’t feel good when I’m not making someone happy.
Like most, I want to give love and time in all my friendships and relationships.
But I don’t want to do that, all the time.
We all need time to give only to ourselves. And when you’re traveling with someone, it’s a 24-hour kind of deal. For 3 days, 4 days, 7 days, 10 days, however many days the trip happens to be, everyone is trying to please, to make everyone else happy.
Otherwise, it’s selfish, and I don’t even know why you’d be traveling with someone else in the first place.
Sharing experiences with someone is a bond like no other. No part of me will ever want to re-do my New Orleans trip and instead go by myself. It was and is special. Same goes for countless other trips and beautiful memories I am still grateful to share.
But there are still some things I just want to feel on my own.
I don’t quite experience the same liberation I feel when I’m utterly alone, seemingly on the edge of the universe, and wondering about the limitless possibilities, the magical coincidences that could come next.
It’s that rush again; it’s thrilling.
The unknown to me is terrifying and spellbinding.
Both fear and excitement come from the same part of the brain, so it’s natural to feel both emotions at the same time, even if it seems contradictory.
When I’m alone, to avoid feeling lonely for too long, I’m pushed to connect with people from around the world, the people who call that place home. And, not wanting to talk to myself every minute, I connect more with other travelers. There’s joy in exchanging stories with strangers.
Miles and oceans away from grim headlines, Twitter arguments, and Facebook trolls, I’m reminded of all the good people out there. Despite what we may believe about strangers, they aren’t actually so strange. It shows me there is still magic and beauty in the world, despite my anguish and feelings of injustice
I know if I went with someone, conversations would just be different.
I never thought I’d write this, but being alone is healing. It’s the medicine for pain and loss. And for me, travel is the exact experience that makes me feel calmer and more confident.
I get the feeling my aunt would have been proud of me for traveling the world, by myself. And that she would have liked to hear the stories when I came home.
“Better to see something once than to hear about it a thousand times.”
The adventure continues,
