For 35 years, my suitcase was packed for someone else.
Soccer tournaments. Family visits. Work conferences where I spent the whole time in a hotel ballroom. I told myself I loved travel, but honestly? I had never taken a trip that was entirely, selfishly, mine.
Then my youngest moved out. The house got quiet. And that old thought came back louder than ever: If not now, when?
I booked a ticket to Portugal. Alone. With no plan except to give myself two weeks to figure out what I actually liked to do when no one needed anything from me.
I was terrified.
The Part No One Talks About
Everyone posts the pretty pastel buildings in Lisbon. No one posts the first night in a hotel room by yourself at 62, wondering if you’ve made a huge mistake.
I did that. I sat on the edge of the bed and thought, “I could just go home.”
What saved me was a rule I made before I left: I didn’t have to be brave all day. Just for one hour a day.
So for one hour, I walked out the door with no map. I sat at a tiny cafe and ordered in terrible Portuguese. I said yes to a walking tour even though I didn’t know anyone.
That one hour turned into two. Then into an entire afternoon.
What I Learned Traveling Solo in My 60s
1. You don’t have to be fast to belong. I was worried about holding people up. On a hike to Sintra, a group of women from their 30s to 70s just slowed down to my pace. We ended up having lunch together. No one is keeping score.
2. Comfort is not the enemy. I didn’t stay in hostels. I booked a small hotel with a good bed, an elevator, and a person at the front desk who could call me a taxi. That one decision made me feel safe enough to be adventurous all day.
3. People are kinder when you’re alone. When you travel with a partner, people leave you alone. When you travel alone — especially a little older — people look out for you. The baker who walked me to the right tram. The museum guard who told me where the locals eat.
I didn’t find myself in Portugal. That sounds too neat. But I did find something I’d misplaced: trust in my own company.
I came home with 800 photos, a terrible but confident attempt at making pasteis de nata, and a list of three places I want to go next. Not someday. Next year.
If You’re Thinking About Your First Time
You don’t need to cross an ocean. You don’t need to be fearless.
You just need one hour of courage.
Pick one place you’ve said “someday” about for more than five years. Don’t research 20 places. Just one.
Then do three tiny things this week:
Someday has an expiry date. But today doesn’t.
Have you taken a “first time at any age” trip? What was it like? Leave your story in the comments — your story might be the reason someone else finally books their ticket.
