When I booked my flight to solo travel Australia, I didn’t feel brave. I didn’t even feel adventurous. What I really felt was impatient.

For months, maybe years, I’d been waiting — waiting for friends to have the money, waiting for people to “be ready,” waiting for someone to say, yes, let’s do this together. And with every trip I pushed back, with every plan I watered down, I started to realise that my life was being lived on someone else’s timeline.

So I snapped. I booked the ticket. Alone. With my suitcase (rather than my backpack this time), and with all the anxiety that usually keeps me second-guessing myself.

And here’s the thing I’ve been sitting with ever since: does doing something by yourself automatically make you brave? Or was I just tired of waiting for permission to live the life I want?

The narrative of bravery

There’s this romanticised narrative around solo travel — that we’re these fearless individuals chasing sunsets and hostel parties, boldly exploring the world with nothing but our backpacks and a smile.

But for me, solo travel has never felt like bravery. It feels messy. It feels like sitting in an airport, stomach in knots, scrolling Google Maps just to reassure myself I won’t get lost finding the train. It feels like every single voice of doubt and fear getting louder the second I close the front door behind me.

And yet… I’m going anyway.

What Southeast Asia taught me

When I backpacked Southeast Asia, I realised something that completely shifted my perspective: once you’ve had a taste of the world, you want more.

I came home knowing my journey wasn’t over. There are still beaches I want to see, mountains I want to climb, strangers I haven’t met yet who will somehow change the course of my life. The thought of stopping after that trip didn’t feel right.

And that’s when it clicked: I can’t keep putting my dreams on pause, hoping someone else has the same desires as me. Because they might never. And honestly? That’s not their fault — it’s just reality.

Am I scared?

Someone asked me the other day if I’m scared of going to Australia alone. Truthfully? I’m not.

A few years ago, I would have been terrified. I’d have worried about not making friends, about sitting in hostels by myself, about having no one to do things with. But something has shifted in me. I’ve gained this new confidence in myself — one where I have to remind myself, you’re okay on your own, but it’s there.

I’m not scared of being alone anymore. I’m more scared of not going at all.

Because if I’m going to live out my dreams, chances are I’ll have to do things on my own and make them happen for me. No one else is going to do it for me.

On my way to solo travel Australia

So here I am, suitcase in hand, heading for the other side of the world. Maybe that makes me brave. Maybe it just makes me stubborn (and financially stupid). Maybe it’s both.

But here’s what I do know: life is too short to wait for other people to be ready. And whether this trip turns out to be a disaster, or the best decision I’ve ever made, at least it’ll be mine.

And if that’s not bravery, I’ll happily settle for impatience.

Enjoy your Travels

Em x

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