The fact that I’m traveling alone comes up often. Nearly immediately, the fact that I’m a woman traveling alone closely follows.
Cue: wide-eyed faces with lips tightened, an attempt to conceal a wave of opinions. Immediately, there is interest, curiosity, or sometimes envy. A shadow follows, apprehension and dismay.
Aren’t you afraid of traveling alone?
Wait, your father lets you travel alone without a gun? I’d never let my daughter do that.
A woman traveling alone…that just doesn’t feel right. Think of all the men out there.
Every time I come to a new place, I’m met with these observations and a medley of other concerns. I take a deep breath and plaster a smile on my face, a goodwill ambassador with a sole message: most people are good.
“It’s not as scary as you would think,” I offer. “In fact, most people want to help me, not harm me. I’m less intimidating than a man, I think, which opens up one door after another.”
Of course being a woman traveling alone has its downsides.
Safety is a legitimate concern; I am exceedingly careful about where I go, who I talk to, and how I sleep. Danger, to be frank, can intensify as a woman traveling solo — which means I often miss out on opportunities that I might pursue if I had a traveling partner (or even if I was a man).
Traveling alone can also be incredibly lonely, a constant reminder of how impermanence is one of the few constants in life. While I meet new people every day, most of those people are gone as quickly as they arrive — leaving me only to carry the memory or stories along toward the next stop.
Sexism and objectification are constant companions, stumbling out of the mouths of men around me while I travel on the road. I regularly ditch bars if I can’t ditch a rather persistent harasser and often dodge catcalls shouted while walking down the street.
But even with these serious frustrations, I wouldn’t change the solitary nature of my trip for anything. I have learned so much in the past year — far more than I ever could have imagined about both America and myself.
So yes, while there are some problems with traveling solo, there are far more perks.
For instance: spontaneity. Traveling alone means that I have complete control over my schedule: how I spend my days, where I go next, and which recommendations I follow through on (and which ones I skip!). This flexibility means I’m able to follow where the wind takes me — and it often leads to some memorable moments I never could’ve preplanned.
Traveling solo is also extraordinarily empowering. Part of it is external, challenging perceptions across the country that it’s unsafe for women to travel alone (or whichever of the other assumptions people share with me). The majority of it, however, comes from a shift inside my chest — the realization that I hold the key to my own future. Traveling alone has made me a better problem solver and a more resilient, decisive person.
People always seem to be looking out for me. Whenever I meet a stranger through my travels, it comes up pretty quickly that I’m driving through alone. Almost immediately, people will jump into action; they’ll offer up advice or their homes for safe places to sleep. They’ll buy me a beer and tell me some stories. The people I meet along the road are often more than willing — they’re excited to help me along.
In a similar vein, I meet more people when I’m traveling solo. When you’re with a group of friends, you often become wrapped up in your own world. Since on the road I don’t have that safety net, I ditch my tether to the “outside world” too — I put my phone in my pocket and try to be present in the place in front of me. These actions mean I’m able to search out other solo people who may be willing to talk; a solo woman striking up conversation is far less intimidating, I’ve been told, than a solo man.
On some of the most trying days of this project, ones where I’ve had to ditch a great place because of harassment or pay for a motel because there are no safe campgrounds nearby, I resent being a woman.
Being a man would be so much easier, I lament, my forehead pressed up against the steering wheel.
On the best days, ones where I get indoctrinated into a friendly group of locals or score an awesome conversation on the fly, I know in my gut many paths open up simply because I’m a woman. I follow through with curiosity.
With the highs and the lows, traveling solo as a woman can feel like walking through a jungle that threatens with quicksand.
But honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
