Courtesy Alka Bhatt
In my late 20s, I left my beloved Philadelphia apartment near friends and favorite restaurants and moved to the suburbs closer to my boyfriend and work. Then my boyfriend moved to Texas for a job. After five months of long distance, the pandemic hit, and I started working remotely from his home in Houston.
These choices seemed inevitable. Following cues from media and society for most of my life, I thought being in love meant adapting to my partner's needs. Though our relationship had been unsteady, I hoped bending to the demands of his life would help repair our bond. The opposite happened: I felt like I was losing myself.
Three months into lockdown, we broke up. I returned to the apartment I had left behind in the Pennsylvania suburbs and immediately felt lost. I passed my ex's old house on morning commutes to work, and our date-night restaurant was the only Thai place in the neighborhood.
I needed time away to heal, and the time I used to spend browsing for engagement rings online was now spent scanning travel blogs on top US destinations. Over the next few weeks, I loaded necessities into my orange Toyota Corolla hatchback.
With a plan that included a few national parks and states I'd never visited, I started driving west.
Courtesy Alka Bhatt
During my eight-month trip, I never quite knew where I would end up and spent most nights at campgrounds or self-check-in rentals reserved only a few days in advance. A month into the trip, I also booked the only remaining spot on a guided, three-night backpacking trip to summit Grand Teton three weeks in advance.
Though incoming storms made a summit attempt unviable, we made it to base camp. I spent three days admiring the peaks above and the valley below covered in stunning white snow.
I realized that traveling without an itinerary and only a few vague ideas of where I wanted to go allowed me to focus every moment on myself.
Courtesy Alka Bhatt
While I still felt heartbroken and lonely at times, I discovered small ways to return to myself. During a stay at Lake Huron, I made white lemon ginger tea with water from my camping stove after an early morning bout of insomnia — a small, nurturing act of self-care. Later that day, I bought five more flavors and continued a daily tea ritual throughout the trip.
Because I was only responsible for myself on the road, I was more attuned to what I needed, and I felt myself beginning to heal. I realized it wasn't selfish to pay attention to my own needs, it was self-care. Committing to my needs and wants was critical to building confidence and independence.
Courtesy Alka Bhatt
It's been nearly three years since my solo trip, and when I got home, I felt ready to date authentically. Rather than mold myself to be more desirable, I listened to my wants and needs and looked for compatibility. Within a few months, I met someone special, and a year into our relationship, I felt he was the one.
Still, I craved the feeling the road inspired. So, one weekend, I kissed my partner goodbye and went car camping alone. On the way to Upstate New York, I stopped at a pizza parlor for a personal pie with mushrooms, a topping my fiancé dislikes. Later, I spent hours climbing a rocky trail toward panoramic views of fall colors painting the Catskills.
For me, traveling alone isn't only justified when our lives feel unmanageable. Such trips are how I remember who I am. On a weekend trip to DC last month, I took myself out to a fancy Sichuan restaurant after thrifting at a trendy shop. I watched the bartender make me a custom cocktail from a secret menu, ultimately finishing my dinner and novel at the end of the bar with a sense of contentment.
While I often prefer traveling with my fiancé, we both understand these experiences allow me to show up better for myself and our relationship, and I can't wait to see where these solo journeys take us both.
