During one summer of high school, I hiked part of the Rocky Mountain forest with a teen group. At one point during the two weeks on the trail, we were sent into the woods for a solo day. We could have no communication with others, and we set off with an emergency whistle and basic wilderness survival skills. When we returned for dinner together, my friends recanted stories of wonderful experiences. At my turn, I realized I had only spent my day scanning my surroundings for bear tracks and counting down the seconds until I could relax. So preoccupied with my fear of loneliness, I still feel embarrassed about the way I allowed myself to ruin this day.
Fast forward a few years, and in a odd twist of fate and logistics, I spent the last week alone in a foreign country. The term foreign might be a stretch. I've been to this country before, and I'm spending the rest of my summer here, as well. But when my two programs left me with time between the end of one and the start of another, I stood at the train station with my rolling duffle, alone.
College allows you to have friends seconds away, and after a while, you become accustomed to a standard companionship. That's why I used to smile and sigh when I walked into my empty dorm in the sorority house: not because of any animosity towards my roommate, but because every now and then, I yearned for the absence of conversation and communication. After so many meals and classes and parties, you need solitude to relax. What I used to crave so much during the school year was suddenly at my disposal.
My first challenge was in saying "table for one." I learned that I could spend a meal on my phone or reading, but I could also spend the time thinking. During my first few meals, I wouldn't look up from my phone, partly out of embarrassment for eating alone. But, truly, no one cares what you're up to and who you're doing it with, and with that realization I began to spend more time people watching and less time looking at Instagram.
I also learned the difficulty of being a female traveler. Whether it's to the bathroom or around the world, there is a safety in numbers. Being alone, I developed a strong awareness of my surroundings. One night, I took a walk and as the sun set and the street grew darker and creepier, I wished for a companion. I noticed a girl ahead of me powerwalking, so I sped up and pretended to be with her. I don't know if that had any effect against any potential predator that night, but it made me feel safe. Improv works.
While this loneliness may have limited my night time activities, it allowed me to grow in unsuspecting ways. During this week, I decided against using taxis: they're a rip off for tourists and a potentially a sketchy situation. Above all, I knew I could rely on my own body to get me where I wanted. As a result, I spent most of each day walking and using a rental bike to see the city. I felt in control and appreciative of my own two feet, and I even caught onto street names and businesses, something unlikely to have happened in a taxi.
My week alone provided me with the means to enjoy the company of myself: a strange concept for a college student conditioned to the presence of friends. This week allowed me to redeem my solo day in the woods: rather than wishing it was over, I learned to work with my anxieties and discover that necessity of alone time.
