I’m not sure if it was the high stakes of planning the perfect itinerary or the looming idea of feeling like an outsider in a new place, but growing up, travel always felt daunting to me.
In the hopes of conquering that fear, I applied to my university’s summer study abroad program and soon found myself thousands of miles from my home in California to complete a two-month internship in London.
A few weeks into my semester, I found out Charli XCX — one of my favorite artists — was playing a special one-night-only show in Ibiza.
In a giddy stupor, fearful that it would sell out, I spontaneously bought a ticket and texted my massive study abroad group chat to see if anyone else would like to go with me.
I was confident I’d be able to find someone — after all, the infectious party-girl mindset of Brat summer had just struck the globe.
But when a few days passed and nobody had responded, worry sank in. Unwilling to sell my ticket, I realized I was going to be on this adventure alone.
Traveling solo was nerve-racking, but my fear gave way to excitement
The afternoon of the concert, I squeezed my essentials into a handbag and took the train to Stansted Airport. The flight to Ibiza was loud and full of passengers singing and enjoying drinks with their friends, making me feel even more lonely as a solo traveler.
As I stood in line outside the venue, I did my best to channel my anxiety into excitement.
At first, I felt self-conscious surrounded by more groups of friends, but it wasn’t long until I found myself chatting happily with everyone around me. Many had traveled far for the show, too, and we bonded over our love of music. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone.
Inside, I kicked off the night dancing with the people I’d met in line, but we soon lost each other in the sweaty, sardine-packed crowd. At first, losing those familiar faces made me uneasy, but my love for the music helped me embrace being alone.
My trip motivated me to spend more time alone
I remember arriving back at my apartment in London the next day and recapping the night for my roommates. “I’m so tired,” I laughed, dropping my handbag and sliding off my sneakers, but really, I’d never felt more energized.
In the past, I’d often relied on others for social plans. I’d wait for an invite to a party, or let my nerves stop me from attending a show solo.
But after my trip, I realized I didn’t need to wait for others in order to go where I wanted. If no one was available to join, I could still make my own plans and be content.
Throughout the rest of my summer in London, I went solo to vintage markets to thrift, cafés to wrap up work, and parks to take a stroll. I even started clubbing solo, forcing myself to fight discomfort on the dancefloor by meeting new friends.
Ironically, my solo outings have also been some of my most social. I’ve found that going out alone heightens my self-awareness and curiosity, encouraging conversation with the people around me. It’s also helped me recognize that spending time with myself is valuable.
Going anywhere solo can feel challenging, but learning to work through the awkwardness of being alone has empowered me to be more free-spirited.
Since I graduated and moved to a new city, I’ve continued to do my best to go out on independent side quests, whether I’m volunteering at local arts events or RSVPing yes to a random Partiful invite.
I’m proud of how I’m practicing transforming discomfort into confidence — all thanks to the beauty of Brat summer.
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