The Real Adventure Was My Own Company

I just returned from my second solo trip to Hong Kong. I had booked it a few months ago, almost casually, while planning a ten-day trip to India for a wedding. Booking through a Hong Kong-based airline allowed me to break the journey there. It let me explore a new city. Plus, I saved a few extra dollars—practical, efficient, sensible.

But as the date got closer, I started feeling nervous.

I even considered asking a couple of people, including my sister, if they wanted to join me. When it didn’t work out, I felt two completely opposite emotions at once: relief and anxiety.

Relief, total freedom.
Anxiety, being alone, the possibility of boredom, or loneliness.

With that anxious energy, I didn’t do my usual deep dive research. Normally, I plan thoroughly. I open ten tabs, make lists, watch videos, read blogs. This time, every time I opened my browser, I would suddenly feel like there was something more urgent to do. I would close it.

Avoidance disguised as busyness.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, I trusted myself. I have planned enough trips before. Even if I figured things out a few days prior or even on the spot, it would be okay.

And besides, I now have my new best friend, ChatGPT, to help me in real time. It was blocked as soon as I got to Hong Kong though.

I did check the weather. I packed sensibly. That was the extent of my preparation.

When people said they couldn’t join me, the anxiousness followed me all the way to the airport. But once I was there, a quiet resolve settled in.

I discovered something surprising about being alone.
No negotiations. No compromises.
I could choose a path, change direction, pause, wander, sit in silence, or chase a ferry—all without explanation. No one to entertain, no one to answer to.

And that freedom felt intoxicating.

I had an incredible time in Hong Kong and even spent a day in Shenzhen. The details of what I did deserve a separate blog post. This one is about something else.

It is about how I felt.

The people in Hong Kong struck me as simple and casual. I did not see heavy makeup or dramatic dressing. There was an understated ease in the way people carried themselves.

For the first time on a trip, I wore nothing fancy, just jeans and shirts. My hair grew unruly in the humidity. I noticed. I was conscious. But I didn’t worry. No jewelry, no effort to impress. I just existed, fully present.

I was decent, presentable, clean, and comfortable.

That was it.

No vanity.
No overthinking.

I was so absorbed in the experience. I navigated streets and figured out transport. I observed people, tasted food, and listened to languages. As a result, appearance became background noise.

I felt liberated.

I did not just explore Hong Kong.

I explored my fears.
My inhibitions.
My expectations of myself.
The invisible standards I carry.
The quiet limits I place on my own freedom.

Solo travel has a way of holding up a mirror. This time, the reflection I saw was softer, braver, and less concerned with being seen.

But even then, I caught myself wondering: Why am I doing this?

Why do I feel like I am testing myself? Why do I think of it as an adventure?

Am I trying to prove something to myself? And if so, what?

Why can I not just accept it as a simple journey? Why do I feel the need to give it so much importance?

I shared this thought with my daughter over the phone. She said something that stayed with me.

“Mom, you would never know if you do not do it. As you said, maybe it is a simple journey for someone else. But for you, it is an adventure. It is stepping out of your comfort zone. And at some point, something like this will become effortless for you.”

That stayed with me.

Maybe the adventure is not really the trip.

Perhaps the real adventure isn’t the trip at all. Perhaps it’s learning to be with myself, choosing aloneness, embracing it, and discovering that it can be unexpectedly freeing.