I like the loneliness of travel.
The loneliness of home comes with judgment. When I feel alone at home, I imagine that everyone else
Is connecting and meeting and attending amazing parties and events. And I’m the one person who isn’t, the only one not building my network, not having transformative conversations, not making a social impact on the world, not invited.
But when I travel, of course I am alone. Of course I don’t have lots of friends. Of course I don’t have parties to attend. And if I do, great! I’m a traveler, and whatever I experience is not only OK – it’s to be expected.
And, I know it’s temporary. I know it’s part of a special moment. And so I end up relishing the aloneness more.
Somehow, the loneliness of Argentina, or Brooklyn, or wherever, just doesn’t slash my psyche as badly. It feels good and welcome and comforting. It feels like a coming home. It feels free. Just me, and whatever belongings I have.