The plane lifted off from Manchester and something unexpected happened. The fear left. Just like that. All those weeks of quiet dread, the lying awake running through scenarios, the “what ifs” stacking up in the dark. And then the wheels left the ground and none of it mattered, because it was no longer in the future. It was now. And now, I could handle.
Norway was my destination. It was 2015 and it was my first proper solo trip. Nobody was more surprised than me at how quickly I found my footing.
I’ve been thinking lately about what I would say to the version of myself sitting in that departure lounge, boarding pass gripped a little too tightly. And more than that, what I’d say to anyone who is where I was then: wanting to go, not quite sure they can.
The fear is loudest before you go
I was excited, yes. But I was also quietly terrified. Not in a dramatic way. More a low hum of anxiety that lived somewhere behind my sternum for the weeks beforehand. What if something goes wrong? What if I’m lonely? What if I simply can’t manage?
What I know now is this: the fear peaks in the waiting. Once you are moving, once the decision is made and the thing is actually happening, it fades. The anticipation is almost always worse than the reality. Not because nothing difficult happens, but because when you are in it, you deal with it. That’s what humans do.
Loneliness is temporary and the freedom is permanent. I have turned that sentence over many times since Norway. It’s the truest thing I can offer anyone considering their first solo trip.
Not everyone will understand, and that’s okay
When I told people I was going to Norway alone, the reactions were mixed. Most were supportive, warm even, curious about the adventure. But my mum worried. She asked why. She asked if I couldn’t wait and go with someone else instead.
I want to be clear: she wasn’t doubting my capability. She was simply worried about things that could possibly happen. It was love, expressed as caution. And it reminded me that no matter how old we get, no matter how far we roam, we are always their baby.
You don’t need everyone to understand your reasons. You don’t actually need reasons at all. Go because you want to. That is enough.
Eating alone is a skill, and you can learn it
Nobody tells you this before your first solo trip, so I will. Eating alone in a restaurant can feel awkward at first. You are visible in a way you are not when you’re with someone. There is no one to talk to, no natural reason to be looking at something other than your food.
In Norway I figured out a few things that helped, which I developed on later solo travels. Making the main meal a long, leisurely lunch sidesteps the more formal evening atmosphere entirely. A café in the early evening, somewhere relaxed with good light, feels less like a solitary dinner and more like a pause. An outdoor terrace is wonderful because you have the world to look at. And sometimes, a picnic is the best option of all: good food, beautiful surroundings, entirely on your own terms.
The other thing I’ll say: nobody is watching you as closely as you think. Most people are absorbed in their own meals, their own conversations. You are far less conspicuous than it feels.
Solo doesn’t mean solitary
I still travel with others. Friends, family. Solo travel is one mode among several, not a rejection of company or a statement about preferring to be alone. It is simply a different kind of trip, one where the itinerary bends entirely to you, where you can linger as long as you like and leave when you’re ready.
On a dawn walk by the Sognefjord, I was out at 5:30 in the morning, the cool air sharp on my face, the fjord perfectly still and mirroring the cliffs above it. I met one other person on the whole walk. We exchanged a smile. No words were needed.
That moment was mine in a way that is hard to explain. Not lonely. The opposite of lonely.
If you’re thinking about it, go
I came to solo travel not as a teen or twenty-something, but later. I wish I’d started sooner, though I also know I wasn’t ready until I was. There’s no perfect age and no perfect moment. There is only the point at which the wanting outweighs the fear.
Since Norway I’ve gone solo to Switzerland, Austria, Slovakia, and back to Norway. Each trip has been different. Each one has given me something I couldn’t have found any other way.
The plane takes off. The fear lifts. It really is as simple, and as profound, as that.
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