During a semester abroad in Italy, I went on my first solo trip. I planned a five-day stay in Copenhagen but, only after 48 hours there, I was sobbing on my hostel bed. I called my mom and told her how miserable I was. Feeling consumed by loneliness, I cut my trip short and booked the next available flight back to Italy. It wasn’t until after I received the flight confirmation email when I realized that I had been doing the whole traveling solo thing all wrong.
Two years ago, I was at the gym five days a week. It was my playground. I could unleash my energy and run around like a happy-go-lucky border collie at the dog park. It was where I wanted to be but the gym isn’t my happy place anymore.