Clever Girl: What I Learned From My First Solo Trip Abroad, and Why You Should Travel Alone, Too

*Note: The mood for this blog is “Just Like Magic” by Ariana Grande

A lamppost guiding the way along on the Thames River. Or it could be a magical staff, depending on your point of view.

What does it mean to feel “whole?” For a long time, I wondered how I’d reach this elusive peak of self-improvement. Would I feel whole after publishing my first book? After letting go of a guy who didn’t like me in the same way that I liked him? Or when I finally earned my first self-employment paycheck? What I realized after returning from London (the destination of my very first solo trip abroad) was that wholeness arrives slowly. Like droplets of water moving to fill a space. Well, my cup is full to the brim now. And it’s something I can feel, not think my way into, or convince myself of. It’s a feeling of total solidity: I am strong, grounded; my heart is full.

Maybe that’s where the wholeness is most apparent, in the heart. It still feels pain, but there is no longer the pain of unworthiness, or not belonging. I belong to myself, and can freely give myself to the world. 

So let’s get into how I became “whole,” and why my trip to London was the final key for me. 

Poppies along a hidden stream in Edinburgh.

How Do You Make Yourself “Whole?”

The journey to wholeness is one driven by bravery. There’s no beginning point to this journey that I can really identify. However, in the last nine months, I did take multiple leaps of faith. First, I left a relationship I thought would last forever. Then, I quit a job without another in sight. I published a website and a blog, where I’ve written some deeply personal things. I went to book clubs and Meetup events, and talked to strangers, even when I was shaking with fear. I let go of old vices, and learned to fall in love with meditation. I rediscovered my love for nature.  

One day, I decided to listen to a message from within that I’d ignored for some time: buy a ticket to London. I was terrified to take action. Why? Because I was worried about the cost—I was worried I would “go broke” after my trip. I was also scared of traveling alone. But beyond the fear was an intuitive knowing that this trip would change me. 

So I went. 

Below, you’ll find a list of some lessons I learned while in London; each had its own role in my transformation (and I do not say transformation lightly). 

1. Gratitude for Strangers: Put Your Pride Aside; People Are Eager to Help 

I don’t like asking for help. I like to figure things out on my own. I like to know that I’m smart enough, or strong enough, or clever enough, to find solutions without assistance. Which is why this trip was so essential to my growth.

It started with my first venture into the London Underground (also known as the Tube). My sunset-colored suitcase clanking behind me, marking me as a tourist with whimsical tastes, I wandered through the station, seeking the proper platform. I wandered until I power-walked, and power-walked until I panicked, and busy Londoners politely expressed their irritation with me. I was forced to admit it: I didn’t know where to go. I needed help. 

A little reminder not to fall into the dark pit between the platform and the train tracks. You could probably make that into a metaphor.

Ooh. That had me sweating. But I put on my big girl pants and walked up to a station staff member, a young man who looked at me eagerly as I said my wobbly “hello.” I asked him how to get to my station—his expression shifting from eagerness to weariness—and he answered swiftly before tuning back in to his walkie talkie. I walked away, feeling both shaken and elated. 

Next came the beautiful women who greeted me at my Airbnb. Where should I go if I wanted to buy groceries, or have a quick dinner? What places did they recommend visiting? Soon, it became a game: who could I turn to, and what questions could I ask? If I ever had an urge, or an inkling of a question, I blurted it out to the person who was nearest. The recipient was usually surprised; determined independence seems to be the expectation in many places, so asking for help can be like shocking someone out of their expected reality.

I asked a family if they wanted their picture taken in front of the Tower Bridge. After doing my best impression of a seasoned photographer, I asked if they could take my photo. (The father of the family even gave me a “thumbs up” for my posing abilities.)

I cherish my independence. However, we’re on this planet together. We have to learn to rely on one other, at least on occasion. Many people—maybe most people—are excited to serve others. Deep down, we all want to be of use, to give ourselves evidence that we matter. This is something I held with me throughout the rest of my trip. I was so excited to talk to strangers, to see their eyes light up when they realized I was genuinely interested in what they had to say. I got amazing advice on places to visit, received wisdom in unlikely moments, and plodded through the city with breathless joy. 

By asking for help, I was embracing my vulnerability. Many of us (myself included) feel more comfortable offering help than receiving it. In case you didn’t already know, I’m kind of obsessed with Brené Brown, a researcher and storyteller who’s basically the champion of vulnerability. Brown has this to say about asking for help:

“When you judge yourself for needing help, you judge those you are helping. When you attach value to giving help, you attach value to needing help. The danger of tying your self-worth to being a helper is feeling shame when you have to ask for help. Offering help is courageous and compassionate, but so is asking for help.”

― Brené Brown, Rising Strong: The Reckoning. The Rumble. The Revolution.

Once I embraced my vulnerability, I realized how easy it was to connect with people. I created a bridge with my willingness to be vulnerable, and people responded in kind. I didn’t have to say anything profound or particularly entertaining or funny (although I do crack myself up, thank you very much). It was more about the energy I was emitting: I was showing up bravely and authentically. I really believe these are things that people crave. So if you show up with bravery and authenticity, it’s like you’re giving other people a gift.

I’m so grateful for all of the people I connected with during this trip. I’ll cherish every memory, however brief.

Yes, go and do things on your own (that’s sort of the point of this blog). And yes, go and ask for help, especially when you think you don’t deserve it or shouldn’t require it.

Steps leading the way through Edinburgh.

2. Prop Yourself Up High and Go Forth Into Battle

Affirmations, affirmations, affirmations. Every day, before I left my cozy Airbnb, I would stand in front of the mirror and hype myself up in a way I’d never done before. Here are examples: 1) “I’m powerful;” 2) “I’m divinely protected;” 3) “I’m confident;” 4) “I’m magnetic.”

I also started using third-person affirmations (an idea courtesy of one of my favorite YouTubers, Anila Sita). These require you to talk about yourself in the third person. For instance, “Meghan is so magnetic. She’s so hilarious and confident; it’s so attractive.” It feels a bit odd (okay, ridiculous and cringe-worthy) to say them aloud at first, but I’ve found these particular affirmations to be quite helpful. It’s as if, once you describe yourself from the third-person perspective, it becomes believable that others would say these things about you. 

This pose was absolutely necessary in order to display my entire outfit.

To me, this was like preparing for battle. I needed to shore up all my energy so that I could step through London alone and feel protected, confident, and joyful. Right before I headed out the door, I’d look in the mirror, push my shoulders back, and say to myself, “Tits up.” (If you’ve seen The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, you will understand this reference. And if not, I think you can understand my meaning.) 

A took selfies every day to celebrate myself. Try it out if you usually dislike the way you look in pictures.

Whatever you need to do to make yourself feel invincible, do it. If that means wearing your favorite outfit, doing your hair and makeup, or stepping through a delicious cologne mist, have at it. If it means doing 100 push-ups and chugging an espresso, great. I also enjoy listening to music and dancing, especially if I’m nervous. This tends to transmute the nerves into giddiness. 

A lion statue in Trafalgar Square.

Raise yourself onto a pedestal. You decide how you want to be in this world. I had maybe two moments during my trip where I felt unsafe. The majority of my time, I was blissful and self-assured. Embracing my inner power meant I felt more capable of asserting my boundaries in case I did experience anything unsavory. I affirmed myself in my head if negative thought patterns began to creep in. I’d overpower the negativity until it disappeared.

This is also a habit to practice. After returning from my trip, I noticed myself slipping into old thought patterns. I wondered: What happened? Was that confidence only temporary? But writing this section has made me realize that I need to continue affirming myself: when I’m brushing my teeth, or preparing for an interview, or questioning my self-worth. There’s a reason why people hang post-it notes on their mirrors: We need to always remind ourselves of our power, because it never disappears, we just forget we have it.

3. Trust Your Intuition (You Can Probably Find It in Your Belly or Your Heart)

When you think about your intuition, where do you feel it? Is it in your chest, your fingertips, or your feet? If you don’t even know how to access your intuition, I understand. We’re often told to listen more to our minds, to logic and reason, than the voice we hear within. It’s taken me a long time to become a translator of my intuition, to be able to differentiate between fear, anxiety, and my true inner guidance. It’s another skill you gotta practice. 

My favorite way of practicing my intuition was while navigating the Tube. I’d sit in my seat, a little frantic, wondering if I was going in the right direction, if my next stop was actually the right stop, or if I might just find myself all the way in Cornwall. I closed my eyes and listened in. If I heard a panicked, insistent voice, it was labeled “fear.” If it was a quiet, peaceful voice, it was intuition.

Okay, so this isn’t actually a picture of the Tube (I was fighting for my life at the Tube platforms; there wasn’t time for taking artsy pictures.) But this is a train, so, it fits.

I listened to my heart. I listened to my gut. I got off on the wrong stops. I sat on the right ones, even when the panicked voice told me I was wrong.

Off the Tube, I stepped into different boroughs and streets and shops and restaurants, each time asking my intuition “yes” or “no.” A few times, I asked if I was safe. I usually heard “yes,” despite the fear bubbling somewhere else in my body.

It’s an act of trust, listening to your intuition. You don’t always have evidence, like a map hanging above you, to let you know that you’re being sent in the right direction. I confirmed my trust in my intuition each time I “believed” it when it told me where to go or where to remain. These are some cool things I saw as a result of listening to my intuition:

A vintage store in Covent Garden.

Two canoes underneath a bridge along the Thames in Richmond.

Colorful ribbons hanging above a storefront after a rainstorm in Richmond. A group of us huddled under the shelter of the stairs as we watched the sky darken and clear.

You build a relationship with your intuition: you start to learn that it’s there to help you, despite the crazy voices in your head telling you that you’re crazy for listening to something you might feel in your stomach, right next to the convenience-store sandwich and sweet-chili chips you just scarfed down like a little chipmunk.

We build relationships over time, through care and consistency. By the time my trip ended, I was giving Tube directions to other tourists. 

4. Alone Is Adequate

There are people in this world who think there’s something wrong with you if you’re eating at a restaurant alone. Some of them will think you’re a loser. Some of them will wonder if you’re sad, or lonely, or lost. Some of them will stare, or smirk. Some of them will ask if you’re okay. Your job is to sit at the table and believe that you are enough on your own.

My first meal alone in London was inside an unassuming Greek restaurant near the Victoria and Albert museum. (Side note: This was one of the BEST meals I’ve ever eaten in my life. It was called Brother Marcus—I highly recommend it.)

The lovely Brother Marcus in London, England.

I was definitely apprehensive. I chose the restaurant because it didn’t look very crowded; I figured I wouldn’t feel as self-conscious if there weren’t groups of laughing comrades reminding me of my aloneness.

Sitting alone at a table felt vulnerable; I assumed everyone was staring at me, judging. Sure, a few people did. I think my waitress did wonder if I was okay. 

But I sat there and people-watched through the windows. I enjoyed the golden hour views and smiled at the fact that I was in London, that I had managed to get there on my own. I pretended that I was a rich, powerful woman who sat alone in restaurants all the time. That there was something obvious, even admirable, about me sitting there and eating alone in my cute little skirt and blouse.

I forget the exact name of this dish, but I know it had lemon chicken. Every bite had like five different flavors and I wanted to cry while I ate it.

When I finished my meal, I told my waitress how much I loved it, and she offered me a free shot of Greek alcohol (I’m not sure what it was; it had a very herbal flavor, and some of it definitely spilled over my chin when I coughed it down). I left the restaurant and floated my way to the V&A museum. 

The next restaurant I went to, my waitress asked me if I was sad. Either I have resting-sad-face, or she was projecting her own insecurities onto me; regardless, we had an amazing conversation about doing things alone, and how scary it can be, and she told me that I had inspired her, that she would think of me when she finally went on her own solo trip. And I floated my way back to the Tube. 

After a week, I became very comfortable with my solo culinary adventures. Dinner was still the trickiest meal for my self-esteem, but I learned to become comfortable with the discomfort. In truth, no one was really judging me, at least not for long. And if they were, well, I was never going to see them again. 

A café where I had breakfast and wrote some background for the characters in a book I’m writing. Also, I think the barista was trying to flirt with me? I think I’ll always be oblivious.

I did sometimes feel lonely during my trip (I’m only human). The first time loneliness arrived, I felt as if I’d failed everyone (including myself) because I wanted company, or because I didn’t feel like sitting outside at a café alone. It made sense: travel alone to a new country and you’re bound to long for a friend to share your experiences with at some point. 

A quiet French café near St. Paul’s Cathedral.

But I quickly learned to embrace the feelings and become my own travel partner. And it turns out, you can make friends with strangers at any time, even if you only connect for a few moments on a train stop, or in an art store, or while walking down a street. Connection is possible everywhere, in every moment. This is especially the case if you practice vulnerability, like I mentioned earlier.

If you decide to take yourself out alone, you’ll grow to understand that you are enough. As a consequence, you’ll become bolder, and people will want to be your friend, because you’re not asking them to give you anything–approval, attention, entertainment. You’ll have already given everything you need to yourself. 

I know you only care about the ice cream, so I’ll just tell you: it was a strawberries-and-cream gelato in a waffle cone.

5. Openness Invites Magic 

Are you sitting or standing with your arms crossed? Back hunched? Let your arms fall to your sides; push your shoulders back. Imagine light flowing into your body. Allow the light to flow into you.

Did it feel vulnerable to open up your posture? It’s a practice I’ve often done during meditation as a way to learn to receive information. This openness to receiving has always left me feeling naked. But we have to open ourselves up, whether it’s to a new experience, conversation, or feeling. If we don’t let new things through, we become stagnant. We fester. We become depressed. 

I chose to remain open during my trip: I left room in my schedule for real spontaneity: for getting lost, for looking lost, for hilarious, random conversations and forgetting who I was. In the same way I practiced listening to my intuition, I practiced letting go of control.

Here’s an example: I decided to take a left turn down a street in Covent Garden–no plans, no GPS. A huge rainstorm split the sky, leaving me screaming and laughing and running for cover. I found myself inside an art installation: a dark, cool room which held its own sky (the ceiling was filled with a virtual kaleidoscope that shifted and whirled and seemed made of magic). 

The aforementioned kaleidoscope ceiling.

Another example: After a conversation with my waitress at a restaurant where I discovered the sweet nectar that is JUBEL, I decided to book a train to Edinburgh. It was my favorite part of the entire trip, not only because the train allowed me to see 3.5 hours of gorgeous English countryside, or because Edinburgh feels like a fairytale, but because I was embracing spontaneity. I was open to all possibilities.

You can combine this with listening to your intuition: be open to whatever answers your intuition offers, and forget about planning for every outcome (although, I do recommend looking at the weather forecast before you travel anywhere in the British Isles, because nobody likes soggy shoes or nose sunburn).

Edinburgh castle from below.

This is the formula: intention + intuition + openness = magic. Tell yourself, “Today, I am going for a drive. When it calls to me, I will take that exit. I will let go of the need to know where I’m going for a while. I will wait until the destination chooses me.” 

Another secret spot in Edinburgh (which is not actually a secret to anyone, I just want to pretend like I’m the only one who knows about it).

You set an intention and let things unfold for you. It might take practice to become comfortable with the not knowing, but trust that you always have Google Maps for the return journey. 

6. Be Present

This might be the hardest one to follow, but it might be a relief if you’re constantly burdened by the past and future.

Actually, did you know that the past and future don’t even exist? They’re only thoughts you create in your mind. When you’re thinking about past and future events, you’re still thinking in the present moment. It’s a choice to remain in the present.

When you’re traveling, I think it’s easier to be present, because everything is so new. You can’t help but stare, open-mouthed, as you absorb your surroundings like you’re photosynthesizing.

Roses in Regent’s Park, named after an Old Hollywood legend.

If you’re traveling alone, you’re also forced to fend for yourself: you have to be your own protector, navigator, and parent. Being present wasn’t really optional for me–and I’m so grateful for it. I had never felt so at ease in my own body as I did when I was wandering through London, absorbing everything. It was peaceful (save for the time when I almost missed my bus back from Stonehenge, and had to run, Amazing-Race-style, to the parking lot). 

You don’t need a caption for this one. Looks pretty magical, though, doesn’t it?

If you struggle with staying in the present moment, try gratitude. If you’re grateful for what you have, right now, then you will be less likely to linger on future possibilities or past regrets. Even as I write this, thinking about gratitude has calmed my nervous system—I immediately took deep breaths, and smiled.

Be grateful for everything: your apartment that’s filled with thrift-store finds and hand-me-down furniture, your steady car that desperately needs a cleaning, your family that’s always asking when you’ll be coming home for a visit, your friends who never forget to invite you to lunch, and maybe even the rain that cools down the overheated pavement. (The movie About Time, which is set in London, discusses a similar concept–I urge you to watch it). 

Yellow wildflowers blooming on the edge of a bridge near Regent’s Park.

Carry yourself through the world as if you have everything you’ve ever needed. Make goals and pursue your heart’s desires. Reminisce on the blissful or painful moments, if you wish. Then, do your best to greet the world (the one you’re living in, right now) with awe. 

Wholeness: It Feels Like I’m Floating Through Life

“To drift like clouds; to flow like water.” I Googled this poem, and found little information about it. According to Wikipedia (so take this with a grain of salt), it’s the basis for a Zen Buddhist belief called “Unsui.”

I started this blog by saying that I feel solid, and grounded. And that’s true. But I also feel airy, like a magical woodland fairy. The bliss that arrives when you understand that you are enough, complete, and whole–it makes the world glow in the way it does when you’re in love. Except that this isn’t a glow that fades once you hear the person you’re in love with fart for the first time–it’s an eternal glow. It’s an inward glow you project out into the world. Of course, I still have moments of fear, or shame, but they never last; they tend to fizzle out as quickly as they arrived. 

So, my directive (or advice, if you’re averse to receiving orders), is: travel alone. You are more capable than you know. And I guarantee that you will discover how magical you are.

Bonus Section: A Few Things I Overheard While In London

King’s Cross Station. (You know, the one where Harry went through a wall to get to his Hogwarts train.)

I’d consider myself to be an observant person (seems necessary, as a writer). So I noted a few observations here that don’t really fit into a single post, but that I thought would be fun to share. I just love observing humans, and the amazing, silly ways in which we move through the world. 

• A white-haired woman talking to her brunette colleague: “Don’t take anything for granted.”

• A man in a floral t-shirt, speaking about his girlfriend to their mutual friend: “Her mother calls her a baby elephant—when she’s walking around in the kitchen, it’s just boom boom boom boom boom.”

• A woman flirting with a man on the Tube: “I’ll give you a shout and we’ll talk about beans.”

• A father, spinning his three-year-old daughter around a grab pole on the Tube: “You dizzy, sweetheart?”

• A tour guide in the British Museum: “In the early Egyptian dynasties, if your husband died, you would be killed along with him.” 

• A middle-aged businessman talking on his phone: “With all his quirks, he’s quite likable, ya know?”

• A young woman sitting in the grass with her friends: “She just stares at the ceiling until she goes mad…and then dies of diphtheria.”

Stained glass windows in Temple Church. I recommend meditating there if you need a break from the summer heat and the noise.

Children edition:

• A boy to his friends: “No, let ME tell you about our Maths teacher.”

• A little girl, holding her mother’s hand as they walked through the park: “I’m dyyinnn, walk fasta!!”

• Another little girl, remarking as she and her family stepped through a tunnel: “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.” 

Edinburgh edition:

• A tour guide, discussing the plumbing in Edinburgh: “So it’s everything you flush down the toilet, from your ex’s sweater to tampax.” 

A row of beautiful houses in Edinburgh. (Whoever lives there, I envy you, and I hope you don’t mind me posting this picture on my bloggity blog.)

Ta-ta for now <3.