How I Got Into Solo Travel—As Someone Worried She Couldn’t Handle It
Solo travel is probably my favourite way to discover new places—beholden to no one’s whims but my own. But as an anxious person, this can sometimes make trips more difficult.
With another person, you can share burdens. There are two heads thinking about where to go, what to do, where to sleep. Two people who can handle emergencies. It’s hard being responsible for the full mental load of a trip when you’re a worrier. I guess I’ve had a lot of practice.
But that’s weird, because we usually don’t practice difficult or uncomfortable things in our leisure time. If you’re an Olympic athlete, sure—you have to practice hard things to get better at them. But solo travel isn’t a sport. And a lot of people believe that the benefit of a holiday is doing whatever you’d like to do—why would you choose something that you may never grow to like? Why would you risk spending your holiday potentially battling heat stroke when you could just stay home and relax?
You learn to enjoy the struggle, I suppose. I’m not sure how it happened for me, but I started to like travel so much that pushing through the anxiety was worth it. And if you’re someone who wants to see the world, but is too worried about what might happen out there, I hope my story helps you. Here’s what happened:
My first solo trip (over 10 years ago)
I had a friend, who I’ll call S. S was into travel like I’d never met before: her family had a countryside house; she went skiing in the winter (not just in a day-trip way; she’d travel to do it); and she worked in travel PR. She seemed to know a lot about things that felt very out of reach to me—how to plan meals on big group trips, how to get around with just a backpack, how to plan days camping when the weather wasn’t cooperating.
When I told her I’d never gone on a solo trip, she wasn’t dismissive or condescending. She simply told me: you should. It’s so much easier than you think; you’re making it seem like this huge thing in your head. It’s not. And she gave me the keys to her family’s country house for a weekend.
That weekend wasn’t perfect: it was mid-winter and the boiler wouldn’t turn on, so I had to troubleshoot with my friend’s dad in a facetime call that lasted hours. The house was located in a small village in England, that wasn’t a busy area. I was surrounded by rolling hills and beautiful landscapes. Nature surrounded me—but because of poor reception (and a total lack of paper-map-reading abilities on my end) I didn’t want to venture too far and risk getting lost in the British peaks.
But that weekend was awesome, for a lot of reasons. My first solo trip showed me:
There are kind people everywhere
There was the cab driver who dropped me off at the train station, and insisted I stay in the car for the 20 minutes just so I wouldn’t be freezing on the platform; there was the server whose conversation moved from allergies to more casual topics; there was a Christmas market vendor who trusted me with his stall because my grandfather lived in Yorkshire. Maybe it was the small-town mentality, but it was so nice remembering that just because I was travelling solo didn’t mean I was alone. And it made me feel a lot less anxious when I remembered that good people exist everywhere!
When you’re somewhere new, there’s always something worth exploring
My friend’s house was in a small village—the smallest one I’ve ever been to. Its appeal was how surrounded it was by nature, not the hustle and bustle that comes with lots of people.
But venturing out, there were still excitements to be discovered (beyond the landscape). There was a used bookstore that smelled like old leather, with diagonally-laid stacks of books towering from floor to ceiling. A chip shop down the street that had incredible fried chicken. There was a small church and graveyard with an open-door policy and beautiful windows inside.
These aren’t things I’d recommend to friends. But when you’re solo travelling in a way that feels safe (same language, same currency, just a train and a cab away), that doesn’t automatically mean things will be boring. Trips are really what you make of them.
Testing my limits by venturing out further gives me the opposite feeling than what I’d assume
While walking through the peaks, I chose well-worn paths. These were clearly marked, and I even took pictures of landmarks so I could get back home again. Every time I hit a new milestone in a trail, there was a part of me that felt anxious; what if I couldn’t find my way back?
But truthfully, the further I went, the more practiced I felt at checking markers. And when I got home, I felt accomplished. To my outdoorsy friends, walking a marked trail is a laughably simple accomplishment. But practicing doing small things is the only way you get to a level where you can do big things, in my experience.
I can stand being totally alone for a full weekend
I worried that “alone” meant “lonely”. And if this happened to me, I might get so lonely I got sad, and had a terrible time on my own. And loneliness did come. But there also came a point where loneliness felt boring. So I tried other things; walking as far as I could while still being able to find my way back, reading old books in the house, looking at my phone. And I realised: I can entertain myself; I can be okay with no one to talk to; I can do things I once thought difficult. I think anyone who’s solo travelled comes home knowing a bit more about themselves, and what they can handle. And speaking of the return…
I can always come home
I’m not talking about coming home early (although that’s always an option!). But on this trip, as well as in the years beyond it, I’ve realised that there’s something nice about coming home after a solo trip. Whether the trip was the best of your life, or total nightmare fuel—I always come home grateful for the experience. Even if the part I’m grateful for is the chance to be in my own space again!
My friend S was so helpful to me, in getting me through the mental block of “not being a person who travels solo.” Now, I want to be that friend. If you’re not sure how to move from “not a traveller” to “well-travelled”, I hope you’ll follow me here. Happy travels!
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