Solo Europe Travels: Early Thoughts

I’m in the second week of my seven-week European “walkabout.”

Often, I think I can just do whatever. Not in a reckless way, but in the sense that I trust things will work out. And they usually do—though not always as I expect. Still, I adapt. I make things work. I just do.

I love this about myself. It has led to a full, engaging life filled with rich experiences, successes, and incredible people. My life has far exceeded what I ever imagined in my younger years. Truthfully, I couldn’t have even envisioned this life back then—I lacked both the confidence and exposure. But over time, as I pushed through fear and setbacks, I discovered I have an innate ability to navigate challenges and turn them into opportunities.

As I get older, though, I recognize the need for some adjustment. The thrill of venturing into the unknown is more taxing than it once was. While I still feel that irresistible urge to explore, I also sense the limits of my energy and the burden of the chronic pain that has long accompanied me. Managing it is becoming increasingly challenging as my body wears down.

At this moment, I find myself seated on a terrace in Granada Centro, gazing at the snow-capped Sierra Nevadas while listening to the hum of the city below. Yet, I grapple with guilt for not being out there exploring. In truth, I have little desire to do so right now. But let’s be honest—that urge will always linger. It’s something I need to sit with, to understand better, so I can adjust in ways that genuinely serve me. That elusive balance for which there always seems to be a striving. So much of the strife is self-created.

I am scheduled to be in a Spanish class at the moment, but I clearly enrolled in the wrong one for me - a cost of minimal research and just jumping in. But, after two days of cramped desks, in a tiny room in the company of coughing twenty year-olds, I now find myself battling the onset of a chest cold, the pain has flared up, and it’s time for a pivot.

Throughout my life, I’ve relied on instinct rather than meticulous planning. I scan for what aligns with my needs, dive in, and adapt as I go. For most of my life, this approach has served me fairly well. I book the experience and figure out the details right before embarking or as I go. Truthfully, it’s less about spontaneity and more about survival—I can only manage so much at once, so I construct a framework and fill in the gaps as necessary. However, that strategy is becoming somewhat less effective.

Now, I don’t always want to adapt. It demands more energy than it once did. A lifetime of navigating challenges—often without guidance or support—has taken its toll. I know I excel at decision-making; I’ve proven it time and again. Even my “bad” decisions have yielded, with some effort and creativity, very positive outcomes. But making it work requires energy, and I simply have less of it now. I want to be okay with that. More importantly, I want to share in the decision-making and execution thereof. While I enjoy and often thrive in doing things solo, I don’t always want to navigate this journey alone. Exactly how that will play out, I do not yet know.

While I am traveling solo, this trip wouldn’t have materialized without support. A friend encouraged me to book my first step and helped me find the place from which I currently am writing. Others cheered me on. My children and dear friends have been my backbone. During my first, very challenging week of jet lag, crummy weather and little sleep, my friends listened and enourgaged me from afar. It’s clear that I need and want more support.

Here’s what I know: I’ll figure this out, and it could be extraordinary. Or I might decide it’s too much. Either outcome is okay. I don’t travel for relaxation—I journey for experience, understanding, and growth. I cherish that. But I need to find a way to do it that demands less from me physically and mentally.

---

The mountains are breathtaking. In just a few days, I’ve watched them transform with snow. I signed up for a mountain hike, which has now turned into a snowshoe adventure (and ultimately was canceled for poor weather conditions). I worry it may be too much. Yet, I want the experience so I will venture on and up. However, I’ve learned that I can’t endure four hours in an uncomfortable chair and still have the energy to explore. Spanish remains a priority, but I need a better approach. I’ve identified two options. Now, instead of diving in, I need to sit with them, reflect, and plan—something I’ve rarely done before. But if I don’t, I risk burning out before I even have the chance to pivot.

Growth is challenging. And unequivocally liberating.

When you hear about my adventures, I hope you’ll feel excitement for me. But also understand that I likely need support. My photographs will capture beauty—because I always find it. Yet, life isn’t always as it appears. For instance, I have nearly 100 photos of my time touring the Alhambra

yesterday, yet you won't see the throngs of people who were also there. I don’t stage my shots, but I know how to capture the moment while evading the chaos around me. That takes effort. And energy.

What you see is never the full story.