Lettie Goes Travelling

Any step onto a path you haven’t travelled before could be considered brave. Any movement slightly outside your comfort zone. And I suppose solo travel fits into that category.

But I’m still not convinced brave is the right word.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve sat through plenty of corporate training sessions where someone asks, “When was the last time you carried out a risk assessment?” If you’ve had that pleasure too, you’ll know where this usually goes.

A lot of people will say, “Never.”

But in reality, we’re doing them quietly and instinctively all day long.

Is that shower water too hot?

Is it safe to cross here?

Is that red car far enough away for me to pull out?

None of that feels brave. It feels normal.

And travel is no different.

The only real difference when you travel alone is that you don’t have someone beside you to bounce a second opinion off. You’re still making the same judgements — just more consciously.

Some things are obvious. In the same way there are parts of your local town you probably wouldn’t wander around at 11pm on your own, the same applies all over the world. That isn’t fear — it’s familiarity.

Or rather, the absence of it.

I enjoy researching my trips, but it’s time-consuming, and it’s very easy to disappear down a Google rabbit hole and come out more anxious than informed. Over time, I’ve learned what makes me feel comfortable and what doesn’t.

I know I prefer being near the beach or in an old town. I know I’m less keen on areas around big railway stations. None of that was obvious to me ten years ago. It’s been learned by doing.

I’ve also met some wonderful solo travellers along the way. People who’ve shared their stories — the good, the bad, and the cautionary — and all of that quietly gets filed away for future use.

We’re creatures of habit. I’ve met plenty of people who return to the same resort and the same hotel every year, and that works brilliantly for them. It doesn’t quite work for me.

So instead, I’ve built my own habits and rituals.

Gatwick is my airport of choice. EasyJet is my airline. That’s not set in stone, but it’s my comfort zone. I know the routes to the airport — and the alternatives. Stress removed. I know how the car parks work, where the loos are, and which café does my favourite breakfast. More stress removed. I could probably give an EasyJet app tutorial at this point — and even when things haven’t gone to plan, I’ve always known where to go for information and help.

So even when I’m heading somewhere completely new, I have these anchoring points.

Until I don’t.

This summer, I’m flying with British Airways from Heathrow.

Anchoring points well and truly lost.

I have my opinions on the BA app, but that’s a whole other story. My biggest concern is Heathrow itself. I’d normally drive — because I’m in control — but the car parking costs are eye-watering, and negotiating the M25 at the wrong time doesn’t bear thinking about.

So it’s a train and a hotel instead.

I’m a confident traveller, but I know I won’t be in my happy place until my bottom is firmly planted on that BA seat. Coming home won’t feel as stressful — all I’m returning to is dirty washing.

And that’s really the point.

Whether people label solo travel as brave, courageous, or selfish — and I’ve been called all three — even with experience and resilience, there will always be moments that challenge you.

Confidence doesn’t mean the absence of discomfort.

It means knowing how you respond to it.

Solo travel isn’t about eliminating uncertainty. It’s a series of small decisions, built on familiarity, experience, and trust in your own judgement. And even when something still makes your stomach flip, that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.

It just means you’re still growing