by Meredith Siegel Cohen, Creator, Single and Striking Out
Well, my trip didn’t exactly start the leisurely way I had envisioned—sipping my coffee, slowly dressing, packing with care, and greeting my ride to the airport refreshed and ready. Instead, I jolted out of bed in a panic, 50 minutes behind schedule. My alarm never went off! I threw things into my carry-on, hoping the five items of clothing I could fit would match. In my frenzy, I forgot my flight anxiety meds, ran through the rain to board the little plane on the tarmac (ugh, meds I miss you), and found myself squeezed next to a seatmate who took up more space (and air) than I would have liked. Behind me, maskless passengers were coughing and sneezing. Oh geez. No COVID, please!
Taking Off
But then, somewhere between clutching my armrest and willing away turbulence, I felt it—that familiar spark. Excitement for adventure. My younger self tapping me on the shoulder. Welcome back, my dear. It’s been a while.
The flight was smooth, and I immersed myself in a fiction book—something I hadn’t done in ages without feeling guilty about neglecting work. Before I knew it, we had arrived in sunny Savannah, a place I had chosen not just for the sights and the food (though fried everything was definitely a highlight) but to prove something to myself: I could do this. I could travel solo, enjoy my own company, and push through the awkward and uncomfortable moments.
My cab driver was chatty, equal parts inquisitive and explanatory, giving me a rundown of his life and how he ended up in Savannah after years in North Jersey. The house managers at the inn were warm, eager to help, and more than happy to offer itineraries filled with restaurants, historical sites, and hidden gems. After settling into my room, I ventured out for a lay of the land tour—my first go-to on any vacation.
This time, I opted for a trolley ride. Strolling through the city to reach the boarding site, I took in the lush green squares lined with towering oak, red maple, and red cedar trees. Definitely not the Northeast anymore! While waiting for others to embark, the driver shared lively stories with me about Savannah and his own life. I noticed something: being solo seemed to invite conversation, creating unexpected connections. It was a pleasant afternoon and, to my surprise, not challenging to be alone.
“Just” One – Dining Solo
But then nightfall came. And that’s when it got harder.
Dinners for one at fine restaurants take courage. My first meal was at a historic, charming venue boasting the best fried chicken, according to those I spoke with. Determined to follow through on my plan, I got dressed up, called an Uber, and ventured forth—though not without some nerves.
When I arrived, I admired the beautifully decorated rooms—rich navy and hunter green hues, old portraits, windows flanked by ornate draperies, and small, intimate tables. Perfect for a solo diner! But before I could exhale, the hostess turned my way.
“Just one?” (Oof. Twist the knife.)
“Yes, for one,” I replied, determinedly.
Instead of being seated in one of those dainty rooms, I was led up the stairs, past lively groups of friends and families, and all the way to the back—a former ballroom filled with large tables of revelers. At the far end sat a glaringly small table for two. A minnow among sharks.
I sat down, and the familiar wave of self-consciousness rolled in. I can do this. I can do this. They don’t know me. My back tensed. My cheeks flushed.
And then—my kind server arrived with a warm smile. A strong cocktail followed. I texted a good friend, who kept me company from afar. Was that cheating? Slowly, the discomfort faded. The fried chicken and biscuits (and butter, and mac and cheese, and collard greens) didn’t hurt either.
Looking around, I realized something. No one was watching me. No one cared that I was dining alone. A young family was tending to their little boy, a table of work colleagues was in deep discussion about appetizers, and the three couples to my left were wrapped up in their own conversations. None of them had any more of a right to an indulgent night out than I did. That thought was liberating.
Back in my room, exhaustion set in. I took a hot shower, crawled into bed, and thought how nice it would have been to snuggle. Sigh.
Enjoying My Own Company
Mornings were easier. The inn’s breakfast room had small tables, not exactly set up for conversation, but armed with fresh, hot coffee, I found I didn’t mind easing into the day with just my thoughts and a pretty view.
For the next two days, I wandered Savannah’s historic squares and sites, feeling an unfamiliar but welcome sense of quiet independence. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, for as long as I wanted. There is such pleasure in that. Conversations were easy on tours of historical sites, as we all shared a common interest in learning from the past. A local restaurant offered a more relaxed dinner experience, and I barely noticed my solo status.
At one point, I walked through an old cemetery, where the gravestones were so weathered that their inscriptions had long since faded. Time moves fast. Life is fleeting. A quiet realization settled in: we have to live in the time we are given.
In the distance, I noticed a couple walking ahead, hand in hand. At one point, she let go, and within seconds, he grabbed it again. It made me smile. And—if I’m being honest—it made me wistful. Would that ever be me again? In a hand-holding, loving relationship? The more I want it, the more it seems to elude me.
Lessons Learned as a Solo Traveler
Of course, just when I started feeling like a confident, capable solo traveler, life decided to test me one last time—I left my wallet in the cab on the way to the airport. Classic. After a brief moment of panic and a very apologetic phone call, my driver kindly looped back with a smile. Despite the hiccup, as I was sitting at the airport, waiting for my flight home, I felt something unexpected: pride.
This trip had been more than just sightseeing. To truly experience Savannah, I had to put myself out there—to soak up its charm, even when it felt uncomfortable. I chatted with strangers, enriched myself in its culture and history, and embraced my own company—even when my thoughts turned difficult.
So, what did I learn? That I need to quickly find someone so I never have to go through this again? That I should just stay home next time and hide under the covers?
To the contrary.
Savannah reaffirmed what I already knew in my heart:
- I am more than capable of enjoying my own company. I can move through discomfort and find joy on the other side. With the right mindset, I am limitless.
- Time spent solo is personally enriching. It does not have to be worse than being coupled. It’s just different. There is much to learn from solitude and evidently, much to enjoy. This is just the tip of the iceberg.
- The three of us (me, myself and I) are going to be okay. I can push past fear, embrace the unknown, and live a full life—no matter what the future holds.
And with that, I boarded my flight home—solo. But no longer uncertain.