Why am I no longer afraid to travel alone after Rome?

A few years ago, the idea of traveling to another country alone caused me about the same joy as having to assemble a cabinet on my own according to the instructions, in which half of the details are drawn for no clear reason. It seemed to me that a company was absolutely necessary for traveling: someone should help me figure out the transport, tell me the way, hold my bag while I took pictures, and, most importantly, share responsibility for all possible troubles. What if I get lost, lose my documents, fail to communicate with the locals, or get sick at the most inopportune moment? There was a whole list of disasters in my head, and some of them were so unlikely that I thought I could write a separate script for a disturbing series based on them.

That's why I spent a long time choosing to travel with friends or acquaintances, even if our interests did not coincide at all. I wanted to walk along the old streets, but for someone it was more important to spend half a day at the mall; I dreamed of waking up early and seeing the city without crowds of tourists, and my companions believed that the vacation starts only in the afternoon. Sometimes I agreed to things that I didn't want at all, just because I was afraid to be alone in an unfamiliar place. I didn't realize then that sometimes being alone on a trip can be much more enjoyable than a company in which you constantly forget about your own desires.

Rome, which I almost missed.

Everything changed thanks to a trip to Rome, Italy. I have long dreamed of seeing this city, imagined walking near the Colosseum, throwing a coin into the Trevi Fountain, drinking coffee in a small square and looking at the ancient buildings that locals pass by every day, not even suspecting that for someone they look like a real miracle. But when I started looking for fellow travelers, it turned out that everyone had their own plans, circumstances, and reasons to postpone the trip indefinitely.

Vesuvius

At first I decided to wait, then I waited a little longer, and then I discovered that several months had passed, and I was still sitting at home and looking at photos of Italy, as if they could somehow miraculously transport me there. At some point, I felt offended not at my friends or the circumstances, but at myself. It turned out that I was postponing my own dream just because I couldn't find someone who would travel with me at a convenient time and want about the same thing.

One evening, I reopened the ticket website, looked at the dates for a long time, closed the page several times and came back, and then I bought a ticket. When the confirmation came, I smiled at first, and a minute later I felt my stomach tighten with excitement. Now it was not just a dream that could be discussed over a cup of tea, but a real trip from which I had to get out on my own if something went wrong.

The first test began at the airport

I arrived at the airport in advance because I was sure that if I was going to do something stupid, it would be better to do it with time to spare. I checked my passport, ticket, boarding pass and hotel reservation several times, and then I reached into my bag again to make sure that the passport was really where I had just checked it. If the documents could talk, they would probably ask to be left alone for at least ten minutes.

When I finally boarded the plane, instead of the expected panic, I felt strangely relieved. The most difficult decision had already been made, and now all that remained was to fly, and not come up with new reasons why an independent trip might end in failure. I looked out the window and thought that maybe it wasn't as scary as I imagined, although I wasn't completely sure of my own abilities yet.

In Rome, I was greeted by noise, movement, unfamiliar signs, and the feeling that everyone around me knew exactly where they were going, except for me. I was trying to figure out the route to the hotel, while keeping an eye on my things and trying not to look like a person who had just been dropped off in the city center without an instruction manual. After some time, I got to my apartment, left my suitcase and realized that the first test had been passed: I really found myself alone in another country, and for some reason the world did not collapse.

I got lost and for the first time I didn't scold myself.

The next day, I went for a walk through the historic center. I had an approximate route, but I decided not to turn the walk into a military operation and allowed myself to deviate a little from the planned path. Everything was going great until I turned into another beautiful street and discovered that I had absolutely no idea where I was.

At first, I calmly opened the map, then took a wrong turn, then came back and found myself again near a familiar cafe that I had already seen about twenty minutes ago. At some point, I started laughing because the situation looked completely ridiculous: I was in one of the most visited tourist cities in the world, holding a modern smartphone in my hands and managed to turn an ordinary walk into a small expedition.

Previously, I would have been angry with myself, decided that I had not prepared well, and would have started to worry about the lost time. But that day I just stopped, calmly sorted out the map and continued on my way. Yes, I spent an extra half hour, but I saw several streets that I had no intention of visiting at all, and I found a small bakery where I bought such delicious pastries that for a few minutes I forgot about all my navigation problems.

It was then that I first thought that traveling on my own didn't require me to be infallible. I don't need to know every turn in advance, navigate an unfamiliar city perfectly, and anticipate all possible situations. It's enough for me to be able to stop, think and find a solution if something went wrong.

The most difficult thing was not in a foreign country

I expected that I would be most afraid of the language barrier, public transport or unfamiliar streets, but gradually I realized that the real problem was in a completely different place. It was hard for me to stop comparing myself to other travelers who looked so confident, independent, and free in the photos. It seemed that they could easily find the best cafes, know secret routes, never make mistakes with tickets, and generally wake up every morning with a ready-made plan to conquer the world.

I could choose which direction to go in for half an hour, buy the wrong transport ticket, or return to the hotel earlier because I was tired. Sometimes I just wanted to sit in a cafe and do nothing, but I found myself thinking that I should use my time more efficiently, because I don't know when I will return to Rome. It turned out that even on vacation, I continued to demand the perfect result from myself, as if someone was going to check my route and give an estimate for the number of attractions visited.

Gradually, I began to ask myself another question: not how many places I managed to see, but whether I felt good that day. And sometimes the answer was unexpected. The day when I visited several famous places could only be remembered for fatigue, and an ordinary walk without a plan, a cup of coffee and a conversation with the friendly hostess of a small store left much warmer memories. I finally realized that I don't have to prove to anyone that I know how to travel properly. I didn't come to Rome to take the independence exam, but to live for a few days the way I really wanted to.

Dinner at a table for two, where I was sitting alone

I was most worried about the restaurants. For some reason, it seemed to me that sitting alone at a table was almost a public admission that you didn't have any friends, although if you think about it, people around you are usually too busy with their own affairs to study my biography by how many chairs there are near my table.

One evening, I finally decided to go to a small restaurant that I noticed while walking. It was cozy inside, companies were talking at nearby tables, glasses were clinking, and such aromas were wafting from the kitchen that my inner critic gave way to ordinary hunger for a while. I asked for a table for one, sat down, and suddenly realized that I didn't know where to put my hands if I didn't have to hold the phone or pretend like I was texting someone.

Spaghetti

I really felt awkward for the first few minutes. Then they brought the spaghetti that I ordered. The dish turned out to be so delicious that all my worries about how I look from the outside have completely lost their relevance. I had a quiet dinner, watched the life of the restaurant, and even found myself enjoying not having to keep up a conversation, not waiting for someone to finish eating, and not coordinating the choice of dish with another person.

When I went out into the evening street, I felt really proud of myself. Not because she had accomplished some incredible feat, but because she had done something that she had previously avoided because of completely far-fetched fears. And I really liked that feeling: it turns out that life doesn't get any less interesting just because you come to a restaurant without company.

I've learned to ask for help.

At the same time, traveling on my own has not turned me into a person who now believes that he must cope with everything solely on his own. On the contrary, in Rome, I realized how important it is to be able to calmly ask for help when you really need it. One day I couldn't figure out the route of public transport and turned to the station employee, and in another situation I asked the cafe employee if I understood the address of the place I needed correctly.

Nothing terrible happened. People answered, showed directions, sometimes explained with gestures, and sometimes just smiled when they saw my confusion. I realized that not knowing the language does not make me helpless, and the question does not turn me into a person who is unable to organize a trip on my own.

Of course, I became more attentive to security: I saved the address of the hotel in advance, watched my belongings, checked my return routes and did not go to unfamiliar places late at night just for the sake of a beautiful photo. Independence for me gradually ceased to mean the need to be fearless. It has come to mean the ability to make decisions, notice your own limitations, and feel free to seek help when it makes sense.

What I realized when I got home

When the trip was over, I returned home with photos of Rome, a few small souvenirs, and a whole collection of stories about how I was looking for a way, trying to figure out transportation, and once almost bought something completely different from what I was going to. But that wasn't even the most valuable thing. I suddenly noticed that I was calmer about everyday difficulties and less afraid of situations in which I did not know in advance how everything would happen.

In the past, I always wanted someone more confident to be around, who could suggest the right decision or take on some of the responsibility. Now I know that I can manage on my own, although this does not mean that I will never need help again. I can make mistakes, get confused, get tired, or change plans, but none of these things makes me weak and doesn't mean I shouldn't have gone on a trip.

The most amazing thing is that along with confidence came another feeling – I became much more comfortable spending time with myself. I've learned to notice exactly what I want, not to adjust every step to other people's preferences, and not to perceive my free time as a void that urgently needs to be filled with conversation or entertainment. And although I still love traveling with my loved ones, now I have another option: if no one can come with me, I no longer have to abandon my own plans.

Why am I no longer afraid to travel alone?

I can't say that I'm not afraid of anything anymore. Before a new trip, I still check my documents, study the way to the hotel, and sometimes imagine standing in the middle of an unfamiliar city with a phone in my hand and the expression on the face of a man who was clearly hoping for a more understandable scenario. But now these thoughts don't make me give up the trip, because I know that fear doesn't always mean that you can't do something, sometimes it just says that I'm going to try something new.

Rome taught me not to wait for the perfect moment, the right company, and absolute self-confidence. He showed that you can not know all the answers in advance, sometimes make mistakes, ask for help and still have a great time. I also realized that traveling on my own is not a test of courage or a way to prove to others what an independent woman I am.

This is an opportunity to get to know myself a little more closely, to hear my own desires and to make sure that I am able to take a step towards what I have long dreamed of. Now, when I see a beautiful city on the map and think about how I would like to visit it, I no longer start with the question: "Who would I go with?" At first, I ask myself, "Why don't I go myself?"

And, perhaps, this is the main discovery for me. I stopped being afraid to travel alone, not because I learned not to be afraid at all, but because I no longer let fear decide for me what my life might be like.