What it’s really like to go on an adventure, or enjoy some quality restorative time, where your only companion is your truest self
Ahead of turning 30 last year, I looked at my bucket list and spotted one goal that I had yet to tick off, and was determined to achieve by the end of the year: going on a solo trip.
When I was young, my mum was cabin crew, so I’ve travelled a lot, and as I got older, my preferred method of travelling was with one friend. But I’d never taken the leap to explore completely on my own, and I wanted to, at the very least, try it – even if I hated it.
With a lot of encouragement from my life coach, and my boyfriend at the time, I made a plan. I adore a beach and a pool, and my favourite type of holidays are ones where you are doing little to nothing – something I hadn’t been able to enjoy for a few years as my boyfriend at the time was a museum and audiotour kind of guy. I also decided it would be the perfect venue to finish my book, Bad Friend. I will admit I was nervous; I’m not the best at locating myself, even in my own neighbourhood, so what about in a completely different country? But, I embraced the idea that it was going to be a challenge, and accepted that the worst thing that would happen would be that I would hate it. That was far from the case though!
The moment I landed in Dubai, I realised that when travelling alone, you have way more freedom, control, and the ability to be spontaneous – not only on the trip, but in the booking of it. You don’t need to get approval on the hotel or amenities, or organise it around anyone else’s schedule. It was even silly things, like I was able to order room service whenever I wanted, or go into the forbidden mini fridge that I was never allowed access to as a child. I was able to decide when to eat, what to eat, what time to wake up, where to go, and how much or how little I wanted to do. My time was completely mine!
This year, when I found myself in the same position with no summer plans, I did hesitate to book another solo trip. I had loved my last one, but, this year, I’d already processed so much loneliness that I was worried being alone in a foreign country would mean that I would feel even more lonely than I needed to. Then it occurred to me, if I was going to feel lonely, I might as well feel lonely by a beach or the pool, so I booked it again – this time to Ibiza. And, like last time, I came equipped. I brought books, as well as paints with me so I could paint by the pool, and I downloaded a few extra TV shows in case I wanted to stay in on the evenings.
One of the hardest parts of solo travel, I found, was solo dining. It can often be a reminder that you’re alone when you look around the restaurant and see everyone else with their loved ones, but I found the best thing to do in those moments was to focus on my own experience, whether it was the food that was on my plate or the view from my table.
When moments of loneliness arose, I just sat in it. It’s shocking how even the uncomfortable emotions can just exist without you needing to act on them, do anything about them, or let that one feeling spiral into a bunch of thoughts that feed into you feeling bad. Recognising the thought by saying “I’m lonely and that’s OK,” breathing into the part of my body where that loneliness sat, and even comforting myself with a gentle hand on me as a self-soothing technique expanded my window of tolerance, and taught me that loneliness doesn’t have to be this scary thing – it can exist alongside a beautiful moment, like having yummy food on a beach. The loneliness doesn’t negate it, because two emotions can exist at the same time, and both are just as valid as each other.
The one thing I realised, this time, was that solo travel as an introvert is more restorative in a way that travelling with others isn’t. Maybe it’s because my friends are quite active people, or perhaps it’s because having that silence and solitude meant my brain could actually slow down and relax. I didn’t need to accommodate anyone else, and having a whole week to only think about yourself is an immense privilege – but if I have that privilege, why wasn’t I using it, maximising it, and enjoying it?
More than anything, solo travel has been an active reminder that I’m a grown adult with free will. In my 20s, I learned that I should never wait for a man to live my life, and, in my 30s, I realised that you shouldn’t wait for friends either, and solo travel was my way of putting into action that if I want my dream life, I need to create it first. The irony about having the confidence to do things alone is that it tends to attract the right kind of people in your life, but, even if it doesn’t, it means you are living the kind of life you have always dreamed of.
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