Solo travel is a huge part of my life. My job requires it and I have also become so accustomed to it, that I actually genuinely enjoy it. Granted, I don’t relish in the scared looks I get when I’m caught talking to myself, but there is a thrill in relying on no one but yourself.
I wasn’t always this confident though. In fact my first ever solo trip almost ended in me crying to my mom and booking a flight home. I am not ashamed to admit this because although the sad imagery you are getting right now is in fact true, it changed my life.
In 2008 at the age of 20 I decided to move to England on an exchange program offered by my university. I was seduced by the fantasy of travelling and being on my own without really thinking about how hard it would be. The movies I was using to reference how this experience would be, didn’t really show the struggles that went along with it.
I was living with my parents at the time and aside from a few weekends away with friends and some family vacations I had never really ventured out into the world. Let alone all by myself. When I landed in Bournemouth (my host city) it didn’t take long for the initial excitement to turn into fear. I was alone. I didn’t know a single person and I was in a place that I was unfamiliar with. My apartment complex was empty, the streets were a jumble to me and my return date seemed millions of days away.
I tried everything I could think of to help myself. I decorated my room with posters and familiarities from home. I explored the city willing myself to find every bit of it charming in some way. I even went to a pizza hut lunch buffet (don’t judge we all have our things). I just could not shake the overwhelming feeling of utter loneliness. I would walk around with a nauseous feeling all day and then cry myself to sleep at night. I hated it and I wanted to go home.
Not wanting to worry my parents, I down played my sadness. Until the one phone call when my mom told me that I could come home whenever I wanted, I hung up and immediately looked into flights. I felt like if I didn’t escape right then and there I would be stuck in this feeling and in this place forever. It was excruciating.
To this day what I did next was the best decision I have ever made. Before clicking “book” I told myself that I would give it one more week. Slowly and then all at once, I overcame my struggle to start a life there. One day I made a friend. The next day I joined a club at school. The day after that I went out for drinks. And the final day of that week I felt ok. Not amazing, but it was a start. A start to finding a natural rhythm.
My new friends became like my family, and while they were amazing, I also slowly started to enjoy doing things on my own. Every new solo adventure I took, my need for someone else to be there was less and less.
Six months went by in a flash and when it was time to go home, I really didn’t want to leave. The idea of living in this foreign country or countries wasn’t daunting anymore – it was exciting. I had opened up a Pandora’s Box.
When I look back at this experience (which I often do because it was so much fun) I realize what a huge moment in my life it was. Aside from the fact that it forced me to cook, clean, pay bills and generally grow up, it changed the course of my life. My friends and I usually call these our “sliding doors moments” (yes that Gwyneth Paltrow movie). They are the defining actions that make us who we are. If I had taken that flight home that day, I could have been a completely different person, on a totally different path.
But I didn’t and now I’m here. Travelling has since become my life. My full time job, my part time job, my time off, and the inspiration behind every single story I tell.
Everyone has his or her own BOLD moment. Six years ago when I decided to overcome those feelings and learn to be independent – that was mine.
Cheers from 30,000 feet
@elzzster