I used to think traveling alone was exciting and scary. Exciting to explore new places, that’s always been within me. And scary because you’re alone.
I grew up in a house of six, with a huge extended family beyond that. There was always someone around. Always a sibling or a cousin I was doing something with.
Family was always on road trips, camping, any trip really. So when something unexpected happened, like a flat tire or the engine overheating, there was always more than one of us to handle it. Facing the unknown solo, especially while traveling, definitely sparked a sense of fear.
My first solo trip out of the country was to Munich. A lot went wrong the day I landed. Aunt Flo showed up. My paycheck didn’t. I had just enough euros on me to get from the airport to the hostel. I was hungry, scared, and irritated. I had just turned 30.
This was when smartphones were smart, but not like now. There was no WhatsApp. I thought I’d set up my phone to work abroad, but that didn’t pan out.
I had to find a place that still had public phones where people went to call their family overseas. That became my lifeline. I found one. I called home. Got the funds sorted. And yeah, I cried in that phone booth. Scared. Helpless.
Thinking back on that, and how much our phones are truly our lifelines now for navigation, safety, and all those unexpected moments, I make sure to always carry a reliable portable power bank. It keeps that connection strong, no matter where I am or what challenges pop up.
Once I regrouped. Fed, rested, clear-headed. Something clicked. That moment defined every trip after: nothing goes exactly to plan, yet I always figure it out. I’m okay. I navigate. I find a way.
Learning to figure things out on the fly is part of the journey, for sure. But getting started doesn’t have to feel like such a huge hurdle. If you’re looking for some practical help to kick off your own solo travel, my Solo Travel Starter Kit has a simple checklist and tips to get you going.
I think people forget this part of themselves, which is why solo travel feels so intimidating. You don’t truly know what you’re capable of until you’re tested.
Traveling alone, especially as a woman, and particularly traveling alone after 40, adds extra layers. It can be scary, as any unknown usually is.
And yes, being a woman demands heightened awareness. We have to prepare differently. Trust more carefully. Be aware of getting baited or taken advantage of. Not paranoid, just sharp.
Now with age, solo travel feels different. There’s a grown independence to it. I genuinely love my own company in a way I didn’t before.
Silence feels good. I’m gentler with myself, pivoting with more intention and less panic. There’s an inner strength I keep tapping into, building with each journey.
As I gain more of myself, I care less about external opinions. But instead of turning cold, I’ve found that being kinder to myself makes me kinder toward others too.
Sometimes I’ll engage with someone while I’m out there, sometimes I don’t. Either way, I believe I project a vibe that says, “I see you. I’m good. Stay blessed.”
People pick up on it. I feel it in their responses. You don’t need to explain yourself out here. You just need to show up as yourself.
And if someone thinks solo travel means feeling disconnected, I’d ask: disconnected from what? Traveling alone connects you to everything. To yourself. To others. To your ancestors, history, culture, nature, God’s creation. Everything.
Finding Power in Being Alone
There’s something quiet that happens when you’re eating paella on the steps of Placa Nova in Barcelona. Alone.
Not the sad kind of quiet, or the “should I text someone?” kind. It’s the kind where you realize, “I’m good.”
You’re smack in the middle of tourist chaos, watching the whole world spin, yet you’re completely centered. Your food satisfies, the sounds blend, and your phone stays in your pocket except for that one shot of sunlight hitting ancient stone just right.
That’s presence. That’s peace.
I’ve had these sit-back-and-just-be moments repeatedly, always when I least expect them.
Being alone while traveling feels different than being alone at home. My Long Beach apartment felt familiar, comfortable, predictable, almost stale. On the road, I welcome the edge of unpredictability. I don’t sit in the same stillness, I evolve in it.
Even revisiting a city feels new because I’m not the same. Three visits to Minneapolis, and each time, a different part of me emerged, cracking open preferences, tolerance levels, boundaries, how I eat, how I interact. It’s all filtered and fine-tuned with every journey.
I’ve also grown accustomed to problem-solving solo. Chicago transit tested me when I missed an L transfer, distracted by a burger joint. Previously, that would have spiraled me. Now, I pause. I breathe. I adjust. That’s growth. That’s learning to hold your own hand when it starts to shake.
And then there’s the silence. I actively seek it. An empty airport gate, a quiet corner of a train station. Just me and my thoughts, no agenda. Just being still with myself. That silence isn’t heavy anymore, it feels earned.
Solo travel strips away the mental and physical excess. I pack less because I carry less. If it doesn’t serve, it doesn’t come. That applies to clothes and emotional baggage.
Is this thing, this habit, this thought, this tendency, just taking up space? Or is it useful? Does it consume space or bring peace? That’s how my new filter.
This part of the journey, being good in your own company, isn’t loud or flashy. It’s subtle. Once you taste it, you stop reaching for distractions. You know you’ve got you. And that, right there, is power.
Sharpening Your Senses
I now catch every sound and smell, noticing everything and everyone around me: movements, conversations, expressions. I observe people constantly. At the airport, on the street, on trails, exploring, everywhere.
I keep my head on a swivel, picking up on subtle shifts in my surroundings. Call it safety, call it simply being aware.
Small moments stand out, like catching someone reaching for something in my peripheral vision, especially when I’m walking I have pups with me. This awareness has significantly leveled up since I started traveling alone.
My gut instinct speaks louder now too, and I lean into it hard, mostly for safety.
I had a promising stay lined up in Madison, Wisconsin. Looked great on paper, nice host. But my gut said no. It just didn’t feel right, not the place I needed at that time. The next day, I booked a different spot that turned out to be perfect in timing, location, and peace of mind.
My earbuds are lifesavers. I use them to maintain my personal space—mostly music, sometimes podcasts. They help me zone out when needed or stay in my own bubble when there’s too much going on.
On a flight to Traverse City, Michigan, one of the plane’s tires wasn’t responding, and the crew initiated emergency landing prep. A young woman near me panicked, full-on verbal freak out. Before I could step in, another woman across from her helped calm her down. The entire cabin was filled with anxiety.
I stayed quiet, focused on my breathing, prayed for peace, and popped in my earbuds. That was the buffer I needed to block it out. I wasn’t about to get pulled into that swirl, no way, no how.
When things get a bit much, sometimes all you need is a quick breath. That’s why I put together some 3-Minute Breathing Exercises, little ways to find your calm, no matter where you are.
One habit that always stays with me? Look both ways. Not just crossing streets, but everywhere. Keeping my head on a swivel keeps me sharp. And it doesn’t stop when I’m off the road. It becomes part of how I move through the world.
Connecting Beyond the Comfort Zone
This has happened a couple of times recently.
First, on a train from Chicago to Saint Paul. I was one of the last to find seating after stowing my luggage and ended up next to a young man in his early 20s.
As the train pulled out, he reached for something overhead, and I noticed his incredibly long reach. Something in me just said what was on my mind out loud, and we both laughed.
Normally I keep to myself, respecting others’ space. But that offhand comment sparked a conversation that lasted almost three hours.It was a pleasure to chat with him. I even shared my snacks.
He told me about his family, his girlfriend, school (he had just graduated) and his dreams of breaking into photography. Everything flowed organically.
It didn’t feel forced or superficial. We were strangers, yet we found a natural connection in that moment. It was truly a cool.
Another quick example: at the airport, going through pre-TSA. After the scanner, my bag and two others were set aside.
A woman ahead of me had her bag flagged for another scan. The TSA attendant asked whose was whose, and once we claimed our items, she made a slightly worried comment. Not that she had anything in the bag, just that general anxiety.
Meanwhile, I’m over here worried they might take my snacks. Hasn’t happened yet, but still! So instead of just thinking it, I blurted out, “Oh no, don’t take my snacks.” She chuckled, said something back, and just like that, we were chatting.
She and her husband were flying to L.A. for their grandson’s USC graduation. She’s a retired teacher. I thanked her for being an educator—she immediately understood the weight of that, given our broken system—and then we both went on our way.
These small, organic interactions are something I’ve come to appreciate more and more.
Traveling alone has made me a little more extroverted. Not that I’m a complete introvert. As my son and I say, I’m the biggest extroverted introvert I know.
Solo travel helps me tune into myself, but also into other people. It’s made me kinder, more open. With locals, I lead with respect.
They’re letting me into their space. With other travelers, there’s this camaraderie, a quiet “you’re not alone” vibe that floats between us.
I’ve definitely formed deeper connections while traveling solo compared to being with a group.
In a group, sure, I’ve had great conversations and bonded with people. But your attention is often pulled toward the people you came with. You don’t want to ignore them or be rude, making it harder to be fully present with someone new.
Solo? All your energy is open. You have the bandwidth for new people, new moments.
Social anxiety? Yes, solo travel helped with that too.
It’s because I’m in more social spaces now, spaces with more than two people.
I can be a fly on the wall, or I can be seen and not feel awkward about it. This is my normal now. I’ve grown used to being out in the world and around people without shrinking myself.
When it comes to time, I’m submissive to its vulnerability, if that’s a thing. I don’t stress about time the way I used to. When I’m solo, everything is on my time, yet somehow also not on my time simultaneously. I’ve learned to adapt, maneuver, and make the best of what is.
Solo Lessons, Stronger Bonds
In the beginning, I was picking up every call and answering every text like I was still living around the corner. I didn’t feel obligated, but I wanted folks back “home” to know I wasn’t leaving them behind.
There was a sliver of guilt, and I figured hearing my voice would give them peace of mind. Especially my parents, they’re older, and knowing I’m good reassures them.
Plus, we bond over food; sharing what we’ve cooked is our thing.
But that constant access? That didn’t last long.
These days, my phone lives on Do Not Disturb. I’ve carved out weekend check-in windows: Saturday or Sunday. That’s it.
During the week, I might call my parents during a break, but otherwise, my time is mine. Every moment matters now, even the quiet ones.
Sometimes the best connection is with yourself. I always carry a travel journal to jot down thoughts, moments, and those little revelations that happen on the road.
I don’t waste energy on hollow connections anymore. I don’t chase those people, I don’t respond. And honestly, I don’t miss it.
I had a moment of realization: just because someone reaches out doesn’t mean I owe them anything, not my time, presence, or energy. If a group chat is buzzing and I’m not feeling it? I stay quiet. That’s the boundary. No big drama. No explanation. Just… nothing.
And you know what? Some people disappear when you stop showing up the way they expect. That’s how I know those connections were surface-level to begin with.
Now when I meet new people—locals, fellow travelers, or strangers—I clock red flags quicker than ever. It’s like I’ve got an internal radar now, and when it pings, I don’t push through it.
Sometimes I won’t even speak. I’m comfortable with nonverbal exchanges. Eye contact, a nod, maybe a smile.
But when someone has good energy, and I do open my mouth? What comes out is honest and unfiltered. I say what I mean, exactly how I mean it. I don’t have time for games.
Solo travel forces you to be your own emotional anchor, especially when your usual people aren’t around. So when someone starts venting or emotionally spiraling, I don’t absorb it. I listen. That’s it. I’ve learned to hold space without holding the weight.
And when it comes to my life as a full-time traveler, digital nomad, I don’t explain it anymore. To anyone. People find out and immediately have questions, opinions, projections. I used to try and make it make sense to them, tried to make it sound reasonable or smart.
That stopped the moment I realized my own mom was trying to justify my lifestyle to someone else. She didn’t mean harm, she just didn’t understand it. But that moment flipped a switch. I realized this life isn’t a debate. It’s mine.
That shift hit full force before I even left California. Once I let go of having a permanent place, booked my ticket, and chose my first stop, everything changed. I wasn’t performing anymore. I was just living.
When people try to box me in with some stereotype or label now, I don’t argue. I don’t correct them. I don’t entertain it. I just walk away.
The beautiful part? My close relationships, the real ones, got tighter. Nobody went weird or distant. No one ghosted. The people who matter most are still solid. If anything, they show up even more now, and so do I.
As for dating? It’s not even on my radar. My standards for connection are sky-high. If someone doesn’t bring calm, clarity, and a full sense of peace with them… I’m good.
Being alone has redefined intimacy for me. I now understand it as a deep connection to myself, rather than simply closeness with another. That, right there, is the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced.
The Freedom’s Full Circle
I didn’t have some huge revelation out here. The freedom? It’s being selfish. It’s shedding whatever box I put myself in or that society shoved me into.
Freedom to live life my way, not anyone else’s. All the newness, the scary unknowns—full-time solo travel hands me the freedom to feel every bit of it.
Traveling solo made me appreciate myself more: my thoughts, my movements, my motivations. It’s about figuring out what truly fires me up and what doesn’t. I’m closer to myself in the sense that I see what I can build on inside.
I’m more emotional, probably even more sensitive now—not a bad thing, actually a damn good one. I overthink already, but solo travel has helped me manage that. New perspectives came faster and sharper.
Funny thing, being alone on the road pulled me closer to others too—through understanding, seeing through a different lens, new perspectives, and kindness.
Why should women 40+ consider solo travel? To see new shades of themselves they didn’t know existed.
Uncover those shades yourself. Pick a destination, one you’ve been curious about, and just take that one step.
If my story makes you think, ‘Hey, maybe I could do that too,’ and you’re curious about taking the leap, my Solo Travel Starter Kit is ready to help. It’s full of simple tips and a checklist to make getting started easy.
