It's been 15 years since I've traveled alone and it's starting out much the same at 39 as it did when I was 24. I go through the "What was I thinking??" phase which always seem to involve tears over food. Last time I cried over a Hamburger at a Hard Rock Cafe in Barcelona. This time my tears drop over a bowl of cornflakes overlooking the Acropolis. But this time is different, I just had the trip of a lifetime with the love of my life. "What am I still doing here?!!" I should be on a flight back home with Michael, awaiting homemade Greek salads in our back yard after walking Riley along the coast...sigh.
Then, I remind myself of what my very wise auntie told me, which is that traveling alone requires a certain set of skills and resourcefulness and that these skills are like a muscle that should be flexed from time to time, if we're fortunate enough to do so. So as I step onto the Athens subway car, ticket in had, passport and euros stowed away safely along with a sandwich put together from breakfast fixings, I remember, I like the process of traveling: the small challenges that feel like big accomplishments, the autonomy that's borne out of solitude, the surprises that feel like grand discoveries because I found them all on my own... Yeah, I got this.
