Traveling alone was the best decision I ever made.

I went abroad for the first time at 22 years old, and I went alone.

My family couldn't afford to travel. Until recently my parents didn't even have passports. And while gap years are popular amongst well off families sending their kids off to reputable colleges, it never occurred to me or my family to prioritize traveling after I graduated high school. Instead I saved for a room in Brooklyn, and while my friends studied or taught english abroad, I desperately tried to make ends meet in a city I had always thought was my dream.

But somehow whilst working two jobs, an unpaid internship, and attending classes, I had eventually been able to save just enough for a flight to Europe, a Eurorail ticket, and dorm rooms in hostels. I was so desperate to travel, I didn't stop to think about much else. (Like money for food, for example.) When it came to traveling solo, I hadn't really given that all that much thought either. I had a few friends in New York, but I was so used to getting by on my own, it didn't occur to me to even ask anyone to come with me. I wanted this to be my adventure, and mine only. To be honest though, I don't really remember even considering the reality of being in a foreign country, with not even a shaky grasp of the language, with not one person by my side. It was probably naivety more than anything, with maybe a pinch of brash rebellion.

But once I was on my way, just me and my big backpack, that’s when an empty, scary feeling dropped down into my gut, like I had swallowed a cold stone. I was alone, completely alone, and for five weeks I would have no one to confide in, or take comfort in, or even talk to. Through Paris, Barcelona, Marseille, Rome, Amalfi, Florence, and Venice, I'd be alone. And suddenly I was really scared.

Then, to make matters worse, everything went wrong. I had mixed up train times, and almost couldn’t get to Paris. Then, when I finally got to Paris it was midnight and I had to walk through the dark streets alone to my hostel, where I found out there was a hold on my debit card and I had no cash with me. The next day my wallet was stolen, which had my social security card and my ID inside, as well as all my cash and my newly reactivated debit card. So things weren’t going well at all, and I spent most of the time I had imagined spending wandering old streets, at Western Unions getting money sent across by my panic stricken mother.

At the end of that disastrous first day, I went back to my hostel cash in hand, boldly struck up a conversation with a Canadian girl in my dorm, and we went for drinks by Montmartre. As we sat sharing a bottle of wine, looking out over the city as it slowly twinkled to life, jazz music drifting up the steps towards us, it struck me: I was in Paris. I was finally traveling, and I was doing it all on my own. I couldn't have been more proud of myself in that moment, which isn't a feeling I was particularly familiar with. I had been a complete idiot, I had gotten the train time wrong, I had been careless with my purse, but I was in Paris, and the night was suddenly perfect. Sure, it had been a rough start, but looking back, it may have been the best way for my solo trip to kick off. In a weird, backwards way, I now felt invincible. I now knew I could handle whatever came along. I was independently making my way through Europe, and although I hadn't considered it to be a remarkably meaningful decision, it quickly became the best I had ever made.

It’s not that loneliness and fear had left me forever, but it was different. I became more and more comfortable with being alone. Admittedly, sometimes I hated it. I had been alone a lot in New York, but this was different, everything was unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, and not speaking the language was more isolating than I'd imagined it would be. I also realized that I was more of an introvert than I had thought I was, to the extent where my heart would race and I'd start to shake while trying to strike up a conversation with a stranger, and there were times I felt almost paralyzed by my self consciousness. But had I not been put so out of my element I wouldn't have seen just how adaptable I am. Despite my natural inclination to avoid people, I began to recognize when I needed company, and I would force myself to start up a conversation with someone. Other times I genuinely wanted to be alone, and I'd realize how vital a skill it is to be able to just settle into the silence of your own company. At the time I'm not sure I realized just how important this was, (I think a large part of me was just gritting my teeth and getting through), but suddenly I no longer felt that I had to be just one thing or the other, I could be whatever I needed to be at various moments of my life.

If someone asked me in Paris, while I searched the city in tears for my lost wallet, I would have said traveling alone is terrifying and bleak. But by the time I got to Barcelona, I began to find liberation in my solitude. I ate gelato for breakfast (and lunch) I woke up when I wanted to, went to bed when I wanted to, and I walked for hours. I love walking, I think it's the best way to take in a new place. I would walk and walk, and get lost, and find my way back. It's hard to do this with someone else. When you're traveling with someone else there's usually a destination involved, but when you're alone, wandering takes on a new meaning. You go at your own pace, you decide when and where to turn, when and where to stop, you can decide on a whim to step into an antique shop, or peruse an art gallery, or sit and drink a cold glass of cava because it's hot and who's to stop you?

I don't think I would have traveled alone if I knew the discomfort and loneliness I'd have to push through, so I'm really glad I didn't put too much thought into it. I had never experienced the kind of freedom that trip gave me. I had lived on my own in New York City for four years, paying my own rent, making and losing friends, going on dates, buying my own furniture, but none of it compared to the liberation I felt when I was sitting in Venice, at the end of my journey, completely lost, sweaty, and exhausted, drinking a Campari spritz by myself in the sunshine. It was like I had been set loose in some way, like the part of me that had always felt unequipped felt that I had everything I needed, and this feeling of being complete set me free.