Why I travel solo - Becca Warner
I’m 27 and
female. Since I was 21, I’ve been away at least once a year, for anything from
3 nights to 9 months, alone. I also go on trips with friends, but I make a
point of regularly going solo.
When alone,
I’ve been met with various reactions, but they tend to fall into two broad
camps:
1. Awesome, that must be really fun! (Wide eyes, look of interest, wants to
hear stories)
2. Really? You’re on your own?! Why?? (Raised eyebrows, expression of slight
distrust, thinks I’m weird)
Both are
totally valid. In fact, depending on what’s happened that day, either can feel
completely (sometimes painfully) justified.
It’s rare that
I forge a friendship with someone from the second camp. And, if they get me on
a bad day, their reaction can feel like a gentle kick in the stomach.
As I look to
the year ahead, and think about the trips I’ll inevitably make alone, I’m
offering myself a small reminder of why it’s necessary and important to me.
Just in case I need a little push.
But more than
that: I’d like to share my reasons for travelling solo with those who might
fall somewhere in the region of camp number 2 — and hopefully do it a little
more coherently than I would if I were standing in a hostel kitchen with my
hand in a jar of shop-bought pasta sauce.
So, here they
are: the seven reasons I travel solo.
1. Because I
can do things my way
I can wander
off. Stay. Go. Change my mind. Follow a whim. I don’t have anyone else’s
preferences, needs or feelings to bear in mind and carefully balance against my
own. I can be utterly selfish and not feel bad about it. For most human adults
— typically surrounded by and attuned to the needs of children, parents,
friends, colleagues, clients, pets — this is a strange and wonderful luxury.
2. Because I
can see what ‘me’ really looks like
With no one
around who knows me, I’m in my own little social vacuum. Stripping out the
group norms of my social circles — those silent rules of engagement, shared
experiences and in-jokes that quietly guide our day-to-day interactions —
leaves nothing left except… me. Sometimes I like what I see there, sometimes I
question it, and sometimes it comes as a surprise. Either way, exposure feels
interesting and important.
3. Because new
friends are everywhere
It’s seriously
noticeable how much more readily people will approach someone who’s sitting
alone and strike up conversation. I’ve chewed coca leaves with a Peruvian
social activist, played guitar with a Chilean musician, shared my journal with
a Chinese mother-of-two, and been taught to surf by an Australian farmhand. I
don’t believe any of those moments would have happened — or certainly felt like
such rich, colourful moments of connection— if I hadn’t been sitting by myself.
4. Because it
shines a light on the kindness of strangers
I’ve learned
that the quickest way to see the best of humanity is to make yourself
vulnerable. I’ve found myself in hot (make that cold) water more times than I’d
like, and every time been rescued by a warm-hearted and generous stranger.
Regular reminders of why I should have faith in humanity sure is good for the
soul.
5. Because it
keeps me present
Other people
are distracting. That can be awesome, and being connected with another person
is one of the great joys of life. But walking up hills, through city streets,
and along beaches with no conversation to be had other than the quiet
mutterings and observations that happen inside my head gives me the headspace
to take more in. Colours seems brighter, sounds louder. I’m more aware of
what’s around me.
6. Because
it’s scary
Some days,
anyway. I’m not always as gung ho as I could be. I’m easily scared when lost
(which happens a lot), and not being able to communicate in the local language
can make me feel painfully vulnerable. But — and I’m desperately trying to
find a way to say this without resorting to tired cliché— my comfort zone
doesn’t feel very good if I stay there too long. Being in scenarios that send
me marching (or reluctantly crawling) into vulnerability, uncertainty and
discomfort is utterly crucial to my wellbeing. It’s what brings me to life, and
keeps me there.
7. Because it
reminds me that I can
The knowledge
that I need no-one other than myself is the source of my deepest inner
reserves. Other people — those who help in a crisis, or become road trip
buddies, or share small moments with me around bowls of coca leaves — become a
wonderful added bonus that I feel real, conscious gratitude for. But
strengthening the quiet voice that says ‘I’ll be OK’ is an important gift to
keep giving myself, for as long as I still need to be reminded.
There will
always be moments of discomfort: when I have to take a selfie (I still cringe)
because there’s no one else there to take a picture of me atop some famous
waterfall; when I’m lost, skint or otherwise up shit-creek and wish I had
someone to laugh instead of cry with; or when I’m having a down-day and there’s
no one around who knows me. But the difficult moments are what make the reasons
above all the more important and true for me. And it is these seven reasons
which have propelled me towards the intense, grounding, connected experiences
that sit like bright beautiful splashes of colour on the weird patchwork that
is my twenties-so-far.
So. If you’ve
ever found yourself in the second camp — looking at this slightly bedraggled
solo-traveller as she makes herself some sad looking pasta-for-one, and
thinking she might be a bit odd — well, I hope this explains it a little. Let’s
have a beer.
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