At 25, I was ready for a change.
I’d reevaluated my relationship with alcohol, a shift that meant I was no longer interested in bars and binge drinking. I soon realized I didn’t know how to be social without booze, so I withdrew from my friendships.
I began therapy, yoga, and meditation — all of which helped me understand the unresolved trauma that had driven me to drink in the first place.
I felt overwhelmed by the desire to change, yet stuck by daily circumstances. The monotony of everyday life felt too small to hold the person I wanted to grow into.
Then, I asked myself, “What would I do right now, if I could do anything?” The answer was simple: Travel the world.
With a little solitude in new surroundings, I thought, all my problems would be solved. I bought a one-way plane ticket to Paris, secured a part-time freelance writing job, and stuffed a large backpack with clothes.
I didn’t know how long I wanted to travel for, but I believed that when it was time to come home, I would feel it.
The loneliness hurt more than I’d anticipated
Three months into my trip, I found myself hiking a long route in the Austrian Alps that led across lush pastures and through misty forests.
Tired and sweaty after hours of walking uphill, I finally reached the summit. Green meadows and mist-covered peaks stretched out before me, the landscape dotted with mountain huts. Yet in all that space, there wasn’t a person in sight.
Then it hit me: I was really alone, in a way I’d never been before. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.
That feeling followed me everywhere I went. I’d be at a destination I’d always dreamed of visiting, like the Colosseum, and my amazement would suddenly be replaced by a confusing sense of remorse.
I missed my family and friends, who’d inevitably grown more distant with each time zone I put between us. On social media, I saw their photos of ordinary American life and longed for the birthday parties and game nights I’d been so ready to leave behind.
Had I been too eager to escape my circumstances? Was a simple life full of love better than an adventurous one spent alone?
I tried my best to ignore these questions and focus on the present, but they always seemed to find me.
Fellow travelers helped me feel seen
To meet other travelers and immerse myself in local cultures, I volunteered through Workaway, a platform that allows travelers to trade a few hours of weekly work for room and board.
My first gig was at a hostel in a small Croatian village. There, I met Sophie, a fellow solo traveler and adventurous, easygoing Kiwi I could talk to for hours on end, whether we were on shift together or walking around the nearby lake at sunset.
We both understood the downsides of long-term backpacking: wearing the same outfits on repeat, adjusting to lumpy beds and low-pressure showers, and missing our loved ones who were carrying on without us.
We talked about the hard times without the need to sugarcoat them — finally, I didn’t feel so alone.
Months later, her trip had ended, and I visited her family’s dairy farm in New Zealand for two weeks. We pet her sweet cows, swam in clear blue waters, and camped in rainy forests. We even hiked the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, an epic 12-mile volcano trek.
She told me childhood stories, showed me her culture, and exposed me to conversations I never would’ve had if I’d been there alone.
Another lesson came at a campground outside Venice, Italy. I’d signed up to share a camping trailer with a stranger because it was more affordable.
However, I promptly locked myself — and all my belongings — out of the accommodation.
A few minutes later, a smiling man around my age introduced himself as Liam, my roommate for the next two nights. He promptly began laughing at my sad disposition. Fair enough — the situation was silly.
Liam put me at ease instantly, reminding me not to take myself so seriously. There was always a solution to be had, especially with someone else to help.
That theme stayed with us throughout the night, skipping through Venice on a search for tiramisu so lengthy and gluttonous that we got lost and almost missed the last bus back to our campsite.
Alone, this situation would’ve made me sick with anxiety. With Liam by my side, I knew we’d figure it out together.
Turns out, solo travel is best when shared
Inevitably, I’d find myself alone again, exploring an empty beach on O’ahu or savoring seafood in Dubrovnik, and that hollow sensation of loneliness would return.
There was a new sweetness accompanying that feeling, too: the reminder that I was never really alone.
I finally understood I’d been wrong to think that solitude would lead to personal growth. The friends I’d met played a more important role in my self-development journey by challenging and expanding what I thought I knew about traveling, companionship, and life itself.
When I returned to the United States one year after my trip began, I reunited with my loved ones at home, carrying a fresh point of view. I wanted to be a better listener at group gatherings and more open to opinions that differed from my own.
My sister and I still disagreed sometimes, but I saw it as an opportunity to truly see each other more; to deepen our connection. If friends discussed their interpersonal challenges, I tried to see both perspectives in the conflict, rather than choosing a side.
Most of all, I valued the presence of my loved ones in my life because I knew what it was like to move through the world without them.
Solo travel was indeed transformative, but it wasn’t the places I went that changed me for the better — it was the people I met along the journey.
I could never become who I was meant to be without them.
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