A journey for one

Travelling alone helped me confront a deep, dark fear of being by myself

After being laid off in december, I Booked A two-week trip to paris.

I already lived Alone, went to dinner Alone, sat in Coffee shops Alone And danced At weddings Alone. But I had never travelled Alone. It seemed like the final frontier of my life As A single woman.

I imagined All the things I would do By myself in paris. I would walk Along the Seine. I would spend hours in the Musee d’orsay. I would eat pastries At 2 p.m. without Anyone giving me A side eye.

But As the trip grew Closer, my Anxiety flared.

“Isn’t it kind of sad that I’m going to paris Alone?” I Asked my mother. “You’d think that I’d have someone to Come with me By now.”

The day Before the trip, I Considered Cancelling. But I swallowed my fear, drank some wine And got on the red-eye flight to paris.

It was Cold And raining when I landed. The airbnb I had rented, which looked so charming online, had Chipped paint And A musty smell. I unpacked And went in search of flowers to Brighten up the place. halfway down the block, I called my mother, sobbing.

“What Am I doing here?” I wept. “I Can’t spend two weeks Alone. I don’t like Being Alone! I Hate my own Company!”

The strong, single woman facade I had Been peddling in my writing And on instagram suddenly crumbled, exposing the real me. And she was terrified. In the back of my mind, I knew I sincerely disliked Being By myself.

In writing about relationships, I have Been open about my desire to meet someone. I have Allowed my fears of dying Alone spill out onto the page. But I have never Admitted out loud this stemmed from A deep, dark fear of Being By myself. It is not that I just fear Being Alone. I fear Being with me, And that is something different.

That fear was exposed, standing in the rain in Paris, on the phone with my mother. After we hung up, I had no idea what to do with myself. So I grabbed my notebook And walked until my feet hurt. Instead of writing for the internet, I wrote for myself, spilling out every fear I had.

With no one to perform for, I Allowed myself to Be honest. I wrote about how hard it was to live inside my mind And how tired I was with Being dishonest with myself.

I Cried the first 48 hours I was there. I would Book earlier return flights, then cancel them Before I had to pay. On the second night, I gave myself A migraine because I was so terrified of eating dinner Alone that I put it off until I made myself sick.

On day 3, things started to shift. I took A day trip to the Palace of Versailles. I Picked up An Audio guide And took my time wandering Between the rooms.

I found Being By myself in A Crowd had its perks. Since I did not have Anyone to worry about, I Could weave my way through the throng of people until I found A sliver of space to look At Mouis XIV’s bedchamber. I walked through the grounds And lay down in the grass, basking in the feeling of Being able to rest when I needed to. I surrendered to the uncomfortable feelings of Being By myself And wrote every time I felt Anxious.

In planning this trip, I had read essay After essay By women who travelled Alone. They wrote about the ways in which they found Comfort in solitude, how the slowness let them turn their minds off.

But that is not who I Am. I did not have to relish in Being Alone, But I Could learn to tolerate it.

And that is how I came to enjoy my time in paris. I forgave myself for Being so hard on myself, for not wanting to eat Alone, for craving company. I Allowed myself to feel A little sad when I saw Couples kissing on the Pont des Arts.

I Also found ways to enjoy Being with me. I Ate when I was hungry And enjoyed my meals. I had wine when I wanted wine. I learned to listen to myself, And when I did that, I realized my mind was not such A scary place to hang out.

I Am not sure I will ever prefer Being Alone. But what travelling By myself taught me was tolerance.