I almost didn't go. I had the flight booked for three weeks and a different excuse ready every single day. It's irresponsible. It's lonely. What if I hate it. What kind of grown adult goes on holiday alone. Then I went anyway, and somewhere on day two, sitting alone at a tiny harbor with a coffee and absolutely no one to consult about anything, I started crying. Not sad crying. The other kind.
Solo travel is having a huge moment, and I finally understand why. Something like 70% of Gen Z now travels solo, with everyone else catching up close behind. I'm not Gen Z, I'm a slightly anxious 35-year-old who'd never done a single thing alone, and I'd assumed solo travel was for fearless 22-year-olds with backpacks. It's not. It turned out to be exactly what I needed and had been too scared to try.
A solo traveler sitting alone at a small harbor cafe with a coffee, peaceful morning light
Here's the thing nobody tells you about traveling alone. The fear is all front-loaded. Every scary part lives in the planning, the booking, the imagining. The actual doing is mostly just pleasant. I'd built the whole thing into this enormous test of courage, and then I arrived and it was just... me, in a nice place, doing what I wanted. The dread was a story. The trip was a Tuesday that happened to be wonderful.
What surprised me most was the decision-making. When you travel with people, every choice is a negotiation. Where to eat, when to wake up, how long to linger, what to skip. Alone, every single decision is just yours. I ate dinner at 4pm one day because I was hungry. I spent two hours in a museum room I loved and skipped an entire famous district because I didn't feel like it. I never once had to manage anyone else's mood or hunger or opinions. That kind of freedom is almost disorienting at first, and then it's the best thing in the world.
A narrow old-town street at golden hour, one person walking unhurried, no crowd
Let me be honest about the hard parts, because solo travel essays love to skip them.
The evenings are the test. Daytime alone is easy, busy, full of things to see. But dinner alone in a restaurant on the first night, with no phone-scrolling shield, surrounded by couples and friends, that took some steel. I felt self-conscious. I imagined everyone wondering why I was alone. Nobody was, of course. Nobody cares. By the third night I genuinely enjoyed it, ordering exactly what I wanted, eavesdropping a little, sitting with my own thoughts. But I won't pretend night one was comfortable.
And there are practical things. No one to watch your bag. No one to split costs with, so it's pricier per person. No one to share the "did you see that" moment with in real time. I missed that one occasionally, the wanting to turn to someone and point. I learned to just sit in the moment myself instead, which is its own skill.
A solo diner at a cozy restaurant table, a glass of wine and a book
The safety question deserves a straight answer, since it's the one everyone raises, especially for women traveling alone. I did the sensible things. Researched safe areas, shared my location with my sister, kept the first night's plans simple, trusted my gut, didn't overdo the drinking. I picked a destination known for being solo-friendly rather than somewhere remote for a first go. With reasonable precautions, I felt safe the whole time. Caution is wise. Fear that stops you entirely is a thief.
Here's what I actually came home with, and it wasn't photos. It was a strange new confidence. I found my way around a foreign place entirely on my own. I handled the small problems, the wrong turn, the language gap, the closed restaurant, without anyone to lean on, and I was fine. I proved to myself that I'm better company for myself than I'd feared. That sounds small. It rearranged something in me.
That harbor moment, the crying, was about that, I think. It hit me that I'd spent years believing I couldn't do things alone, that I needed company to make an experience valid. And there I was, completely alone, having one of the best mornings of my life. The tears were relief. Permission. The realization that my own company was enough.
A person standing at a scenic viewpoint alone, arms relaxed, taking in a wide mountain vista
If you've been circling the idea of a solo trip and talking yourself out of it, this is your nudge. Start small if you need to, a couple of nights somewhere easy and safe. Pick a place that feels manageable, not a test of endurance. Share your plans with someone at home. And then just go, before the excuses pile up like mine did.
The version of you that's scared of it is imagining the planning. The version that actually goes gets the harbor morning.
I'm already booking the next one. Alone, on purpose, and not even a little scared this time.
That's the part that changed. Not the destination. Me.