Last fall, I visited a friend from high school who was studying abroad in Paris. Of all the highlights I anticipated for this trip, I would never have guessed that the very first day would significantly alter my relationship with being alone.Â
Pre-Epiphany
In the lead-up to this trip, I was bursting with excitement. I was looking forward to the chance to spend so much time with a friend in a new locale: chatting over lovely dinners at unfamiliar restaurants, laughing as she showed me around Paris, trading opinions as we journeyed through fine art museums. But in anticipation of my upcoming trip, there was one day I was trying to avoid thinking about too much: my first full day in Paris. My friend would be tied up all day with exams, and I was going to be exploring solo. The prospect of exploring an unfamiliar city by myself was daunting to put it lightly, and every time my mind rested on this first day too long I felt a pit of dread growing alongside my general excitement.
In the days before I was meant to leave for the trip, I weighed my options on how to spend my solo day. There was a part of me that was tempted to just stay in my friend’s dorm and read all day, staying cozy and waiting to face the city until after I had the comfort of a familiar tour guide. But the guilt of wasting the opportunity to explore eventually won out, and I decided to make my history-nerd heart happy by booking a historical tour of Versailles, followed by a boat tour of the city’s landmarks along the Seine.
Setting out Solo
When the morning finally came, I wished my friend good luck on her exams as she pointed me toward the nearest metro stop, and I set off. Among the morning commuters on the bustling sidewalk and on the train, I didn’t feel out of place at all. In fact, most people were alone. The pit in my stomach began to dissolve, and my confidence was growing by the time I joined my tour group. I was the only single person in the group, and I hardly found myself thinking about it as we walked through the palace. The most notable part of being on my own was that it seemed to make the other people on my tour more comfortable starting a conversation with me.Â
While these were mostly centered on asking if I would take pictures of their groups, I had a touching conversation with a woman who asked what I was doing in Paris after I told her I was visiting a close friend from high school. She gestured to the two women she was on the tour with and told me that they had met in high school but were in Paris to celebrate 40 years of friendship. She told me she hoped my friend and I would be coming back in 30-some years to celebrate our friendship.
This kindness from strangers was a common theme throughout my day. My phone died while at Versailles, and the friendliness of the tour guides and receptionists, who allowed me to use one of their office phone chargers post-tour, further brightened my day. Later, on the boat tour, a young couple sitting near me asked me to take photos of them as we passed various iconic Parisian landmarks. At the end of the trip, as the boat began to dock near the lit-up Eiffel Tower, I gathered my courage to ask if they wouldn’t mind taking a few photos of me. They happily agreed and quickly picked up on the awkwardness I felt as I posed alone. In response, they began enthusiastically hyping me up, making me laugh, and resulting in some of my favorite photos from the trip.
When I met back up with my friend for dinner, I felt not only charmed by my brief but sweet interactions during the day, but I felt delightedly shocked at how much I had enjoyed myself despite my initial anxieties. The rush of tackling something I had been dreading so much left me feeling almost giddy for the rest of the evening.
Lasting Impact
After a few more lovely days in Paris, I returned to St Andrews with joyful memories of the time spent with my friend and with a newly emboldened confidence in being alone. From going to the movies, to attending society events, to going to an author talk on a Thursday night in Edinburgh, I’ve found myself regularly doing things that I would’ve been far too nervous to do on my own a year ago. And as I’m enjoying all these experiences, I’m realizing how silly my fears were.
The anxious part of me had always insisted that I’d feel somehow embarrassed to be seen alone, like it was somehow indicative of not having friends who want to spend time with me. But being alone, like many things I thought were mortifying as a teenager, isn’t actually that embarrassing at all. Of course, my anxieties ricocheted around my brain a little more in the beginning, but unsurprisingly, my nervousness has subsided with practice. For the most part, I’m preoccupied by whatever it is that I’m doing and not the fact that I’m doing it by myself. But in the moments I reflect on my solo status, it’s never with shame; instead, it’s generally a feeling of satisfaction that I didn’t let a fear of embarrassment hold me back from making the most of my time.Â
As much as I still love having a friend at my side to share an experience with, being at ease going it alone has vastly broadened my horizons and substantially enriched my life. My experiences have been testament to the fact that these ventures are often all the more rewarding when you have to be brave to do them in the first place. There’s more reward when you have to step outside your comfort zone.Â
For anyone struggling with similar nerves about being alone in public, you don’t need to travel to Paris to find some peace. But whether you choose to start expanding your comfort zone little by little or in one big leap, it will be worth it.