03. Lonelifulness

In 2018 I had a sandwich that changed my life.

The sun came out after a few days of grey and cold weather. I had just started my first solo trip, or at least the one I decided to brand as such.

After seeing enough of Brașov, an amazing city in the heart of Transylvania, I decided to get adventurous and leave the city, more specifically about 8km into the outskirts (I never said I was going far).

I simply felt like seeing something more authentic, where I could observe the locals enjoying their Saturday afternoon and possibly even impress them with my three (3) sentences in Romanian that I always spat out like a fluent speaker.

I made it to Lacul Noua, a lake (Lacul) that despite not feeling that new (Noua), was the perfect place to rewind. I walked around very observant of all the idyllic nature, kids running and laughing, their families doing barbecues in the tiny wooden houses and the smell of mici and zacuscă all over the air like the most Balkan flavoured incense.

Everything was as peaceful and soothing as I had imagined – except inside me.

Something was feeling uneasy, something that wasn’t totally strange but it was quite hard to define. Or to match with the surrounding atmosphere. Perhaps both.

I sat down on a bench on the top of the hill and, after failing to focus on my book, decided to take a bite of my leftover sandwich (’cause we on a budget). “It’s not bad, but there’s something missing” I thought, as I took another bite.

I kept taking bites and thinking what was missing, until I realised I wasn’t thinking about the sandwich anymore. Suddenly, the park bench seemed too big, the hill seemed too empty and park around me seemed too deserted, despite being full of people. I felt a pang of loneliness.

My phone battery was dying so calling someone wasn’t an option, neither was scrolling on social media, which is usually a top choice time and thought filler. I was unwillingly left with ONE last option: spending time with myself, the good old way. I felt just like an Edward Hopper painting, where people share spaces without connection, each lost in their quiet solitude.

Little Mr. Wants-to-be-a-traveler forgot “solo” in “solo trip” actually meant something.

That felt scary! Loneliness can be felt anywhere, anytime. But it hits harder when you’re in a foreign country, far from the things that can distract you from your own (and only) presence.

And when I tell you I felt lonely, I don’t mean it in a dying-in-church-and-nobody-showing-up-for-the-sermon kind of way – yes, it’s a Beatles reference. It simply means that even though I chose to be there, the silence felt louder than expected.

And then I thought about the famous line Happiness is only real when shared from Into the Wild  that has always haunted me. The whole book (and movie) is literally about a guy running away from everyone, only to drop that little existential bomb at the end. I didn’t have to venture into Alaska to start wondering about that – JOKE’S ON HIM – but sitting on that bench 8km away from the city centre, I realised that traveling solo doesn’t mean loneliness is guaranteed, but it does mean you’re gonna bump into it eventually.

It wasn’t exactly a ‘hoorah’ moment back then, but the quiet realisation of something I have spent years dealing with and that I’m still figuring out!

Being alone solo is often seen as a picture of sadness, but it’s not a sad picture. Just because happiness might feel more vivid when shared, doesn’t mean it isn’t worth living fully when we’re by ourselves.

Loneliness is part of traveling, of living, of being human. Not exactly fun, but it has its place. Like my leftover sandwich, sometimes you just have to take it bite by bite.

Pe curând!

If you missed my previous articles, I won’t make a fuss about it, but here they are:
01. The Art of Getting Lost and 02. Where’s Home When You’re Always Leaving.

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Still lost? Me too. Might as well get lost together.

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