The magic of solo travel
Ditch everyone and spend a day (or two) doing whatever brings you joy. Plus: what I'm reading and listening to while I travel.
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When I got it into my head last week to book an impromptu trip to Chicago, I initially considered bringing my 21-year-old son along. I thought I could provide him with a little culture to balance our recent week in Orlando running around theme parks with stuffed animals on our shoulders.
Here’s how that conversation went:
Me: “Wanna go to Chicago?”
Him: “Wait, what? That’s so random.”
Me: “Your sister is going to be there for work and I thought you and I could crash in her room and sightsee for two days.”
Him (with zero hesitation): “I’m good.”
I reported this to the daughter who was going to be in Chicago, and told her I couldn’t believe that her brother didn’t want to join me. “Seriously?” she asked.
So, I booked one roundtrip ticket for a two-night getaway. My daughter had to work for the majority of the time I was there, so I was left to fill up my time on Wednesday and Thursday however I saw fit. I could do absolutely anything I wanted.
When I was getting ready to return home on Thursday, I thought about how different the trip would have been had I brought my son along.
How I would not have left with a full feeling inside my chest after two days of walking tours, admiring the city’s architecture and taking in the art institute’s Georgia O’Keefe exhibit.
With my son in tow, I wouldn’t have stopped to find a seat in the shade on Wednesday morning to listen to the symphony rehearse at the outdoor theater in Millennium Park for a concert later that night. And I definitely would not have peppered the architect leading the walking tour with a steady stream of questions and observations throughout our two hours together.
While I was lying in bed Thursday morning and scrolling through the latest news on my phone, I saw an article about how they were closing the Acropolis in Athens because of the anticipated record-breaking heat, with temperatures expected to hit 107 degrees. I thought back to my solo trip to Greece 10 years earlier and how hot it was the August afternoon that I visited the Acropolis. Honestly, it felt like the hottest place on the planet that day, standing at the top of that ancient limestone hill, like a pedestal pushing me even closer to the white-hot heat of the Grecian sun.
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I remembered how slippery the stone was underfoot and how I had slipped and fallen at the ticket booth at the bottom because of the flat-bottomed sandals I was wearing (that ironically had given what I felt was a very gladiator vibe when I was packing for the trip in New Jersey). How I’d already felt so self-conscious to be there all by myself and how mortified I was to draw attention to myself as I landed flat on my ass amidst the sea of tourists preparing to head to the top. I hated pretending to be strong and could feel the tears start stinging behind my eyes
I spent much of that maiden solo voyage post-divorce focused on how alone I was. I was so convinced everyone was looking at me and feeling sorry for me. Maybe because I was feeling really sorry for myself and projected that pity onto strangers. I was hungry for adventure and tired of waiting around to find a friend or partner to join me and was inspired by another single woman in my town who had sailed around Greece alone so booked the exact same trip.
I flew to Athens and then took a small plane to the island of Samos. I was to spend the night in a hotel there before meeting a group of strangers the next day on a 40-ish-foot sailboat to travel around the Aegean to a bunch of small islands off the coast of Turkey.
I remember eating dinner that night in Samos at a table along the edge of the water, the Aegean lapping at my toes, and being unable to fully enjoy the sound of the water and the little lights twinkling above in the darkness. Or appreciating after about five years as a single parent to four hurting children, I had no one to worry about for an entire week other than myself. But I was so concerned about what other people thought of me sitting there alone that I couldn’t stretch out and luxuriate in that space. I couldn’t savor the peace and enjoy doing whatever it was I wanted to do. Instead, I was pretty focused on getting the outing over with and retreating to my hotel room.
That trip was in 2013 and in the ensuing decade, I had to do a ton of things on my own, and most of them nowhere near as fabulous as a sailing trip around Greece. I think about all those events for school I had to show up for alone and not a part of a unit — concerts, games, graduations, painful sports dinners and awards ceremonies. How I’d plaster a smile on my face and act like I was totally cool with the situation instead of kind of melting inside and wishing I could be stronger. Cursing where my life had ended up and just wanting to be like everyone else, which has been a lifelong theme.
I happened to have a virtual session with my therapist this week while I was still in Chicago on Thursday morning and after I raved to her about what a great getaway I just had, she asked what advice I’d give other women who were just coming out of a divorce and starting on their own.
“You just keep pushing forward and don’t let being single keep you from having adventures,” I told her. “After a while, you don’t even notice when you are alone.”
I told her how I went on a boat tour out of the Maine Maritime Museum last September during a solo trip to work on my writing for the week. When the man gathering tickets at the top of the gangplank took mine, he looked up and asked, “You all alone?” and it didn’t even occur to me that I was. “Yup,” I told him. “It’s just me.”
I went and found an unoccupied seat on the top deck surrounded by tons of couples and happily listened to our guide tell us about the history of the river and point out a bald eagle resting on a tree branch high above the riverbank. I stood up and tried to get a picture of it on my phone and then sat back down and tipped my head back to take in the bright blue September sky.
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When I got home this week, my son picked me up from the airport and I told him all about my adventures in Chicago — the symphony, the art museum, asking all the questions — and we agreed, he would have hated it.
“I really did you a service,” he said as we exited the airport and headed toward the turnpike.
And I totally agreed.
sunday shares: read + watch + cook + buy
Manicure report. Gang, I am on a nail-care journey. I have a permanently split fingernail on my right hand that requires constant upkeep (read: manicures) to prevent it from catching on things (the horror). Gel manicures seemed the way to go until my fingernails became as thin as papyrus and the owner of my regular nail salon told me I needed to give them a break before my manicurist dug right into my nailbed. Regular manicures last, like, a day, and then I’ve got the broken nail problem. Anyway, last week I cheated on my long-time manicurist and went somewhere that could do a powder dip and honestly it looks fresh one week later. Please share your experience, strength and hope on this type of manicure.
For the book lovers. The author Elin Hilderbrand seems to be everywhere right now with the recent publication of her final “beach” book. TBH, I don’t LOVE her beach books but I LOVE her. I really think she and I would get along (says every stalker, ever). Since I don’t see myself getting to her hometown of Nantucket any time soon to stand outside her home, I’ve done the next best thing and started binging her podcast Books, Beach & Beyond. She and her cohost Tim Ehrenberg (creator of Tim Talks Books) interview popular authors and folks in the publishing biz (Jennifer Weiner, Jenna Bush Hager, Ann Pachett) and talk books, books, books. Highly recommend.
My Last Innocent Year. Elin recommended this novel about a young woman’s fish-out-of-water/questionable decisions during her senior year at an elite New England college at the end of the 1990s. Am flying through it and it’s the first non-romantasy book I’ve either read or listened to in 2024. It’s also kind of nice to read a book that’s not 900 pages long where no one is flying or getting into an altercation involving a sword.
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When losing your job is kinda funny. My friend, Liz, and her husband both lost their jobs within a few weeks of each other. And while that is an absolutely horrible thing to happen to a family (they’ve got three sons), it did provide some great content that Liz dug into to write her memoir, Sad Sacked, which came out last week. I got to listen to the audio version of her story last year and LAUGHED OUT LOUD as Liz narrated how she navigated that period of their lives, which included wrangling a spot on The Chew to compete for a girls night out with one of the hosts. Liz’s writing has been featured in The New York Times, McSweeney’s and lots of other spots and she is the author of two thriller novels and another — The House on Cold Creek Lane — coming out in August (but you can preorder now).
Amy! I was scrolling along, nodding my head about the wonders of solo travel and admiring all your glorious photos - when, boom, there I was! Thank you so much for all your kind words! I cannot wait to return the favor and shout about your memoir from the rooftops! Hope we can catch up soon and thank you again, my friend! xx
Amy, I've never traveled solo but I've longed to and threatened to do it many times. You've inspired me to get my butt out there while I can still move it! Also, thanks for the book rec of Liz's SAD SACKED! I just read her essay Beyond The Grave on Midstory and fell head over heels for her writing. Grabbing that book up fast!