Loneliness, Is That You?
The biggest life lesson I’ve learned during my solo adventures.
That’s not me in this picture. But it could have been.
This was my second time traveling alone. At the beginning of January 2020, I opened my laptop and looked up the price of flights from Paris to Berlin on a curious whim. I realized without much surprise that I could fly out and back for less than $150. This excitement, familiar in its intensity rather than its frequency, overwhelmed me as the machine got in motion. That’s how you begin a travel project.
On the D day, I was not as thrilled as I thought I would be. Suddenly, it all seemed so abstract. I was going to skip two days of (admittedly unimportant) classes, to spend a week discovering the digital nomad lifestyle that I’ve been itching for lately. In anticipation of when I’d finish school and finally get my freedom, I thought.
My stomach twisted slightly as I made my way to a first for me: the hostel. I replayed dozens of times the movie of my imagined arrival in the room. If there would be a lot of people or not. If it would be hell or not. I was hoping to meet new people, to discover a dynamic that was totally different from anything I had known before.
There were three of us. Then four. Then three again. Our exchanges were limited to “hello” and “goodbye”. The room was a black hole in terms of vibe. And when I suggested we go down to the hotel bar to get to know each other, they all grumbled that they were tired. Thanks.
In the morning, I go out early in search of a coffee shop where I can work. I have a rich and complete breakfast, give my body its caffeine fix and work in this atmosphere that is perfectly out of my comfort zone. I can’t say it’s a revelation. Hours and days go by, and my inner flame doesn’t light up. I think I’m disappointed.
In the afternoon, I wander in my solitude in the company of the city streets. I “visit”. I walk miles and miles. Again, deep inside me, something wonders why I do this: if we’re being honest, I don’t think I enjoy it. This time, for sure: I am disappointed.
Disappointed with what? How can you have expectations of a leap of faith? Maybe disappointed that I didn’t feel exhilarated by this trip, as I had felt on others. As if someone had taken away that “trip” button that I could press when I wanted to feel alive.
Then comes this evening. I had distractedly scouted, convincing my scared side that it was “just to see”, which Berlin parties would take place during my short visit. I stumbled upon a lesbian event. Perfect. Would I dare to go? Until I got ready, I was still hesitating.
I put on the clothes I bought in the afternoon, do my hair, spray some perfume, take a last look in the mirror and leave “my” room. My heart beats a little faster than usual. Outside, it is bitterly cold. I have never been to a nightclub alone.
I leave very early because I have planned to grab dinner in what is reputed to be the best doner kebab in the capital. Almost three hours, I will queue in the cold to have my dinner. I’ll take the opportunity to make friends with my neighbors in front and share a coffee vodka with them to warm up. Funny one.
My dinner swallowed in the very relative heat of a subway station, I head towards the club. My plan is the following: I’m going to walk by it first, just to see what it looks like. It’s dark, it’s cold, I’m alone, but deep inside, the flame is rekindling.
I finally enter. And feel good right away. The hostesses welcome me with a big smile. I feel in my element, which I didn’t even know was mine. I order a beer. I dance. I meet Steffie. I spend the evening with her. And we meet again the next day to play foosball in a bar while sampling Berlin beers.
I only enjoyed the moments when I was in contact and exchange with other human beings. Even though I usually don’t mind solitude. But this has been true in all my other solo trips.
This is annoying because it means that I need a certain daring of “the other” to feel balanced. It seems that what they say is true: humans are social animals.
Knowing how to be alone and enjoying it is good. But I believe that the best memories are those shared.