Learning How to Be Alone (Why I Travel)

outside Tashkent, Uzbekistan

Is it good or bad to do big things alone?

Society’s messaging is contradictory. If you have to do things alone, you’re tough and strong, but you might also be a loser without friends or a partner. You should be happy being alone, but only if you choose to be alone. And it’s wrong to choose to be alone—that means there are people you’re leaving behind. Also, when you get lonely, you have only yourself to blame.

I’ve spent a lot of time alone; when I was younger, I convinced myself that I preferred it that way, that being lonely was somehow noble. Ah, what we tell ourselves! But really, I was alone because I didn’t have any other options. Was it pathetic? At the time, I would have told you no, but secretly thought yes. I thought I was pathetic. Of course, I wasn’t; I was just a teenage girl having a hard time in high school.

When I went to college, I was alone much less. I found good friends, I lived with a roommate, I got a cat, and most of the time, I was very happy! This is when I discovered the difference between being lonely and being alone.

The difference is choice. Not only choosing whether or not to be in the presence of other people, but choosing how you’re going to frame your current state.

Samarkand, Uzbekistan

I was lonely when I was sixteen for two reasons: first, I didn’t have friends, but second, I wasn’t mature enough to be able to reframe my situation, to look at being alone as a chance to get to know myself better and be quiet, mindful and at peace. Like a monk. I wouldn’t choose to live like a monk, but I imagine there’d be some benefits if you decide to make the most of it. To be fair, no sixteen-year-old has that kind of maturity.

What I realized was that it’s possible to be lonely alone or lonely with people. And it’s possible to be peacefully alone no matter who is around.

So, based on this new definition of “alone,” it isn’t right or wrong to do things by yourself. Doing things alone doesn’t make you some kind of noble martyr, like I’d convinced myself in high school. But it also doesn’t make you pathetic. It’s your choice, a choice that you might make differently every time based on the circumstances you exist in at that very moment.

Travel is something that people have strong feelings about doing alone or not alone. You get on Instagram and follow the “solo female traveler” hashtag and you see all of these fit, stylish women with no tan lines, vacationing everywhere from Costa Rica to Italy to Thailand. You see accounts run by people who quit their corporate jobs, sold their belongings, and are now washing their clothes in mountain streams in Peru.

At the other end of the spectrum are the people who seem extraordinarily concerned when I tell them I’m traveling by myself. Are your parents okay with it? Do you get scared? Isn’t it expensive? Do you get bored? Do you get lonely? Aren’t you worried about getting scammed/abducted/mugged/taken into slavery?

I’m more likely to be mugged in D.C., where nobody is concerned about me living alone, than in Baku. And I’d make a very bad hostage, once they realize I’m a type 1 diabetic and have the ability to be very irritating. I talk to my mom all the time, and she’s not too worried about me. My dad worries about me even less.

And I’ve figured out that I like being alone. Not all of the time, of course, but sometimes I need it. And I’m not alone alone; I’m not camping on top of a mountain. I call people to talk. I make friends in hostels and on walking tours. And I have a network of friends I’ve met on previous travels.

Kyzylkum Desert, Uzbekistan

Traveling by myself isn’t something I do because I’m either a hero or an idiot. I do it, very simply, because I want to, and because right now I can. I don’t have to ask permission for anything. There are nobody else’s needs to consider but my own. I can do exactly what I want when I want to do it, I can go to the places that I think are interesting and see the things that I want to see.

Traveling for me is mostly about learning; history, language, music, art. I love school, and places I go are my classrooms. The world is a coloring book; the more I learn and see, the more empty outlines I can color in and add detail to. And, as a result, the more I learn, the more beautiful the world becomes for me.

But traveling is also something I need to do, because it forces me to stay mentally flexible. A large part of my brain likes rules and rigidity, but the other part of my brain is passionate and free-spirited and spontaneous. I’m grateful for the first part—it’s what helped me get the grades I got in school, it keeps me physically healthy, and it keeps me safe. But if I’m not careful, the very helpful first part of my brain will get too strong and stifle the second part, and without the second part, I’m not really me.

Not to mention, the first part of my brain isn’t all that good at dealing with change; even though the one thing that never changes about life is that it continues to change. Traveling is exposure therapy—very pleasant exposure therapy—to treat my general dislike of change, because living out of a suitcase means constant, fast-paced change. And adapting to a different city every five days is the ultimate exercise in flexibility. So when shit hits the fan, as it most certainly will at some point, I’ll be much better equipped to handle it.

You may be thinking that flying to Uzbekistan sure is expensive exposure therapy. That’s another thing I’ve wrestled with, especially on this trip: what a privilege it is to be able to travel. I’m very, very lucky, and I know that. I was born in a country that many of the people in Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, and Georgia would love to move to, or at least visit, and yet I’ve voluntarily left it. U.S. dollars are worth a lot compared to Uzbek som or Kazakh tenge. My American passport is very powerful.

And even by American standards, I’m very lucky. My family is wealthy enough and kind enough to support me. I don’t have to be working right now. I could take time before starting law school to do things like this. I’m grateful for all that.

So, I am determined to remember the stories of the places I go and the people I meet, remember them in ten or fifteen years. I promise to consider other people and other countries, right next door and halfway around the world, when I make decisions about how I want to live my life. Because how can I see these places and meet these people and still be ignorant of the fact that they exist and they matter? I think being aware of the world beyond your bubble is extremely important. It reminds you both of how very small you are and of how big an impact a single person can have.

So, back to this question of being alone. Is it good or bad to do big things alone? To travel alone? For me, it’s good, for lots of reasons. But, perhaps most importantly, because it reminds me that we are each far from alone in this world.