I'm a woman who is 27. Since I turned 21, I've gone on at least one solo trip per year, lasting anywhere from three nights to nine months. I frequently travel alone, yet I also go on trips with friends.
I've encountered a variety of responses when I'm alone myself, but they mostly fall into one of two categories:
Amazing, that must be so much fun! (Wide eyes, interested expression, eager to hear tales)
Really? You're all by yourself? Why?? (Raises eyebrows, showing a hint of mistrust, considers me odd)
Both are entirely true. In reality, depending on the events of that particular day, either option may feel whole (and occasionally brutally) justified.
I hardly ever develop friendships with anyone from the second camp. Additionally, their response may feel like a light kick in the gut if they catch me on a poor day.
I'm giving myself a modest reminder of why it's crucial and significant to me as I look ahead to the upcoming year and consider the excursions I'll unavoidably go alone. In case I need a little prodding.
But more than that: I'd like to discuss my motivations for traveling alone with others who might fall into camp number 2, and ideally do it more coherently than I would if I were hunched over a jar of pre-made pasta sauce in a hostel kitchen.
Here are the seven explanations for why I travel alone.
1. I can handle things my way.
I am free to stray. Stay. Go. Modify your mind. Take a whim. I don't have to carefully weigh my preferences, desires, or sentiments against those of anyone else. I don't have to feel guilty about being completely selfish. This is a peculiar and beautiful privilege for the majority of human people who are normally focused on and sensitive to the needs of children, parents, friends, colleagues, clients, and pets.
2. I can now see what "myself" actually looks like.
I'm in a social void because no one here knows who I am. The only thing left after stripping away the social standards in my social circles—those unspoken codes of conduct, common interests, and inside jokes that subtly govern our daily interactions—is... me. There are times when I like what I see there, times when I don't understand it, and times when it surprises me. Exposure feels intriguing and significant either way.
3. Since there are always fresh people to meet.
It's striking how much more frequently individuals approach and start a conversation with someone alone when they are seated. I've shared my journal with a Chinese mother of two, chewed coca leaves with a Peruvian social activist, played guitar with a Chilean musician, and learned how to surf from an Australian farmhand. If I hadn't been sitting alone, I don't think any of those moments would have occurred, or they wouldn't have seemed like such rich, vibrant moments of connection.
4. As it highlights the generosity of strangers
I've discovered that exposing yourself to vulnerability is the surest way to see humanity at its best. More often than I'd like, I've found myself in hot (or cold) water, and each time, a kind and giving stranger has come to my rescue. Regular reminders of the reasons I should believe in mankind are undoubtedly beneficial to my soul.
5. It keeps me in the now
People around us can be annoying. Being in a relationship with someone else is one of life's greatest joys, so that could be amazing. However, when there is no dialogue to be had other than the silent musings and observations that occur inside my thoughts while walking up hills, across city streets, or along beaches, I can take in more. Both the colors and the sounds feel brighter. I'm more conscious of my surroundings.
6. Because it's frightful
at times, at least. Sometimes I'm not as enthusiastic as I could be. I get afraid easily when I get lost, which occurs a lot, and I can feel incredibly exposed when I can't speak the language. But if I remain in my comfort zone for an extended time, it doesn't feel that great — and I'm struggling mightily to find a way to describe this without using a trite cliche. It is essential to my welfare for me to be placed in situations that force me to march (or unwillingly crawl) towards vulnerability, uncertainty, and discomfort. It is what gives me life and sustains it.
7. It serves as a reminder that I am
The wellspring of my deepest interior reserves is the understanding that I need no one but myself. Others become a fantastic bonus for which I feel genuine, conscious gratitude. Examples include individuals who support me in times of need, make good travel companions, or spend brief moments with me around bowls of coca leaves. For as long as I still need to be reminded, it is crucial to keep nurturing the inner voice that says, "I'll be OK."
There will always be uncomfortable situations, such as when I have to take a selfie (which still makes me shudder), when I'm confused, broke, or in another uncomfortable situation and wish I had someone to laugh with instead of cry, or when I'm having a bad day and no one is around who knows me. However, it is because of the challenging times that I find the arguments listed above to be accurate. And it is for these seven reasons that I have been drawn to the passionate, rooted, and connected experiences that have added vivid, lovely splashes of color to the odd patchwork that is my early twenties.
So. I hope this helps to explain it if you've ever been in the second camp and thought that this slightly disheveled solitary traveler might be a touch unusual because she was cooking herself some sad-looking pasta for one. Let's have some beer.
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