Maybe Nothing Has Gone Wrong
Eat, Pray, and Cry: On Loneliness, Rest, and Solo Travel
At 2pm, I arrived at my AirBnB in Lisbon, Portugal. After two flights and more than 24 hours without sleep, I had hoped to collapse into bed and start catching up on my Z’s right away. My nervous system had other plans. I finally managed to fall asleep around 8pm and woke up around midnight feeling disoriented, sad, and lonely. I wanted to go home.
Wanting to go home wasn’t particularly helpful seeing as I had flown halfway around the world and also because, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t entirely sure where home was.
What I really wanted was familiarity. I wanted something that felt known. I wanted my mom. I wanted someone to tell me I’d be fine and mean it.
I’ve noticed that when I’m overwhelmed, I have a tendency to turn my feelings into predictions.
A lonely evening becomes evidence that I’ll always be alone. A hard day becomes proof I’ve made a mistake. A little uncertainty and suddenly I’m questioning my entire life.
A difficult feeling arrives and within minutes my mind is constructing a story around it.
This time, I let myself cry. I missed my mom even though she’s been dead for seven years. I missed familiarity. I wanted the comfort of home.
I reminded myself that maybe midnight in a foreign country wasn’t the time to be making sweeping conclusions about my entire life.
I’d gone more than 24 hours without sleep. I was jet lagged, in my luteal phase, alone in a foreign country, and trying to navigate an entirely unfamiliar environment. Under the circumstances, maybe my nervous system was responding exactly as any nervous system would.
The next morning I woke up exhausted but in better spirits.
For a moment I felt the familiar pressure to make the trip count. To get out and see things. To maximize the experience. To become the version of myself who effortlessly wanders foreign cities looking chic and unbothered.
“No,” I told myself. “You can rest.”
So I did.
When it came time to eat, I walked to the Super Bosque in the park and asked for a croissant. They were out. I found a café, ordered a croissant, and then realized the only cash I had on me was USD. Embarrassed, I left and continued wandering in search of food.
I walked into a burger shop and was immediately met with Portuguese.
“Falas inglês?” I asked.
They weren’t speaking Portuguese to explain the menu. They were telling me they weren’t even open yet.
Eventually I wandered into another restaurant and ordered bitoque. The woman working there spoke Spanish, which felt like an unexpected gift. My Spanish was rusty from high school, but it was enough. For the first time all day, I relaxed.
That day, I felt like a dumb American.
But I also handled it.
The next day was exactly the kind of day I needed.
The woman working at the Super Bosque spoke English. I ordered breakfast and sat down. A man nearby noticed I was speaking English and asked if he could share my table. We talked for a while. He told me about Lisbon. He gave recommendations. We chatted about horses. Nothing extraordinary happened.
And yet I left feeling lighter.
It was proof that there were kind people here. Proof that I could communicate. Proof that I wasn’t as alone as I felt.
The following day, the loneliness returned.
That’s the thing nobody tells you about emotional wellbeing. A good day doesn’t permanently cure a difficult feeling.
I spent most of the day alone. I cried a little. I thought about my future.
I wanted a partner and friends.
I wanted a successful business.
I wanted a home of my own.
I wanted somewhere that felt like home.
By the end of the evening, I was convinced I was having an existential crisis.
Then I spent an hour trying to set up my microphone. Somehow, by the time I finished, I no longer felt sad and lonely. I just felt tired.
On the fifth day, I finally ventured into downtown Lisbon.
While taking a tour, I met another traveler who also needed English to survive the day. We spent the afternoon wandering around the city together. At the end of the evening, he helped me find a bus stop and asked the bus driver to let me know when my stop arrived, since it was my first time navigating public transit alone.
We never exchanged phone numbers or even names, but I still think about that interaction. Not because it changed my life. Because it reminded me that there are always kind people and fun adventures just around the corner.
Looking back, what stays with me isn’t the loneliness or the uncertainty.
It’s the way I responded to them.
I didn’t force myself to push through exhaustion so I could have the “perfect” trip. I rested. I didn’t beat myself up for not speaking Portuguese. I kept trying. I didn’t let a few awkward interactions convince me I couldn’t do this. I kept exploring. I didn’t let loneliness send me spiraling into stories about the rest of my life.
I cried.
I took a breath.
I kept going.
Five days earlier, I had arrived exhausted, overwhelmed, and wondering what the hell I was doing.
By day five, I still didn’t know exactly what came next.
But I trusted myself to find out.
Where in your life have you learned to stay with yourself instead of abandoning yourself?
I’d love to hear your reflections.