When I initially booked my trip in January, I barely told anyone I was going for the first couple months. Partly because this trip feels deeply personal, but also because telling someone you are going on an extended solo trip opens up a floodgate of questions.

“Aren’t you scared?” … “You don’t have anyone to go with you?” … “What are you going to do for a whole month?”

A few months ago, I was not ready to confront any of these questions, externally or internally, but thankfully planning a long trip involves A LOT of planning. Conveniently, this helped keep the doubts, anxieties, and uncertainties at bay. After all, I had outfits to purchase, travel guides to read, areas to research, and fantasies to imagine.

Now that I am almost at the two-month-from-liftoff point, the nerves are kicking in.

Loneliness

The strangeness of being mostly alone for thirty days in a foreign country does not escape me.

I have experience being alone: I live roommate-free and work from home. I’ve also been on work trips and have dined out by myself a handful of times. But these instances feel more circumstantial or by choice.

To me, going out to dinner conjures images of people toasting with glasses, sharing stories, laughing together, and enjoying each other’s company.

Will I long for that known, comfortable experience while I am dining with just myself and my book? I worry I will feel like the girl with no friends, rather than the woman who chose to be there alone.

Between the museums, bars, and day trips, this vacation will give me memories to last a lifetime. Memories that will be exclusively my own. This is unfamiliar territory for me.

Typically after a trip, I have a friend to reminisce with me about the guy who introduced himself as “John, as in Porta-John,” the time our cab driver got pulled over in Cancun, or when we almost missed our connecting flight to Nashville. What will it feel like to have memories and no one to share them with?

There’s no way to predict when moments of loneliness will hit, but I wonder when they will. Will it be a week into solo dining? When something hilarious happens and I have no one to tell? Or perhaps not at all.

Regardless, I think the experience will serve as an opportunity to learn the difference between being alone and being lonely.

The Trip in My Head vs. The Real Trip

While loneliness is the concern most people ask about, it isn’t the only thing I’ve been thinking about.

I set the wheels in motion for this trip back in December and since then have been planning, researching, preparing, and, above all else, trying not to panic. I’ve put a lot of time, money, and effort into finding lodging, booking flights and hotels, creating a work plan for my absence, and purchasing travel essentials.

More than that, I’ve spent months imagining myself there: walking down the tiny streets of the Gothic Quarter, having a drink at Bar Marsella, touring Casa Vicens, and shopping at Mercat de Santa Caterina.

But actually being somewhere and imagining yourself there are two different things.

What if the expectation doesn’t live up to the reality?

It’s easy for our minds to romanticize places we’ve never been. We hear stories from friends and family who have visited, read travel blogs, and see places in movies and on television. They look picturesque and sound absolutely perfect.

I know Barcelona will not disappoint visually. I am sure I will love the architecture, the Mediterranean climate, and the cuisine.

What I am less certain about is myself.

In my romanticized version, I take in the culture at museums and historic sites, hop on trains for day trips, journal at cafés, and buy groceries at the market. I order confidently at restaurants, communicate with cab drivers, and make small talk with locals without feeling like a fish out of water.

But what if I feel awkward? What if I get overwhelmed? What if I spend more time navigating uncertainty than effortlessly immersing myself in the experience?

I guess what I am really nervous about is the gap between the version of this trip I have imagined and the version I will actually live.

And beyond that gap, lives something even more difficult to prepare for: the unknown. 

The Unknown

You can research restaurants, transit and neighborhoods, prepare mentally for a month of independence and solitude and take safety precautions for solo travel but in the background is always The Unknown. 

What happens if I get sick? 

What if I am having a bad day? It happens from time to time. 

I am not making a list of all unforeseen things that might happen, but it’s hard not ponder a bit at some of the factors that you can’t prepare for by reading a travel guide or asking a friend. 

When I think deeper about it, I am less worried about what The Unknown will be. It will inevitably be something, right?

I am more anxious about my unknown reaction. Will I handle it calmly? Or will I completely implode? 

I think this will be the ultimate challenge for me. 

At times, I react emotionally before I can act pragmatically. In the past, I’ve referred to it as “my process”. I do believe there is some value in expressing emotions immediately and then allowing for space to sort through them later.

However, in a foreign country, this approach doesn’t seem very beneficial. I worry getting emotional will cloud my judgement and impair my ability to problem solve effectively. 

Instead, I hope to approach trials and tribulations by slowing down, accessing the problem objectively and finding a thoughtful solution. Keeping my emotions at bay will be an obstacle, but I suppose that is part of the lesson.

If I can face the unknown with grace, I think I will return home a little more evolved then when I left. 

I don’t think nerves, fears, anxieties – whatever you want to call them – are necessarily bad things. Sure, they expose what doubts we carry. But, they can also reveal where we want to grow. 

Barcelona will be my opportunity.