Me, Myself & I

I was recently asked by someone to sum up my time abroad in five words. And one of those words was Lonely. 

Now, don't go jumping to conclusions just yet - I know how utterly sad that makes me sound. Give me a chance to explain myself here... 

Ever since I was a little kipper, I've loved being by myself. I can make a real cracker out of a party for one, spending hours tinkering away at my odd hobbies, eating out unaccompanied, being scarily productive and dangerously lazy, planning, studying, cooking, adventuring - the list goes on. In saying that, I must note that I also love being around people, talking about everything and anything and finding it quite difficult to stop. 

So it was a fusion of my ambiverous personality that made me hell bent on learning the art of solo travel. 

In the lead up to my trip, I knew I was going at this thing alone. It was my youthful rebellion - my great scheme of escapism. My ego fuelled the perfect image of a free-spirited vagabond, sweeping through hostel to hostel earning the appraisal of onlookers at my unafraid demeanour, independent aura and tender young age.

Of course, there were weeks at a time where my happiness was flawless - I'd be sat looking out to the Mediterranean twirling spaghetti onto my fork with one hand, and balancing a wine in the other, dining at my table for one in amongst a sea of foreigners. It was heaven, and it was times like those where I'd say to myself, "Master of solo travel? Tick!". I'd relish in my individual state, euphoric on the feeling of solitude. It was exciting, it was empowering - I was actually really good at this.

And then out of nowhere, I'd get a niggling in my mind and an uneasiness in my stomach, and I knew what was coming. It was Loneliness, tugging on my sleeve.

I didn't admit it for so long - I'd refused to use the word at all. Me? LONELY?! You've gotta be joking.

Once I'd been infected with loneliness, its presence lingered around like a stubborn flu. We'd dance around each other, and I'd run from city to city to avoid crossing its path. But loneliness was determined, and no matter how much I tried to outsmart it, it'd catch me unawares. 

There was this one night on the Red Beach in Santorini where I was with a big group of people I'd been travelling with for a glorious week. We were lying around the bonfire, looking up at the most beautiful sky of stars, and in the greatest company I could have dreamed of I felt so cripplingly alone that I ended the night winded with sadness. Why? I've got no idea; I can't really explain what happened that night. But I was overcome with such a hollowing feeling of isolation that I was left so lost and confused for the week to follow. 

Travelling alone is hard - no point in me sugarcoating it. I walked into solo travel pretending that loneliness wouldn't exist - that the fact that I was alone didn't mean I had to be lonely. But no matter how hard I tried or how much I loved the place I was in, or even how many people I surrounded myself with, I had to learn that loneliness might be there too. 

As soon as I surrendered and wrote the words, I am lonely, into my diary, I felt like I'd been set free. I started acknowledging the moments when the feeling was there and admitting, "you are lonely and that is okay." Instead of worrying so much about avoiding loneliness, I embraced it with open arms. I let it consume me when it wanted, and didn't anticipate it when it wasn't there. And slowly but surely, loneliness picked up on the hint - it stopped bothering me so frequently. I'd find contentment in my days of solitude, and fell back in love with the time I spent with just me, myself and I. 

People always ask me if I'd travel by myself again, and the answer is 100% yes. Making the choice to travel alone was the best thing I've ever done. It pushed me to my absolute limit, challenged me like nothing else. I think everyone wandering out there is dealing with their own dose of loneliness, no matter how tough or emotionally put-together they appear - it's a fairly taboo topic; everyone likes to make out that every second of travelling is peachy. But the moment I'd mention it to someone, or ask someone who looked a bit blue if they were okay, I developed friendships like none other, and healed my own loneliness in the process too. 

As for loneliness and I? Well, we're on pretty good terms now. After the rough patch in our weird relationship, I've come to realise that being lonely isn't really a bad thing it all. In fact, if it'd never caught me in the first place, I think my whole trip wouldn't have been the wonder that it was.