My first real forays into the fearful independence that solo travel lends a young lady were short flights back and forth between Mississippi and Texas, moving between my divorced parents as an unaccompanied minor. Those flights were cushy — flying Southwest, I got first row every time and read Beezus and Ramona or played with a Simon toy at my leisure, plus got the kudos that adults love to give to “independent” sorts of children.
I think this experience, along with my first heartbreak, is what primed me to have the confidence and will at age 16 to ask my parents (under the guise of college admissions intrigue) to sponsor a solo-trip to Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. I volun-tourismed for three weeks there at a wildlife refuge, along with many other young people and families seeking a unique volunteering experience.
My roommate was a devilishly alluring Danish girl named Sophie, just a year older than me but unmistakably cool beyond her years — she was Zyn-ing! This was over five years ago, and I am convinced she was a trendsetter. Tucker Carlson and the Nelk Boys have her to thank. I journaled, cared for all sorts of animals, saw one of the seven wonders, mothered drunk Europeans, bungee jumped off a gorge, got COVID, and quarantined solo with a rat companion in my quarters. What a ride.
Rather than souring companionless travels, I found this whole ordeal very empowering. As fate would have it, though, it wouldn’t be until more recently that I started to pursue solo travel once more. In the Summer of 2023, I aimed to make a one night, car-camping pit stop at a dispersed camping site in the Comanche National Grasslands on my way home to Texas. I picked a site conveniently half-way through my trip, and undoubtedly in the middle of nowhere — the nearest gas station must have been at least 50 miles away, and there was no cell service whatsoever.
When I arrived at what I was sure would be an empty site, I was greeted with the presence of an old man and an overly friendly unleashed dog. They were unsuspecting enough, so I decided to stick it out and stay at the site until morning. I lay awake in my car that night, imagining that he was coming over from his set-up at any moment to take me out. After he was done mutilating me, he’d feed me to the dog. The dog had to be part of the scheme!
None of this was true, at least not verifiably, but I worked myself up enough that, after hours of lying awake, I drove off into the unpaved desert in the dark of unpolluted skies to find safety — over an hour away at the nearest cheap hotel. So, I considered that a failure. My light was dimmed; I was not so fiercely independent as I’d thought.
Then, in the Spring of 2024, I got my own dog. Oh yeah, baby, and she is 8 lbs. of pure fury. With my angel girl, Marty, by my side, no one is thinking of stepping to me — lest they face her rat-sized body coming at them full-force, teeth bared.
Okay, so maybe not. But she is my greatest comfort in this world, and her presence has opened up solo traveling and camping to a new degree of possibility! Our first trip was a short one, a four hour drive from Boulder down to the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, just for one night and about a full day’s worth of adventuring around the area last summer. Our campsite was lovely, surrounded by friendly faces, well-kept bathrooms, and cell service, which turned out to be a necessity as I ended up FaceTiming my long-time homegirl later that night for consolation.
Despite the trip’s beauty, safety, and proximity to home, I started crying to myself pretty early into the night. Marty by my side and all, I felt lonely — like, why didn’t I have a friend to do this with instead? Why hadn’t I asked someone to come with me — did I even have someone to ask? These are the sorts of questions that often plague the solo drives, plane rides, and nights spent on my trips alone.
People sort of build this idea up of the solo female traveler. She is fearless, brave, she is willfully prey for the relentless predators of the world and makes her way with ease through confrontation. This is not so — just like anyone who is alone and doing something mentally demanding, I am not infallible because others identify me as an independent woman. I’m not that much of an independent woman, really. I crave love, affection, community, and companionship like any other — I just choose not to sit around waiting for them to come to experience the world. I am comfortable being pushed to uncomfort… but that certainly doesn’t make those uncomfortable experiences somehow comforting to me, I’m not made of steel.
Having such knowledge, I made the decision to go on a solo-trip for four days this past spring break in the Gila National Forest of New Mexico. An 11 hour drive from Boulder, I spent Monday and Friday in the car listening to comfort podcasts and calling loved ones intermittently. I made sure (as I hadn’t chosen to do on my prior trip to the dunes) to tell plenty of people in my life that I was making a trip alone and would love to hear from them on the drives down and back. Loneliness fears me!
Nevertheless, when I finally made it to my glamping site, an hour from phone service, it crept back in. I had a lot to mourn over this trip — that’s partially why I thought it would be a good idea. For one, I wanted to have a plan regardless of whether or not others asked me to do something over break; I wanted to have something self-driven to look forward to throughout the semester. Secondly, it felt important that I take some time to myself. For personal reasons, these past two years have been a whirlwind of emotion, loss, and anxiety. Taking a trip to myself felt like an opportunity to reach back inside and find that 16 year-old girl who was so willing to fly across the world, by herself and for herself, once more.
I spent that first night in New Mexico sobbing, journaling, looking at the stars, and watching the 1961 movie-musical West Side Story, downloaded on my iPhone, while eating potted meat sandwiches — and I needed that. The trip was a big success after I got out the initial scaries. I hiked out to pictographs, cave dwellings, discovered a passion for birding, and read Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood while hammocking in warm, dry air, cuddling with my dog. It was practically perfect, aside from my sole access to composting toilets.
Solo-traveling as a young woman comes with its own set of fears, stigma, and true challenges, but it certainly allows for a unique set of rewards, if you’re up to it. As long as you’re expecting it to be hard, it’s always going to be a successful journey — you’ll always learn or gain something new from the experience. Keep your guard up a reasonable amount, inform your loved ones of your plans and location, and unwaveringly prepare for the circumstances you’ll face, and I’m sure you’ll reap the fruits of solo travel, too. Deep down it’s all about keeping the faith — yes in your journey, but most importantly, in yourself.