Transitions: from travelling solo to travelling with my sister

I haven’t written anything properly for a long time. I try to write something every day, whether that is a quick summary of the day’s adventures (or, as the case may often be, lack of adventures), or a morning meditation jotted out in my tattered A4 notepad. Words help me to formulate my thoughts; understanding my thoughts allows me to live in better alignment with my efforts and actions; living in better alignment with mind, body and soul is…well, that’s the unchanging goal of a life well-lived, I suppose.

It is completely unnecessary to share words for them to have meaning – I wrote 3 sides of A4 paper every day for the last 3 months of 2021 and I haven’t looked at the pages since, let alone anyone else. Having said that, in sharing my concentrated musings on topics that are relevant and interesting to me on a platform like this website, I created a habit that spurred me on to continue to write more. I let this habit slide during some interesting transitions that have happened over the last few weeks and months – the most significant transition being the end of my solo-adventure and the start of a new experience with my sister.

Towards the end of June I met my Mum, Dad, and younger sister, Esther, in Mexico City to commence a 3 week travel through 5 different places in Mexico. I was so excited to show them some highlights of the wonderful, vibrant, beautifully chaotic country that I had come to know and love after a cumulation of almost 12 months spent there. I felt ready to relinquish some of my independence in favour of a shared experience with my family, and our reunion was indeed joyful and sweet. However, I quickly realised that I had developed some habits that were no longer serving me in this new, group setting. I had grown accustomed to acting selfishly and doing what I wanted, exactly when I wanted to do it. I hadn’t practised open and honest communication for the months I had spent weathering the storms of my low moods alone, and I barely felt the need to outwardly celebrate beauty or humour because I was used to practising inward appreciation instead. I think that some of these behaviours may have made it difficult for my family to relate to me, or to feel that they could penetrate the tough exterior I had developed from months of semi-solitude.

The illusive solo-travel experience is one that I had wanted to have since I first went to South-East Asia and felt inspired by the intrepid explorers who were making their way through foreign territories without reliance on anything or anyone else. However, the reality is often quite different to the image we are sold. I clearly remember the first day of my trip: in Antigua, Guatemala, back at the start of March, feeling self-conscious and conspicuously alone. When I went for dinner by myself I felt that everyone was looking at me and wondering why I had no friends. When I woke up in the morning I became overwhelmed at the prospect of a filling a whole day with little but my own thoughts. Fortunately, as time passed I became more and more comfortable in my own company, often choosing to read my book in a café over spending time with people I met in hostels. For the first time in my life I had reached a deep contentment in time spent alone and, for an independent and adventurous person like myself, this felt really good.

There is a level of liberation that I do miss when I think of the time I spent roaming through Guatemala and Mexico by myself. I loved being the sole decision maker when it came to planning where I would go, what I would eat and how I would pass the time. I enjoyed the challenge of being pushed so far out of my comfort zone that my comfort zone became redefined. I relished the confidence I gained from learning how to enter a space alone, and hold that space alone. I came to appreciate the choice to opt for alone-time (something I never before realised I needed) without any explanation necessary to the people around me; no need to waste time or money on things that didn’t appeal; no need for compromise.

However, even in the midst of the coveted solo-adventure, you are very rarely actually alone. Staying in hostels - and volunteering even more so - acquaints you with dozens of fellow travellers every day, amongst whom the very typical backpacker conversations inevitably ensue (mostly based around variants of the questions: where are you from/how long are you travelling/where have you been/where are you going). It is incredibly easy to meet people, and every time you do you get the chance to start afresh and make an entirely new impression on someone. Of course, this can be fun and freeing and gives you the chance to try on different elements of a personality that the people closest to you might not recognise, but it can untether you from a stable reality at the same time. When my family arrived in Mexico, I spotted the ways in which I had grown into a lone wolf, rarely delving deeper than the surface in my interactions and choosing often to isolate myself from the commitment of intimacy.

I am now travelling (or more specifically, volunteering at a jungle hostel in exchange for food and accommodation) with my sister. It is her first time backpacking, her first time outside of Europe, and our first time doing anything like this together. I am loving watching peoples’ reactions when they find out we are sisters - some can tell straight away, others say they can’t see it at all. A lot of people tell us that it’s really cool that we’re doing it together, and I say ‘yes, it is really cool’. I often hear people say that they couldn’t possibly travel with their sibling, to which I respond that I can’t really imagine doing it with anyone else. I have one of the most caring and considerate sisters a person could possibly ask for, and this is a huge but healthy contrast after I have spent months crafting a fierce independence. From her I am relearning how I affect those around me; how to be thoughtful; how to comfort; how to compromise; how to love.

Travelling by myself taught me the power of my own resilience and the extent of my self-sufficiency should it be called upon. I am extremely grateful to have lived out the vision that I had when I was 18, and to have done so with enough success that I can say I enjoyed it, and that I now miss it. But my little human life is about much more than independence and tough exteriors – beauty lies in vulnerability and tenderness and affection and care. And so, as Esther steps out into the wide world by the side of her sometimes-too-prickly sister, we are both teaching each other how to balance boundaries with abundance, how to be bold and brave when the time calls, and how to practice soft sensitivity when we have the chance. Sharing this adventure with my life-long blood buddy feels like a step towards love and acceptance and compassion. It feels like the kind of action that will foster a life-well lived. Thank you to my sister for being my guide through this new phase of my adventure, and thank you to my words for helping me to understand the value of having her here with me.