Musings

All By Myself

By Shelley Banks

During our time in Slovenia, we embarked on a day tour out to Predjama Castle, only fifty-nine kilometres from where we were staying in Ljubljana. Amongst the amazing sites we saw, we also met some lovely people, one of whom was a twenty-two-year-old from Manchester.

She was taking a gap year after finishing university. What surprised me about this lovely young woman wasn’t simply that she was travelling the world alone. It was that she had chosen to.

Several of her friends had apparently talked excitedly about joining her. Plans had been discussed. Dreams shared. But in the end, she decided this was something she needed to do by herself.

At twenty-two, I was still figuring out how to write a grocery list and remember to pay my phone bill on time (it was a landline back then, not a mobile). She was navigating foreign countries with one backpack, a loosely planned itinerary, and the kind of quiet confidence I’m not sure I possessed until much later in life.

As we travelled through the Slovenian countryside, I found myself thinking about how differently we all approach the world at that age. Some people desperately seek company, reassurance, and certainty. Others feel an undeniable pull toward independence, even if it terrifies them.

And I suspect she was terrified at times. Not because she seemed incapable, but because doing anything alone for the first time requires a certain surrender. There is no one to hand decisions over to. No familiar face to lean on when things go wrong. No shared responsibility. Just you, your instincts, and the uncomfortable but necessary process of learning you are capable of more than you realised.

There’s something oddly beautiful about travelling alone when you’re young. Before careers harden around you. Before obligations stack themselves neatly into calendars and routines. Before life convinces you that spontaneity is irresponsible.

At twenty-two, the world still feels wide open.

Watching her made me wonder whether solo travel is less about seeing the world and more about seeing yourself without the constant reflection of other people around you. Without family expectations. Without friendship dynamics. Without being known.

Who are you when nobody is there to remind you who you’ve always been?

Perhaps that’s the real reason people leave home alone. Not to escape their lives, but to meet themselves properly for the first time.

I still think about her occasionally. The young woman from Manchester who sat on a bus winding through Slovenia, looking out the window with equal parts excitement and uncertainty. She probably has no idea she became someone else’s moment of reflection.

But perhaps that’s another beautiful thing about travel. Sometimes the people who briefly pass through our lives leave behind far more than they realise.

Books

If you like my short stories, I’ve published twelve books.