A few nights ago, I was sitting alone in my Airbnb in the Canadian Rockies, wrapped in the kind of quiet that used to make me restless. But instead of feeling anxious or lonely, I felt… calm.
A few years ago, that silence would have eaten me alive—sent me spiraling into overthinking, doubt, and a desperate need to distract myself. But now? It just felt like space. Like clarity. Like a deep breath I didn’t know I needed.
The Difference Between Being Alone and Feeling Lonely
I know I’ve been writing about this a lot lately.
Spending a month here—skiing, skating, photographing winter landscapes—has put solitude, self-reliance, and reconnection front and center in my mind. Because somewhere along the way, between all the travel, the chasing, and the constant movement, I lost track of myself.
I used to fear being alone. Not just physically, but emotionally. I filled my days, my time, my mind—anything to avoid sitting in silence with myself.
But being alone and feeling lonely aren’t the same thing.
Loneliness is a void. It’s a sense of isolation, of being disconnected from others and yourself.
Solitude is space. It’s room to breathe, to listen, to understand yourself without the noise of the outside world drowning you out.
And when you embrace it, something shifts.
You start to hear your own voice more clearly. You stop second-guessing yourself so much. You become your own anchor, rather than relying on external validation to tell you who you are.
That’s what this trip has been about. Not just proving I can do things alone—I already knew that—but relearning how to enjoy my own company.
How I Got Comfortable With Solitude
People often tell me they admire my ability to do things solo—to travel alone, to try new things, to take big leaps without hesitation.
But what they don’t see is how much effort it took to get here.
I wasn’t always this way. In fact, I used to be terrified to do things alone.
I hesitated before walking into a coffee shop solo, afraid of feeling awkward. I’d skip events if I didn’t have someone to go with. I worried that being alone in public meant I was somehow failing at life.
But I wanted that independence. I wanted to be the kind of person who could just get up and go, whether or not I had someone to go with.
So, I started small. A coffee shop alone. A movie by myself. Then, a solo trip.
At first, it felt uncomfortable. But little by little, I built the confidence to enjoy my own company.
And the more comfortable I got being alone, the less alone I felt.
Because when you’re secure in yourself, you stop needing other people to fill the silence. You stop feeling the urge to prove yourself, to be someone you’re not, just to fit in.
And the irony? That’s when you start attracting the right people.
The Unexpected Gift of Solitude
Something incredible happens when you learn to be your own best friend: the right people start showing up in your life.
The ones who see you for who you are, not who you’re trying to be.
The ones who celebrate your independence instead of feeling threatened by it.
The ones who support your adventures, even if they don’t always come with you.
I’ve found some of my closest friends this way—people who encourage me, who cheer me on, who make life even better when we do get to share the adventure.
Because when you don’t need people just to fill space, you’re free to build real, meaningful connections.
Losing Myself, Losing Connection
There’s another side to this I haven’t shared yet.
In losing my sense of self, I also lost my ability to connect.
I was surrounded by people, yet I felt disconnected—from them, from myself, from everything. Because when you don’t know who you are, it’s hard to show up fully for others. It’s hard to build real, deep connections when you’re searching for something outside yourself to make you feel whole.
That’s why solitude matters. Not because we don’t need people—we do. But when we take the time to reconnect with ourselves, we show up differently in every relationship. More present. More real. More whole.
Finding Yourself First
I’ve been writing about this a lot lately. Partly because I’m spending a month solo in the Rockies, but also because it’s something I’ve intentionally worked on for years. I wanted to be comfortable on my own. To trust myself. To become my own best friend.
And it’s changed my life.
I’m still searching for my cold-weather tribe—the ones just as crazy about chasing snow and ice, who don’t hesitate to step onto a frozen lake with skates or a camera in hand.
But I know the more I reconnect with myself, the more I’ll attract the right people.
Because when you fully embrace who you are, you naturally find the ones who get it. The ones who are meant to be part of the adventure.
P.S. Funny enough, I’ve gotten so good at being on my own that now the work is shifting—learning to be vulnerable again, to let people in. It ebbs and flows. That’s life. And as long as you’re willing to do the work, it’s all part of the adventure.
This one is for everyone who’s ever told me they admire my ability to do things solo. For those who dream of feeling confident in their own company. For the ones who crave the freedom to do their own thing but aren’t sure where to start. And for little me—the kid who was often on her own but never quite knew how to be alone.
