Don’t Be Afraid to Travel Alone

If you follow along with me on Instagram, then you will know that I am quite the romantic. That word sounds so mushy, but I don’t really know how else to describe it. I do believe it’s possible to find a person, your person, whose soul indefinitely fits next to you.

You would think that I would be jaded to this rather childlike notion. I’ll be the first to admit that my ticker was broken for nearly all of my twenties (shit, it might still be broken). But, I have been exposed to enough love in my life to see couples who really seem to get it. Plus, I have come to the stark realization that it boils down to timing. Period.

If both people have the same perception of love and are in a place to both give it and receive it, which I believe is grounded in self-love first and foremost, then it really doesn’t matter what the world tells those two people to believe about love; their actions will align with their belief to create their own reality.

Unfortunately, I think far too many people settle into toxic or forced relationships because they are not confident enough to stand alone (yes, I’ll be the first one to raise my hand). They find a person who meets a few of their checkboxes, and they ignore the red flags because leasing an apartment together for 12 months –  that one of them could never possibly afford alone – seems like the most brilliant option. All of a sudden said couple is on the fast track to the American Dream, which generally transitions into marriage and then ends in divorce (still raising my hand in case you were wondering).

Yes, I’m missing some steps along the way, but unfortunately, I see far too many people who have settled into their lives because they were willing to accept a lifetime of mediocrity – at best – for the sake of saving themselves a few days, weeks, or months of discomfort as a single person who must learn new habits and establish new routines.

I know this because I stayed in a marriage far too long because I was so worried about what others would think of me, and I dreaded the entirety of moving and starting over. I was the most miserable version of myself that had ever existed, and yet, I still convinced myself that going out on my own would be more miserable (boy, was I wrong, and you can read more about that here).

My ex-husband was, by my definition, an alcoholic. It wasn’t so much that he needed alcohol to function, but rather what alcohol made him become. Evil. It is the only word that I can use to describe the verbal and emotional abuse I suffered in these moments.

In all sincerity, it is difficult to write these words. I am not a martyr. But, I do think that women are forced into silence all too often by social construct, and I have made a personal pledge to always speak my truth. So, yes, I was a victim of domestic violence. And, while I didn’t ever have a black eye to prove it – don’t believe I didn’t pray for one – I did get bullied into nearly every corner of our home at some point in our relationship. In fact, I lost count of how many times I wasn’t “allowed” to walk up the stairs.

Making me small to make himself large. It was a never-ending dance that felt altogether unstoppable.

It took me two years to leave. Two years to leave a marriage that, if we’re being honest, I knew was not right from the beginning. But, I’d already said yes and sent out the invitations and wore the ring and blah, blah, blah.

Yes, I was satisfied in the comfort of my unhappiness because my pride refused to be uncomfortable. My pride did not want to be alone. My pride didn’t want other people to say things about me that I didn’t want to hear – as if people don’t say things about other people anyway, regardless of their life choices.

I did not learn about the affair until after I was gone, and there is a small part of me that finds solace in this fact. I chose to leave because I wanted to leave. I chose to leave because I believed in myself enough to know that I was worth more than long walks home alone because the person who was supposed to care most about my well-being cared more about staying out until 3am at a bar than holding my hand through foreign city streets. I left for me.

I left because I was (and am) strong, not because he was (and is) weak. There’s a difference.

All this to say that I’ve spent the last couple years exploring myself in an effort to understand how someone else can really complement my existence. I think we often silence our heart’s desires in order to appease our insecurities. Even when something feels wrong, we will justify its rightness, because the presence of that something fills a specific void that we are not willing to face on our own.

A lot of my early outdoor adventures were a very symbolic metaphor to represent how I was feeling internally. I was learning new things. I was learning me. All the while gaining a certain level of self-confidence that had never before existed.

I wasn’t comfortable standing alone.

And I saw this in my gut reaction to packing the car alone, and driving alone, and eating alone, and watching movies alone, and putting together furniture alone, and taking the dog out alone.

I’ve always been very independent (ask my mom). But, as someone who had used relationships to try and compensate for the void that I had experienced as a child, standing alone as an adult felt altogether impossible. And the lifestyle that I yearned to live was nothing that I had ever put into practice in my younger years. So, I wanted to be someone I’d never been, or expose the spirit that I knew was begging to be unleashed inside me, without any third-party support.

Of course, there have been a handful of people who have walked alongside me in these endeavors – fortunately or unfortunately, a lot of the things that I like to do cannot actually be done alone for both logistical and safety reasons – but the execution of those endeavors were based on my personal choices.

And while I most certainly yearn for companionship, to sit beside someone who already knows our adventures without me having to utter a single word, I am grateful for the solo miles that have inspired me and grounded me in my personal truth.

I also learned that solo miles were a hell of a lot better than shared miles with bad company (you can find a handful of my blogs about dating here).

Until you find that person – and if you never do – I encourage you, don’t be afraid to travel alone. Don’t fear empty passenger seats and abandoned table settings. Realize that to know yourself is to spend time with yourself in moments where we often crave the company of another. When we know who we are in these moments, we can show up more powerfully for those around us.

I cannot begin to articulate the confidence that I have gleaned by traveling solo, only being able to rely on myself to make every minute and major decision (you can read about my one year on wheels here). Undoubtedly, I know far more about myself and have a far deeper belief in my abilities – both physical and emotional – because of these solitary moments on the road. I also know what brings me completely unencumbered joy, which I now believe each of us must understand in order to truly commit to the sacrifices we make for others.

So, I repeat, don’t be afraid to travel alone. Yes, to the physical spaces that set your soul on fire. But also, don’t be afraid to break your routine, to make a choice that exists only within the vacuum of your solitude. Do not shy away from discomfort. Don’t be afraid to say no to create space in your life to scream yes.

You are worthy of the adventure.