The first time I traveled solo I was 30 years old and convinced something terrible would happen. I'd get lost, get robbed, get lonely, get bored. I booked a one-way ticket to Lisbon anyway because I was more afraid of being the kind of woman who always needed someone else than I was of being alone in a foreign city. The fear lasted about 24 hours. What replaced it lasted much longer.
You learn to trust yourself. Not in a motivational poster way — in a practical, daily way. You navigate public transit in a language you don't speak. You eat at a restaurant alone and enjoy it. You make decisions all day with no one to consult and discover that your instincts are actually good. Every small win builds a confidence that's different from anything you can get at home, because at home, you have safety nets. Solo travel removes them all and shows you that you don't actually need them.
If you're 30 and have never traveled alone, do it once. Not a resort trip — a real trip where you have to figure things out. The woman who comes home will be different from the one who left, and you'll like her better.
One honest essay about life at 30, delivered weekly.
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