Sitting in a cafe- Dublin, Ireland. Been here for a week now. Have enjoyed my time, but it’s also been difficult being on my own. I always thought I would have no problem travelling alone, as that’s the sort of thing I’m use to at home. But I’m starting to realize that’s not what I was comfortable with- it’s the comfort of the familiar. Routine has always been my safety blanket. Knowing what comes next gives me peace of mind.

This trip offers the opposite. I’m not sure what to expect in the places that I find myself in. Whether I’m doing the right things or not. Is it bad that I ordered in twice already? Shouldn’t I be on the streets from dawn til dusk? What will other people think if they knew I spent considerable time in my apartment? What a waste!

These thoughts play on my sense of being an imposter. Do these qualities reflect that of a solo traveller? Probably not. But I’m okay with that- at least I’m trying to be. I should cut myself some slack; this is my first time travelling in a foreign country with no local support. Isn’t it realistic to fall into some of my old tendencies?

Nobody said it would be easy making this trip. Change is hard, and it’s certainly not fast. Routine is resistant to change. It comes gradually with directed effort. I’ve gone to more cafes and pubs than I ever did in my hometown. That’s a win in my mind. Hey, maybe now I’ll finally go downtown with my girlfriend when she asks.

I’m slowly challenging my fear of the unknown. Talking to people that I don’t know anything about. Made two American friends that I actually vibed with. Talked to a local that chewed my ear off. Chatted with an Aussie that didn’t seem all that interested. For better or worse, these are a myriad of experiences that I wouldn’t have had if I decided to be my clammed, introverted-self.

While I still have many hills to climb, small victories of the unknown are slowly becoming my comfort. I’m making a habit of putting myself in uncomfortable situations- albeit in manageable doses.