I don’t travel alone because I dislike company. I travel alone because peace has a very specific frequency—
and I can only hear it when I’m not managing anyone else’s journey.

When you find yourself suddenly alone in life, you’re forced to adapt. You either learn to move forward, or you wait for someone new to match your pace.

I love traveling with friends and family.
But every once in a while, I need a trip that belongs only to me.

There’s a moment on every solo trip—usually early, usually quiet—when I feel myself exhale.

It’s the shift from performing… to simply existing.
No negotiations about where to eat.
No matching energy.
No softening myself so someone else feels comfortable.

Just me—moving at a pace my nervous system needs that day.

People often assume solo travel is about independence.
For me, it’s about calibration.
It’s the one place where I don’t have to explain myself.

I can wander, linger, retreat, or reset—without justification.
I can follow the version of myself that only shows up when no one is watching.

And ironically, I meet more people this way—not fewer.
When I’m alone, I’m more open.

Conversations start easily—a stranger at a café,
someone on a long train ride,
a shared laugh over getting lost.

There’s no pressure for those moments to become anything…
which is exactly why some of them do.

Every journey leaves us with places we’ll revisit in our memory—and people who quietly become part of the tribe we carry forward.

Here’s to the women who dance in the sun solo.

May every journey remind them that the best traveling companion is the person they’ve become.

Part of the Coastal Cowgirl Series