Travelling alone | Dare Boldly

Before I left Calgary, a wise friend posed a provocative question that nudged at my preconceived notion of a “successful” trip.

My Writing Corner – the stickies are the setting for each act of the play I’m writing

“All I really want is to at least draft the first act of the play I’m working on,” I shared with her, the phone line bridging the distance between her in Ottawa and me in Calgary.

“But what if you don’t write a single word?” she mused. “What if all you do is follow your heart’s call in every moment? Isn’t that, in itself, success?”

It’s frustrating when someone highlights the glaringly obvious, particularly when it’s the exact thing I’ve been sidestepping.

So, what defines a successful trip? Or, extending that thought, a successful life? For me, it’s not merely about achievements but feeling truly fulfilled. It’s the profound joy of self-acceptance and an inner tranquility with who I am, right here, right now.

What if my ‘solo writer’s retreat’ yielded not a single penned word?

After the nerve-wracking drive yesterday that resulted in a flat tire, I decided to take a breather from the challenging narrow roads. A day for my frayed nerves and strained shoulders. And yes, a massage is top of the list when I’m back!

Instead, I wandered, read, napped, and yes, wrote. Surprisingly, I even wrapped up the first draft of Act 1. Yet, thanks to my friend’s piercing question, I wasn’t viewing this through a ‘success’ filter. This was about me showing up authentically, basking in every moment, every breath, as Greg McKeown explains in “Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less”, it’s about my “highest level of contribution”.

Venturing into the quaint hamlet of Garrykennedy on the shores of Lough Derg, I nestled into a cozy chair at Larkin’s Pub, a comforting fire warding off the crisp Augumn air.With a glass of wine in hand and an amazingly delectable bowl of Seafood Chowder, I scribbled and penned thoughts into my journal, the bar’s mid-afternoon quiet punctuated by the murmurs of two other patrons.

Later, I meandered along the shoreline, letting the rain-kissed air envelop me, the stillness of the moment a pure embrace.

It was quintessentially Irish—a day where success wasn’t quantified by accomplishments but by my immersion in every little thing.

That said, if someone could please explain to me why the Irish, known for their unhurried approach to life, speed at 80/km on these sinuous single lanes, I’d be eternally grateful!

The Unknown Path
by Louise Gallagher

Someday, you will step onto a path
not knowing
where it will lead
following its winding ways
into the unknown
that awaits
when you let go
of having to know
paths not taken
before you walk them.

Someday, you'll discover
the answers you seek
lay beyond
the paths you know.

(The poem was written while sitting in Larkin’s Pub, warming myself by the fire)

I’m seated at a writer’s desk that once beloned to the grandfather of Pippa, the owner of the Half Door Writer’s Cottage, my temporary Irish abode.

Earlier today, I ventured into Nenagh, the largest town nearby that has a delightful town centre, a 1200 year old castle and a TESCO, Ireland’s supermarket chain. On the main street I spotted a store named with the same surname as Pippa. I wonder if it’s linked to her grandfather’s desk? I’ll need to ask her once we meet. Currently, she’s in Greece, navigating roads she described via WhatsApp as even more narrow and exciting than Ireland’s.

Switching driving sides is a mutual adventure for both Pippa and me. I commend myself for adapting rather quickly, save for a single blunder. One car had to flash its lights to alert me of my lane mistake! Now, I constantly remind myself, “My right shoulder is closest to the white line in the middle of the road.”

Yesterday evening, after settling into the cottage and the friendly feline Mr. Baggins, I headed to Gerrykennedy, a quaint lakeside village just a few minutes away. At Larkin’s Pub, I treated myself to delectable fish and chips on their patio and nursed a glass of Pinot Grigio as I wrote in my journal.

Things I’ve observed while travelling alone:

Talking aloud, especially when fatigue sets in. It’s a way to remain alert, especially after an exhausting transatlantic flight. And it’s a great way to give myself pep talks as I try to navigate the standard transmissions, driving on the opposite side of the road and a foreign landscape.
I’m more open to seeking assistance. Take the incident with my rental car’s non-existent ignition button for example. Accustomed to just pushing the button to start my car at home, I searched for the same facility on my rental car until I gave up searching and asked the lovely young attendant for help. He was very kind in showing me how the key just pops out of the fob and where to insert it on the steering whell. 😊
Balancing ego and self-awareness is vital. While ego nudges me to appear infallible, curiosity prompts questions about my presence and awareness.
The joy of unplanned detours, despite Siri’s insistence on sticking to the route.
The comforting presence of my inner voice, guiding me towards mindfulness.

Solo travels have been insightful:

It’s made me delve deeper into the essence of solitary journeys and heighten my self-awareness.
I’ve discovered the importance of relishing my own presence.
The conveniences of modern tech, like Google Maps and phone-to-car syncing, are deeply appreciated.
Staying connected with loved ones is just a call, text, or email away, reinforcing that we’re intrinsically linked irrespective of distances.

Traveling solo doesn’t equate to loneliness. It’s an enriching experience heightened by the omnipresent interconnectedness and the deep love that binds me inextricably where ever in the world I am.