Ciao Italy.
First solo trip in the books. As Julius Caesar famously said, “I came, I saw, I pasta’d”.
One of the most unexpected gifts of solo travel is that you feel everything — not in a chaotic, rollercoaster kind of way, but like a steady current that flows through each day. Discomfort, serenity, isolation, friendship, self-dependency, loss of control, and then finding it again. There were no extreme highs or lows, but rather a deepened awareness of what it means to move through the world alone — and still feel full.
Over 25 days, I traveled across Italy, visited nine cities, walked 145 miles, became a local at two restaurants (they knew my order), a cafe (they knew my name), and a gelato spot (they knew my weakness). I took cooking classes with two incredible chefs and learned to make five kinds of pasta. I drove about 600 miles across the Puglia coast, met people from Brazil, Canada, Mexico, Dubai, Israel, and of course, Italy. I learned enough Italian to get by (ciao, prego, un cornetto, un caffè con latte), and somehow had only one gelato a day — held back purely by self-control.
There were hiccups — my car broke down, I nearly missed a train. I walked up to a man nearby who didn’t speak a word of English, but between gestures, smiles, and a lot of “grazie,” he helped me push the car into a parking spot. Somehow, everything worked out. That’s a lesson in itself.
Things I’m taking home:
Imagine wisely.
Before the trip, my imagination almost talked me out of it. What if I got bored? What if I couldn’t meet people? What if I got stuck in my head? (What if I got tired of pasta??) None of those fears ended up being real — at least not in the way I expected. I found new company within myself, connected with strangers organically, rebuilt faith in humanity through small, kind moments, and discovered creative ways to enjoy my own mind. Trusting myself trumped my fears. (Though I am ready for my mom’s Gujarati food now.)
Rebuilding self-confidence.
I’ve been thinking a lot about self-confidence lately. I realized mine had slowly chipped away over the past few years — not in a dramatic way, but quietly. It got tied too closely to how I looked, what I accomplished, and how others responded to me. This trip gave me space to notice that — and start building it back. I’ve come to think confidence comes from clarity, consistency, and fearlessness. Somewhere along the way, I lost grip on one or more of those. But without the time or space to reflect, I kept powering through those fractures — like trying to run on a sprained ankle. Solo travel slowed me down enough to ask better questions: Where am I lacking clarity? Where have I lost consistency? What fears are shaping the way I move through the world? This trip didn’t “fix” anything overnight, but it gave me a framework to better understand where I’m at, what drives my confidence, and how to rebuild it — in my personal, romantic and professional life.
It’s going to take time. And I’m okay with that.
Let emotions flow — the storm eventually ends.
When you only have yourself, you’re forced to face emotional turbulence head-on. You learn to sit with discomfort, to ride the wave, or to table it for later. Before this trip, I’d often experience emotions in polar extremes — really high highs, or heavy, paralyzing lows. That intensity would stress me out, and I’d either obsess over the lows or try to escape them. Solo travel helped me build a new muscle: steadiness. Not numbness, not indifference, but an ability to stay calm, observe the emotion, and not get caught in the tide. I started realizing that not every emotional storm needs to be solved in the moment — sometimes it just needs to pass.
Self-care is different from being your own friend.
A strong friendship with yourself makes all the difference. It teaches you to stay when things get uncomfortable, instead of running. Looking back, many of the habits I thought were “self-care” — working out, spending time with family and friends, working on my startup — had quietly become escape routes from feelings I didn’t want to face. Being alone with myself initially felt like diving deeper into that emotional burden. But over time, I realized the real self-care isn’t in distraction — it’s in acceptance. Now, I’m excited to return to those habits as things I can genuinely enjoy again.
Trust yourself — you’ll figure sh*t out.
Even when it feels like you won’t. Especially then.
All of this is a work in progress. No big “aha moment.” Just a bunch of quiet ones.
Most of all, I realized solo travel doesn’t end when the trip does. I want to carry this energy home with me — through slow morning coffees, long “uncle walks,” saying yes more often, and just enjoying my own company wherever I am.