Going Solo

Travelling to a Greek island on my own recently, I was served up one of those algorithmic adverts for a Facebook group of women over 50 who like to travel solo. Oh, I thought to myself, that’s me! I clicked on it because it looked interesting, and my word, how interesting was it!

This group is home to over 350k women over 50 who regularly travel on their own and to the most amazing and wonderful places. I was hooked immediately.

For those of you who follow me on my social media channels you’ll know that I regularly go off on weird and wonderful adventures, mostly in the UK, on my own and I have no qualms about popping out to eat, or have a cocktail or go and see a film on my own because sometimes, don’t you just want to not have any peripheral noise around you?

I find people’s reactions to people doing things on their own extremely fascinating. Firstly you get the sympathetic look, and then you get the wonderment (no partner, no significant other, no friends, no personality?) I can see all the thoughts running through their minds. Can I ask why? Should I ask why? It’s absolutely extraordinary that we, as a body of human life, have manufactured a set of socially acceptable norms that doesn’t include being alone. Hence the awful stigma about being lonely if you don’t have someone to share things with.

And I do get that loneliness can be a terrible thing, a crushing void, a big, black hole sometimes and I’m pretty sure that if that is a perpetual state, it can be troublesome. I do think that nature lends itself to social and physical contact. But, honestly, can’t someone just decide to do something on their own without it shaking the planet like a massive, unholy earthquake?

I watched carefully as I caught my flight – not one single other person going it alone. Just me. Mostly families with crying, screaming babies, some young couples getting used to life with their significant other (or for however long they will be together), a couple of baby boomer types who have to order for each other (well, the bloke has to order and pay apparently) and the inevitable groups of same-sex friends who inevitably will end up falling out with each other during the course of the holiday. It’s the heat apparently.

Don’t get me wrong, it does take some thought and planning when you’re travelling solo. I prefer to go out for an early dinner so I’m not wandering about in the dark (only yesterday, I encountered a man alleviating himself in the bushes and he waved his member hopefully at me). It’s been a while, but not even that tempted me. In fact I told him I’d seen bigger. I’m not sure he understood, as he was clearly Greek. So, it does take some thought to ensure that you’re safe. And the only other thing I’ve found a bit difficult is the portion sizes! I do like to share food, so the enormous plates are a little bit like hiking to the top of a very big mountain. I can cope quite easily with the half litre of wine, however. As you might imagine.

So what a relief it was to find a substantial group of women all doing the same things as me. I thought I was odd (I know I am), I thought I was weird (yes, that too) and I thought I was a little bit socially unacceptable (yes, yes…). But here are all these fabulous women, wearing great hats, and lipstick, and charging around the planet – and yes, there is usually a story behind it, and it usually involves a heard-hearted man who has lied and cheated his way through life, but these women aren’t crying behind closed curtains, scared to take steps outside of a relationship they’ve nurtured and built as their only sustenance in life. They are wandering free. Taking risks. Taking chances. Catching buses, trains, planes, boats, ferries and actively soaking up everything that travelling can offer you.

What an amazing group of women!

I know women who won’t do a thing without their ‘significant’ other (even the ones who have cheated on them and shown their true colours over and over again). I know one woman who wanted to join a running club, but had to take her husband with her in the initial stages (even though he’s not really designed for running) and then when he dropped out (fell over from exhaustion), he then had to drive her to all of the races (because she won’t drive anywhere even though she has a licence). She wanted to go open-water swimming, but again, he had to drive her there. So, even though in her poor wasted heart she wanted to open the door to the gilded cage she had built for herself, she couldn’t quite leave it behind and spread her wings – not without the stability of that other person to deliver her to the dreams she wanted to pursue. Also, she didn’t know how to fill the car up with petrol. I know…

I hear a million stories like this everyday. It saddens me that strong, capable women feel that they need a significant other in order to feel fulfilled. I would dearly love for the world to change its narrative about the power of women and what they can achieve.

I always say – carry my own bags, pay my own bills. Because, whilst it’s lovely to be in love and have someone care for you so much that they become responsible for your happiness, at some stage in life, we do need to take responsibility for our own happiness and wellbeing and welfare. It’s not fair to put that on someone else, is it?

Freedom is a very wonderful thing. Choice is amazing. Flexibility is grounding. And I’m not hating on love, I’m really not, I just think that if you make it the be and end all of everything (like they tell us to do in the books, films, songs) then at some stage you’re going to end up not knowing which direction to take because you’ve lost all your bravery, and your balls, and your brilliance. Failing that, you’re going to end up sitting opposite someone and listening to their boring work stories over and over again, or talking about what the family needs because that’s more important than your own, isn’t it?

And this is a point in fact. Whilst I was enjoying my very lovely vine leaves and stifado last night, washed down with some very dry Greek wine, I tuned in to the conversations going on around me (I didn’t want to – the whole point of me escaping somewhere on my own was to not have any conversations with anyone!) but I can’t help myself. A family of four, mum, dad and two boys, spent the whole time talking about how they were going to celebrate the (ungrateful) younger child’s birthday – well, the mum did. No-one else seemed remotely interested in all the plans she was throwing their way. They will probably end up just going along with what she decides. I wanted to lean across and tell her to just do some planning of her own and escape. But she was already looking at me like I shouldn’t be existing in the world.

And to my right another family, but weirdly talking medicine (the dad was a doctor) so everyone was regaled by stories of using maggots to help infected wounds. Still going on about it when the kleftiko arrived. Come on, mate, I wanted to say, Have a look at the twinkling ocean and stop with the work talk. Whilst the subject matter was very interesting, I’m not sure the wife, the son and his new girlfriend were that interested. Apparently, there are rules of engagement in family dinners out anyway. Nothing controversial. Keep it polite. Not sure maggots are polite.

And then there was the couple holding hands, enjoying the peace and quiet, think they had run out of things to say.

How lovely, I thought, as I quaffed my wine and ate 17 vine leaves (really shouldn’t have gone that far!). I don’t have to make conversation with anyone, I have nothing in my head to say to anyone, and I can sit here and almost meditate as I look out over the ocean and watch the moon prepare to land in a star-filled, inky black sky, with the warm breeze fanning me gently.

And that was the point of my trip. I’ve had such a busy year, such an overwhelming flow of emotions involving the end of a relationship, the loss of people, illness, stepping up at work, doing three jobs, trying to work on my fitness and my mental health. I felt like a hairline crack had started to appear and I knew that I needed to do something about that, for myself. There isn’t another person on the planet I would hand that responsibility to, and I checked out of life for a bit. Sometimes, the world turns so fast and you just have to get off.

Do it for yourself. For no-one else. And that’s why sometimes travelling solo (and that doesn’t mean you have to catch a plane) can make all the difference to your world and to the people who reside in it – no matter what that looks like.

And what does it look like for me? It means waking up when I want to (instead of being in tune with someone else’s body clock – you know, those annoying people who wake up at the crack of dawn & bound out of bed), taking some time for exercise, spending an hour writing without having to justify it, not answering a million and one questions, not being marched around to places doing things you’re not particularly interested in, eating when you want … I could go on … but staying up late is a thing for me. I love the wee small hours. Those early risers are snoring by 9.

I do love to take trips with people and maybe, one day, I’ll fall in love again and the romance of sunsets may pique my interest. But even if by some remote chance that happens, I’ll still travel alone, I’ll guard my independence fiercely and I’ll seek out singular adventures.

That way we’ll always have something to talk about. Because, maggots at dinner, well that’s just bad manners. Surely?