Travelling alone can be very liberating but it isn’t all flowery. Being able to sit for hours together staring at the sea or finishing a book while drinking cups of coffee or writing to empty the numerous strands of thoughts in my head was the motive of running away by myself. The ability to do all that I wanted without worrying about anyone else’s liking was the additional benefit. The choice of food, the time of the meals, where I went, what I did was solely upto me; it was a nice feeling to have. But, I would be fooling myself if I didn’t say I feel an underlying fear.
A fear which was ingrained in me is not easy to let go.
Eventually though the waves, the calmness of being away from all routine, the magic of Kundera’s words overcame that uneasy feeling. But the mode of hyper vigilance, as my friend calls it, is indeed exhausting. It takes focussed effort to remind oneself that it isn’t always going to be bad. And in order to enjoy the solitude fully well, I had to consciously recognise and unlearn that fear.
Travelling alone has allowed me to see the limitations in my thinking and my way of reacting. It showed me the power of the conditioning I’ve had; the tendency to be watchful and even a little afraid. This came mostly from bad experiences but still it was not good baggage to carry around. But this trip allowed me to make a dent on the conditioning with a happy little memory. Of a wonderful trip with my reading and writing books and myself.