Solo Travel & Freedom
My Love Affair With (Solo)Travel
Quenching my desire to feel alive
Did you go to New Zealand by yourself? I can’t even drive to the airport alone without major anxiety! That was me, in my forties, until two years ago.
I moved to New York from Israel when I was eight years old. This was the first time I was on an airplane and the beginning of my love affair with travel. The big buildings, the mélange of languages, the smell of roasted chestnuts; it was easy to fall in love with NYC.
Shortly thereafter my family started taking road trips throughout the U.S.; small cities, big cities, waffles with ice cream for breakfast, hotels, motels, soaking it all in, three little kids piled in the back of my mother’s brown station wagon.
When I was twelve I would read the World Book Encyclopedia in my parents’ basement; I was obsessed with Venice. I remember the first time I visited when I was 16 years old; I had 14 rolls of film to develop upon my return of little alleyways, bridges and gondolas, and the moon which somehow looked far more spectacular over a magical city on water.
I couldn’t get over all the colors, so rich and vibrant, and all the flavors of gelato too!
I would return to Europe several more times as a kid and as an adult; Italy, France, England, Switzerland — there is so much left to see. I’ve traveled to other parts of the world too; Canada, Mexico, Costa Rica, and the Caribbean, and of course back to Israel, falling in love with my country each time as I view it with the eyes of an explorer now, yet there is so much world I crave yet to see.
In college, I worked at a restaurant to support my travel habit, or was it an addiction? My parents would laugh that they created a traveling monster in me, who needed her ‘fix’ about every three months; Vegas, Colorado, Florida, Europe, Mexico — it didn’t really matter as long as I was on the move and soaking in new scenery.
Yet somewhere along the way, even my travel became uneventful and no longer gave me that high I so craved. I repeated destinations; I’ve been to Mexico at least seven times and to Paris at least five.
Don’t get me wrong; you can never visit Paris too many times, but there is a whole world out there to see and I was becoming increasingly aware that I was missing it.
As my international friends backpacked through Europe, I lived a life of next steps, predictable and manufactured by fear, self-limiting beliefs, and societal expectations. Though I always envied these friends who traveled extensively after high school or after college, spending quality time with themselves soaking in the world, I continued to play it safe in my life, or in hindsight, to play it small. I did the typical trajectory expected of me as a child from a middle-upper-class family in the Midwest; went to college, found a husband, went to graduate school (twice), found another husband, had a few kids and several careers, and eventually found myself single and terrified in my forties.
Somewhere within the ten-years of my deadened marriage, I lost my voice, myself, and my inner spark for adventure and replaced it with uncertainty and fear. Divorced and career-less I resigned to the fact that I would never see the world again. How would I afford it? Who would I travel with? I can’t even find my way to the airport! The struggle was real. But little by little I found my voice again and rebuilt the parts of myself that had been chipped away by my toxic marriage.
And then, two years ago, two-years into my singlehood, I reached a turning point; I was done waiting, be it for a boyfriend or a bestie, to live the life I wanted — to see the world!
I joined some Facebook groups for solo female travelers; thousands of women were traveling with themselves, seeing the world that I too wanted to see. Unlike me, these women were not allowing fear to hold them back but rather they gave their anxiety the middle finger and did it anyway, and if they could do it — so could I. I had a Ph.D., I ran marathons, I was a single mom — what did these solo-traveler women have that I didn’t?!
And then it hit me; they had courage, and so did I — I decided.
And so began the next chapter of my life as an empowered, daring, fear-inviting, adventure-seeking woman, and a grateful solo-traveler who delights in exploring new places with herself.
I started small. As I had been terrified to drive to my local airport alone, for fear of getting lost, robbed, raped, you name it — I began by driving 30-minutes South of my hometown to solo-hike. It was amazing. The first time I did it, I was as delighted to have survived the drive as much as to not have been attacked by a mountain-lion or another human.
I took on this little local-hiking adventure every other week for a few months, and then, one early Sunday morning — it happened. My car’s engine-light went off and within minutes I was pulled over on a secluded freeway, my car smoking, calling for roadside assistance. It was not the best part of town and yes, I was nervous, but I was fully capable of handling it, and of course — I survived it. Having lost nothing but the morning’s workout, I gained a healthy dose of self-confidence and upped my game.
A few weeks later I booked a one-night stay at a swanky hotel in a small town in Arkansas; a six-hour drive away and a big leap from the 30-minute hike or airport drive I had since mastered.
I drove out of my bubble, through the one-way streets of downtown which had always terrified me to the point of avoidance, and I began to enjoy the adventure of it all. I drove through the country-side, yelling ‘horse’ and ‘cow’ and ‘goat’ to myself as I passed by, allowing the little-kid within me to emerge again and to delight in the simple pleasures of the world around me.
Bentonville, Arkansas was delightful; its town square decorated with thousands of Christmas lights illuminating its small-town charm, restaurants surrounding its center, a famous art museum drawing in locals and foreigners alike.
I relished in the conquest of independence as much as the night-time moonlit hike, my swanky hotel, and the stroll through the town’s magical winter wonderland.
I returned home a new woman; confident, empowered, adventurous, able, capable, and more than enough, and I booked my next adventure — an airline ticket for one and a three-night stay in New Orleans beginning the next day!
New-Orleans was a hustle and bustle over Christmas; a sea of people taking in the music-filled colorful streets contributing to the electrifying energy of life that is NOLA!
I visited every famous hotel bar, sampled all the local varieties in food and drink, ate powdered-sugar beignets by the river, took a horse and carriage ride to soak in the city’s famed neighborhoods, heard great music, and of course — made friends with strangers.
Most importantly, however, I made friends with myself; a stronger, energized, self-assured version of myself that had been dormant for too long.
After conquering both New Orleans and my own fears, there would be many more solo-adventures, both work-related and personal; fear-inducing, courage-requiring, empowering bursts of adventure in travel and in becoming, and many more strangers turned friends throughout the United States.
As I began to take on my life with play, fun, and ease and an over-arching sense of empowered-independence, my experience of life itself transformed into a journey to be fully experienced and I, myself, became the proud solo-explorer of my life’s adventure.
Next up? A solo international destination post-pandemic. Any ideas?
Galit Birk, PhD is a life coach and a soon-to-be-therapist. She has a PhD in Psychology and a Master’s in Counseling. She is a writer, an editor, and a poet. She is a single mom. She is a deep-feeler who is passionate about people having it all, and living a life they love! Follow her on Twitter and Instagram, and use her referral link to sign up for Medium membership.
