Everyone talks about the journey. No one talks about what comes before.
Everyone talks about how exciting it is to travel alone.
Living experiences abroad, working overseas, discovering new cultures, reinventing yourself.
And it's true. It's powerful. It's transformative.
But almost no one talks about what happens before you leave.
We've normalised solo travel as if it were something light and effortless.
You book a flight, pack your bag, post an airport photo, and go.
The truth is that every choice comes with sacrifices.
And every departure is also a loss.
"But you don't have anyone"
In my life, I've often changed scenery: homes, cities, jobs.
And how many times have I heard people say:
"Well, you don't have anyone".
"I could never do it, I have people and attachments that keep me here".
As if leaving were easier for those who stay and those who leave.
The truth is different.
It's not a competition between those who stay and those who leave.
Some people have built a life they love.
Some have a children, fulfilling jobs, important responsibilities.
And some feel that in the place where they live, there is no space to become who they want to be.
They are simply different choices.
But none of them are easy.
When working hard still isn't enough
In Italy, like many others, I studied.
Like many, after graduating I found my myself doing a job that wasn't the one I had studied for.
I don't say this to diminish it.
I've done many job, and each of them taught me something.
They gave me indipendence early on. They gave me dignity.
But I was working so much that I no longer had space for my passions.
Art, writing, creativity, they started to feel like a luxury.
Traveling was the only thing that made me feel alive.
And paradoxically, the more I worked, the less I was able to do it.
At some point, I realised I was surviving. Not living.
The moment you realize you need to change your life
Leaving isn’t always a romantic escape.
Sometimes, it’s a quiet necessity.
I had built something.
I was also in an important relationship. For the first time, I felt I was in a healthy one.
And right there, I understood something difficult to accept:
love isn’t always enough to silence the need to grow.
Inside me, there was hunger.
A hunger for the world.
A hunger for a new language.
A hunger for possibilities.
So I decided to leave.
First Indonesia, where I was able to visit the famous Bali.
hen Australia, where things didn’t go as I had hoped, and where I’m about to return.
But that’s another story.
The day I said Goodbye
There’s nothing poetic about saying goodbye at an airport.
There’s a hug held too tight. Tears.
The feeling that nothing will ever be the same again.
The doubt that you might never see each other again.
I left behind a home.
A job.
A cat.
An imperfect but familiar everyday life.
And no, it’s not true that those who leave “have no one.”
Those who leave have people they love.
They have attachments.
They carry memories that weigh on them.
They simply choose to face the pain of change instead of staying still in frustration.
Traveling alone is not courage.
It is transformation.
Because when you leave, you change.
And the version of you that stays behind no longer exists.
You may come back, maybe.
But you will look at your country with different eyes.
You will see the people you know with a new awareness.
And some dynamics will no longer feel right.
Every departure is a small grief.
Even though I’m used to changing homes, selling things, not getting too attached… every time still feels like a loss.
I’m just like you.
With attachments. With nostalgia. With fears.
The difference is that I chose to walk through them.
The leap into the unknown
Every time I book that ticket, I feel a tightness in my chest.
It’s not fear of flying.
It’s the awareness that I’m leaving behind a home, my family, old habits, a job.
Sometimes you leave a relationship not because love is missing, but because your paths begin to move in different directions.
When you feel the need to expand, to grow, to move forward, staying would mean shrinking, and over time, life turns into frustration.
It’s possible to feel both sadness and happiness at the same time.
Happy for making a choice that feels true to yourself, sad for a possibility you wished had turned out differently.
And yet, I do it again.
Alone.
Because becoming the person I want to be is, for me, worth the pain of letting go.
And you? Are you in the moment before leaving, or still in the one where you’re trying to find the courage?
