I’ve always loved my time on my own, looking at my most recent little trips I feel like I’ve found an entirely new side of myself. The purpose is to simply be. And I love it.
the no bedtime line is the giveaway. as an adult, the rarity isn't the hotel, it's a single uninterrupted block where nobody has any input on what you do next. solo travel is one delivery
mechanism for that, but i suspect the underlying scarcity is what makes any version of it feel transformative. even an evening with the door closed counts.
I always to interact with new place yes not people...that gives a refreshing air and thought.. but till now I don't get any permission once I succeed in my life i will definitely want to... I really get excitement when i read this article..
I love this! I'm a big solo traveler myself and I love reading work from people who have experienced a similar refreshing feeling of autonomy and independence from traveling alone, it's truly intoxicating.
As a sociology student and an only child, I read this with a strange mix of recognition and longing.
The only child part first. I grew up without siblings to negotiate with. No one to fight over the bathroom, no one to argue about bedtime, no one to tell me that my plans were inconvenient. But I also grew up without someone to fill the silence. I learned early to be my own company – not because I was brave, but because there was no one else around. Solo travel, for me, is not a rebellion against togetherness. It is an extension of the default setting.
The sociology student part comes in here: what you are describing is not just a personality preference. It is a structural privilege. The ability to book a hotel room, to take a train, to spend a night away from obligations – these are not available to everyone. Single parents. Caregivers. People whose jobs do not offer paid leave. People whose bodies or minds make travel difficult. Your essay is beautiful, and it is honest about the joy of solitude. But it is also, quietly, a document of access. The kind of access that not everyone has, but that everyone deserves.
That said, the joy you describe is real. And it matters. The experience of being in a hotel room alone – the big bed, the room service, the television that no one else controls – is a specific kind of freedom. It is not the freedom of escape. It is the freedom of absence. No one watching. No one waiting. No one asking when you will be back. The anonymity of a hotel is not loneliness. It is a holiday from being perceived.
The line that stayed with me was Nate's in the comments: "the rarity isn't the hotel, it's a single uninterrupted block where nobody has any input on what you do next."
This is the true luxury. Not the thread count. Not the mini fridge. The uninterrupted block. Time that does not answer to anyone. The feeling of opening the door to your room and realising that, for the next however many hours, you are not a daughter, a friend, an employee, a student. You are just a person in a room. And the room does not need anything from you.
Valerie mentioned the anonymity. That is the hidden gift. In a hotel, no one knows you. The receptionist does not know your history. The person in the elevator does not know your failures. You are free to be just the person you are in that moment – not the accumulation of all the moments that came before.
Geetha said she is waiting for permission. I understand that. Permission feels like it has to come from somewhere else. From a partner, from a parent, from a society that says solo travel for women is either brave or reckless, never just ordinary. But permission, I have learned, is not granted. It is taken. You book the room. You get on the train. You discover that the fear was the only thing standing in your way.
Thank you for this. It made me want to book a room. Just for one night. Just to remember what it feels like to not be watched.
Dear Aine,
Greetings.
Read one of your essays for the first time.
And I like the nice chatty way you have penned it.
This opening line is especially lovely:
"There is nothing more freeing than time by yourself"
Yes, 100% right.
God bless you,
Roy
roy thank you! i appreciate you reading 😊
You are most welcome, Aine.
Stay blessed.
I’ve always loved my time on my own, looking at my most recent little trips I feel like I’ve found an entirely new side of myself. The purpose is to simply be. And I love it.
it definitely is, it really makes you realise just how pleasurable it can be!
the no bedtime line is the giveaway. as an adult, the rarity isn't the hotel, it's a single uninterrupted block where nobody has any input on what you do next. solo travel is one delivery
mechanism for that, but i suspect the underlying scarcity is what makes any version of it feel transformative. even an evening with the door closed counts.
I always to interact with new place yes not people...that gives a refreshing air and thought.. but till now I don't get any permission once I succeed in my life i will definitely want to... I really get excitement when i read this article..
thanks geetha! glad it resonated with you 😊
I love short solo trips ….. the annonimity and the freedom just makes me feel relaxed and centered !
definitely! they are so freeing and relaxing
I love this! I'm a big solo traveler myself and I love reading work from people who have experienced a similar refreshing feeling of autonomy and independence from traveling alone, it's truly intoxicating.
for sure! i really need to start braving going away for more than one night as the feeling you get is unbeatable 🤭
Love this! I’m planning on going on my first solo trip to Edinburgh later this year and i’m a little nervous but so excited!!
oooo edinburgh is so lovely i wanna go back so soon!! have the best time🙂↕️
As a sociology student and an only child, I read this with a strange mix of recognition and longing.
The only child part first. I grew up without siblings to negotiate with. No one to fight over the bathroom, no one to argue about bedtime, no one to tell me that my plans were inconvenient. But I also grew up without someone to fill the silence. I learned early to be my own company – not because I was brave, but because there was no one else around. Solo travel, for me, is not a rebellion against togetherness. It is an extension of the default setting.
The sociology student part comes in here: what you are describing is not just a personality preference. It is a structural privilege. The ability to book a hotel room, to take a train, to spend a night away from obligations – these are not available to everyone. Single parents. Caregivers. People whose jobs do not offer paid leave. People whose bodies or minds make travel difficult. Your essay is beautiful, and it is honest about the joy of solitude. But it is also, quietly, a document of access. The kind of access that not everyone has, but that everyone deserves.
That said, the joy you describe is real. And it matters. The experience of being in a hotel room alone – the big bed, the room service, the television that no one else controls – is a specific kind of freedom. It is not the freedom of escape. It is the freedom of absence. No one watching. No one waiting. No one asking when you will be back. The anonymity of a hotel is not loneliness. It is a holiday from being perceived.
The line that stayed with me was Nate's in the comments: "the rarity isn't the hotel, it's a single uninterrupted block where nobody has any input on what you do next."
This is the true luxury. Not the thread count. Not the mini fridge. The uninterrupted block. Time that does not answer to anyone. The feeling of opening the door to your room and realising that, for the next however many hours, you are not a daughter, a friend, an employee, a student. You are just a person in a room. And the room does not need anything from you.
Valerie mentioned the anonymity. That is the hidden gift. In a hotel, no one knows you. The receptionist does not know your history. The person in the elevator does not know your failures. You are free to be just the person you are in that moment – not the accumulation of all the moments that came before.
Geetha said she is waiting for permission. I understand that. Permission feels like it has to come from somewhere else. From a partner, from a parent, from a society that says solo travel for women is either brave or reckless, never just ordinary. But permission, I have learned, is not granted. It is taken. You book the room. You get on the train. You discover that the fear was the only thing standing in your way.
Thank you for this. It made me want to book a room. Just for one night. Just to remember what it feels like to not be watched.
— Bee, from somewhere outside the nest