There’s a peculiar expectation attached to traveling alone. Book a flight by yourself, and suddenly an ordinary vacation becomes an act of courage. You’re supposed to step outside your comfort zone, discover who you really are, and return home somehow transformed.
What if you just wanted to see Oregon?
Last June, I spent a few days exploring the Columbia River Gorge and the Mt. Hood area. The plan was straightforward: see some beautiful waterfalls, hike through the forests, enjoy the scenery, and perhaps find a good meal along the way.
No soul-searching on the itinerary.
One of the hikes I’d planned was Ramona Falls, a beautiful waterfall reached by a forest trail that crosses the Sandy River. Unfortunately, heavy rain had made the crossing difficult. The logs were wet, perched above fast-moving water, and I couldn’t find a way across that felt reasonably safe.
I’d traveled all that way, researched the trail, and made the effort to get there. I really wanted to see that waterfall.
But I turned around.
Traveling alone comes with a particular responsibility to yourself. When you’re hiking with someone, there’s another person who can help or call for assistance if something goes wrong. Alone, you can’t count on that immediate backup. Your margin for error deserves a little more respect.
Which is when I consult my imaginary VP of Common Sense.
The VP has a fairly simple test: Do I want to end up on the news because of the decision I’m about to make?
If the answer is even a hesitant maybe, it’s probably time to reconsider.
It’s a surprisingly effective way to quiet the part of your brain insisting that you’ve come too far to turn around. The waterfall isn’t going anywhere. Your eagerness to reach it shouldn’t get a vote over your safety.
Was I disappointed? Of course. But I’d rather miss a waterfall than make a questionable decision just to prove I could finish the hike.
That’s what I find curious about the way solo travel is often portrayed. There’s so much emphasis on being brave, pushing boundaries, and discovering independence. As though going somewhere alone must be evidence of personal growth.
For some people, perhaps it is. Travel can certainly change how we see ourselves and the world.
But for those who already enjoy doing things independently, it doesn’t need a larger meaning. You can simply be interested in a place and decide to go there.
I came home from Oregon glad I’d gone. I’d seen Multnomah Falls, spent time outdoors, and enjoyed a few days somewhere different.
I didn’t make it to Ramona Falls. I’d still like to see it someday.
Preferably when the river is more cooperative.
