Breaking away from loneliness on the road

Travel can be the most rewarding gift you ever give yourself, but it is not without its challenges. I have been a flight attendant since 2015, splitting my time between work and travel, with an emphasis on travel. The further I have come in my career, the more addicted I have become to being on the move, pulling me further away from all semblances of normality. My vacations have lengthened and grown in exoticism with each passing year. 

While I love this fast-paced, always-in-a-new-place way of living, the irregularity of my lifestyle makes it virtually impossible to be a part of any type of consistent community. Most people know me more from my social media presence than actual conversations. Loneliness lurks in the shadows of my heart.

When I attempt to explain this, there is often a lack of empathy. After all, I am living the dream of many and I chose it for myself. However, as the aviation sector is booming (post-covid), and remote work has become increasingly popular, the pool of transients is increasing. I know I’m not the only one being forced to rethink my relationships as I search for how to find constants in an ever-changing day-to-day.

I didn’t notice a disconnect in myself for a long time. After all, I have close friends and family. There are also often extreme amounts of adventure distracting me. It wasn’t until the world shut down during the pandemic that I had time to compare my past non-transient life to my current travel lifestyle. It was as if I had stepped back in time, to an old version of living that I’d long ago discarded. 

My closest friends had begun to put down roots, get married, have kids and receive promotions at work. Family members questioned me on long-term plans and when I might want to make a career change that facilitated a better schedule, aka a more appropriate career for my new role as wife. As the pandemic raged on and the question of my airline staying in business loomed, I considered what might be next. I started to question my priorities and the things that had been overlooked for many years. While I did get to keep my job, greater questions had been unlocked within me. 

Upon the ushering in of my 30th birthday, the pressures to settle down and live the life of a mature, young woman have substantially increased. Expectations of what it means to be 30 versus 20 have brought a new conscientiousness to my nomadic lifestyle. The older I’ve become, the younger the other backpackers around me seem to be, reinforcing this awareness. 

Feeling isolated in my lifestyle as well as my age bracket is something that is an ongoing journey. I think women are particularly affected by the discriminations of ageism. This is especially true when it comes to the question of having children. The moment age 30 is reached, the questioning becomes more insistent. Coupled with this is the constant push to maintain a physically youthful appearance with wrinkle-free skin, and maintain the energy I harbored at 20. 

The travel-realm perfectly plays into these trends and is no kinder. Many hostels in major cities around the world have age limits on their guests. A friend of mine, freshly 30, recently shared that the hostel she visited in Italy didn’t bar her from being there, but instead imposed a daily, over-30-tax on her. 

This rhetoric suggetss that older adults are unwanted in younger social settings and should be discouraged from breaking a certain mold. The implication here is that someone over 30 shouldn’t stay amongst younger travelers because it might dampen the fun. Just another reminder that the backpacker industry is catering to the 18-25 crowd. 

This is a shame. It discourages engagement not only across various age brackets, but also for anyone outside of the young adult descriptor. For older adults to choose to surround themselves with a younger crowd is considered taboo; almost vulgar in some cases. These ‘others’ are directed towards more isolated, often more expensive vacations that can be inaccessible to the average person. The price tag on a trip like this alone can discourage people from traveling.

Cost isn’t the only downside. It can also further distance adults from having social interactions outside of their immediate home environment. I believe in the importance of breaking down the barriers between generations as an integral need for human connection and happiness. Some countries, such as Denmark, have already figured this out. They have neighborhoods of communes, in which people learn from, engage with and help each other on a daily basis.This intertwining of people builds an open-minded and empathetic collectivism. It also ensures everyone’s needs are cared for. Someone who is 19 looks at the world differently than someone who is 90. They have different needs and wants. Both parties can benefit from being around each other. Best of all, no one goes lonely.

The current subliminal messages that separate and categorize people are carried over into the stereotypes of what defines an adult, further isolating us as we age. I can’t help but bristle every time I hear the implications that “backpacker” and “maturity” don’t go together. It’s a reinforcement of the negative connotations of ‘Peter Pan Syndrome’. Nevertheless, I continue to chase after the reality I wish to live in. I hope that this age of digital nomads and remote workers helps to rebrand travel and facilitate the building of healthy social connections for all ages.

While I am not a digital nomad or remote worker, I rarely stick around in one place for more than 3-4 weeks at a time. I cycle between my temporary home where I work on the coast in Florida, my parents house in central Florida, my home in southern Germany, and then travel throughout the world. 

The problem with a fast-paced life such as this is that the people you know and love are not catapulting and evolving at your same speed. I continue to return to the places that are familiar to me, but I am no longer the person that once fit into those communities. I slide black into these groups of friends and family as if putting on an old sweater. I may be the same on the outside but my experiences have changed my mind and perceptions on everyday life in ways that can’t easily be verbalized in a 3-hour reunion. So, it becomes easier to wear that sweater and keep a lid on those changes. It can feel as if I’m perched on the outside of these gatherings, at once present but also displaced, living a life that other people can’t relate to.

I am also an outsider in the places I travel. I am a student of the world, doing my best to learn about whatever place I am in. I am a tourist, intent on not acting like one by respecting the local people and lands. I am an adventurer, embarking on dangerous and difficult physical challenges. Wearing all these different hats sometimes feels like changing into different identities. 

I might discover some sense of home on the road, but I always recognize that it is temporary. I have learned how to attach to an experience, place and new friend, and promptly detach when the time comes to board the plane, bus or train. 

So how do I manage to keep the loneliness at bay when I have no sense of fitting into any one place? 

 I do my best to live 150% in each moment. 

I have a very particular mindset surrounding the way I engage in social situations. I throw myself into the present, intent on diving into conversations and celebrations with fervor. I do this with so much of my entirety that most people assume I am an extrovert. I denote the attainment of this skill to many years of working in customer service. I am a trained extrovert and it serves me well. I can easily jump between friendly conversation and quiet introspection in a social context. It has the benefit of helping me release the thoughts that do not serve me and fully engage in feeling or observing all of the emotions of a specific moment.

Rediscovering what identity means to me

Despite being comfortable alone with my thoughts today, I was never taught how to be alone in a physical sense, except to avoid it at all costs. My entire childhood was surrounded by love and music; people who cared for me and brought color into my life. I am grateful for these experiences. Now I have had to rediscover my identity and how to fill those holes, without a constant community around me at all times. 

I have periodic visits with friends and family, but still tend to miss birthdays, holidays and life events. It is hard to avoid the guilt of not being present. I’ve been working to redefine what it means to be a good friend, daughter, and sister with a realistic template that fits my life. As long as I feel that I am showing up in the right ways, I know that I am giving my best.

Missing these important things sometimes makes me sad, but I am never sad enough to consider slowing down. To condense my life into a single lane would be to deny a part of myself. The idea of cutting back on travel is, in my opinion, equivalent to shutting myself off to personal growth and a well-rounded education. It is incomprehensible to go backwards after having come this far. It also just sounds, well to put it bluntly, incredibly boring.

Building short-term routines and long term habits 

This is a step I often return to when determining what I need, especially under stress. When my mind feels imbalanced, it is difficult for me to feel settled. I struggle to find consistency and tend to surround myself with cluttered social interactions to mute the discomfort. When I catch myself falling into unhealthy coping mechanisms, I fall back on reintroducing routine into my daily life.

I am religious about 3 daily habits: drinking tea while reading, journaling or quiet reflection, and allowing my body as much sleep as it needs. As long as I make time for a good book paired with a pot of green tea in the morning, time for (sometimes creative) mind-dumping, and a good night’s sleep, I can usually settle into a new rhythm. I also try to get outside and walk as much as possible.

Still, I am not immune to the effects of travel on my body. The lack of consistency in my schedule has become its own sort of routine. I am constantly jumping time zones and sleeping in different places. I have learned how to adapt my circadian rhythm quickly and have developed a high threshold for change. By incorporating simple daily habits that can be done anywhere, I feel more grounded in the place I have landed.

A major key to this has been learning to set short-term goals, depending on where I intend to be for any time frame. If I will be home for 2 weeks, I might add in a daily fitness routine to my 3 daily habits. If I am going to be working for 3 weeks, I might add in a daily phone call on my long drives after work. If I am traveling, I will add in something like a daily walk on the beach or a biweekly hike up a mountain, always catering to whichever place I am in. This consistency gives me some control back to my days, thus leaving more energy for social engagement and adventures. 

Periodic check-ins with important people and taking time to engage with strangers

There is no replacement for relationships that have been built and cared for over the span of many years. I have become fiercely protective over these relationships, even if our lives have taken us far apart. I schedule phone calls over whatsapp or social media. Just hearing a familiar voice on the other end brings satisfaction and joy to wherever I am. It also gives me that warm feeling of belonging.

Human interactions don’t only have to be long distance in order to boost positivity, however. Scientific studies on happiness and well-being prove over and over again that the simplicity of a conversation with a stranger is enough to release endorphins and high levels of satisfaction.  

I have noticed that solo travel makes me far more social with strangers than I might otherwise be. I enjoy learning about people: where they’re from, what they plan to do on their trip and where they have traveled. Some of the most memorable conversations and philosophical debates I’ve ever had have come from strangers abroad. 

The great thing about a friendly stranger is that they have no reason to be inauthentic. It is not unusual for me to hear of someone’s heartbreak, divorce or discontentment with their job and family in a foreign country, even if we’ve just met. I’ve been on both ends of these conversations. Strangers can be great listeners. 

There is a non-judgmental, easiness in the temporary companionship. A quiet understanding from our unique adventures bridges the gaps of emptiness. I relish in introspective and retrospective wandering conversations with fellow backpackers until we go off on our separate paths. You never know who you might end up dancing the night away or building incredible memories with. 

Travel with a companion

One of my best tips for staving off loneliness? I find traveling with a trusted or familiar companion can do the trick. Solo travel is not for everyone. Sharing the experiences of a lifetime with a partner will provide someone to turn to when you want to reflect. I have a few close friends who I often turn to when I want to share an adventure. 

While I enjoy the discoveries and challenges of both solo and group/partner travel, I don’t travel alone as often as I once did. These days I typically prefer making memories with my best friend: my husband. Exploring the world as a pair is our quality time away from everyday life where we can be fully engaged with each other. When we’re on the road, freed of any expectations and social obligations, we can do whatever we want, be whoever we want, go wherever we want.

I love being able to bounce thoughts off of him in real-time while exploring a city or admiring a mountaintop view after an energizing hike. Most importantly, I don’t have to work so hard to explain myself or an idea that I’ve uncovered while traveling.

A side benefit of frequently traveling together is that we fall into travel-versions of ourselves when we are away, automatically in balance with the other. We draw on each other’s strengths, building “home” wherever we go. I feel lucky to have found someone who is able to fit into that other life with me. It makes the leap between worlds just a little bit more manageable. 

The power of the arts

I typically find my way back to my home-base in Germany after every 3-6 weeks of travel. There I spend about a month at a time. When transitioning back to normal life, I take time to mold my travel reflections and memories into visual and descriptive arts. 

When I find quiet moments, I fill my time with writing, painting, photography and making music. I look at the world as a puzzle to be sorted through, separating the colors and textures into small piles for analysis so that I can better determine how they fit together. It is impossible not to make comparisons between all the places I visit, which can easily lead to criticism. By taking time to explore these reflections on a deeper level, I feel that I am better able to pinpoint the most beautiful parts. Instead of focusing on the darkness, I can analyze the contrasts with a sense of wonder.  I now look forward to sitting in silent observation during these cathartic sessions; time with my paint and canvas, journal or camera. 

Preserving my memories weighs heavily on me. I become uncontrollably engaged in capturing each fixation to near perfection. The success of a portrayal brings an introspective high, while failure feels like committing an injustice. Such malpractice is unacceptable. When the words form descriptions, the colors blend into images and the reflections hit their mark, I find my deepest state of contentment. In capturing the essence of a moment, I am absorbed within the greater picture of all beings, all of life. Wrapped in that act of creation, these moments are as soothing as a human embrace. In that work of art, I am never alone. 

When verbal expression so often fails me, my creativity speaks instead. By then sharing that medium with others, I feel that I might finally be understood. From there, loneliness suddenly evaporates and my inner self is unburdened.  

Transience can be the most important gift I’ve ever received

When I travel, I am stronger and more aware of myself. The only way to walk is forward, toward whatever might be ahead. I am somehow more and less dependent on others. I am rooted in the present; aware of my smallness within the world yet am equally aware of how small the world feels when our differences are stripped away. I look back on where I’ve been and reflect on private moments, injustices and inequalities. There I can always find beauty, sadness, anger for change, and a never-ending hope for what the future might hold. Fueled by that hope, I feel alive. 

When I begin to feel lonely, I remember how this life of transience has actually allowed me to step out of my skin and see through a different lens. Instead of feeling isolated, I remind myself that I am more a part of the bigger picture than I might have ever been, sitting in one place. I’ve been given a front row seat to the world’s workings. I may still be carving out the ways in which I find belonging, and that’s ok. That is a grand adventure in itself.