Traveling alone to Europe with a broken heart.
Eat, Pray, Lonely.
Originally it was a trip for two. We were excited to explore, eat and drink our way through Italy and Spain. A month and a half before our romantic getaway, life as I knew it dropped out from under me.
We were living together. He cheated. My heart shattered. Regaining my sense of self and any semblance of peace was a struggle for months to come. There are so many things to untangle through a breakup when two lives are so deeply intertwined. Separating our Christmas ornaments as we both cried was a serrated tenderness I’ll never forget.
Amongst the tornado that ensues post break-up, were two non-refundable plane tickets. That first month I could barely hold it together to go to work. There was no way I thought I was capable of traveling to a foreign country all alone, where I didn’t speak the language. What if I got lost? Who’s going to help me tow around my excessive luggage? And how can I possibly enjoy incredibly fresh pasta and red wine without anyone to share it with?
No way I could sit on a nine hour flight, brutally mocked by an empty seat. Then one night after too many cocktails with my girlfriend, I was convinced this trip was going to be the thing that heals my broken heart. With blurred vision, I got out my phone, shuffled around my Airbnb arrangements, and nixed Venice for Milan. Because who needs a romantic, smelly gondola ride anyway?
As I started to tell people about my solo-venture, they would light up and tell me I was going to have the time of my life. That this would be my, “Eat, Pray, Love.” Maybe I’d even have a foreign rendezvous. I began to romanticize these ideas too. Spoiler alert. It didn’t magically heal my broken heart.
When the time came, emotionally I wasn’t ready. But my bags were packed and off I went. Half excited, fully heart-broken.
I landed in Rome around 9pm. Made up my mind to go out for a late meal. Got really confused by public transportation, and didn’t find the place I wanted. But eventually found myself enjoying a glass of cheap yet delicious red, cured meats, and an evening espresso. And in that moment, all alone, in a foreign land, I was proud of myself.
Over the next two weeks were a series of highs and lows. I exhausted myself roaming around, misreading street signs, and tagging along on group tours, fueled only on longingness and espresso. I’d dine alone. One evening, eating an entire truffle pizza to myself with emotional support from my waiter.
I wasted an entire afternoon and evening in Florence, crying in my Airbnb. Overwhelmed by the belief, I’ll never know the comfort of a safe love before I die. And my last night in Madrid, I ordered Uber-eats and played around on my phone.
I felt like I was letting everyone down. Like I was letting myself down. This trip was supposed to heal me. I was supposed to have a moment when everything clicked and I regained my inner-light. But the truth is, traveling broken-hearted and alone is lonely.
Traveling alone is also incredible.
There are moments of that trip that changed the structure of my heart. Like stepping into The Duomo in Milan. Tears immediately filled my eyes, because I’d never before witnessed something so exquisite. The band I stumbled upon in a hole in the wall in Barcelona. Who played music I was destined to hear.
The Uber that failed me in Milan. Forcing me to walk and tow all my luggage for nearly an hour to the train station. I was fierce, sweaty and unstoppable. People got out of my way.
So many moments sank deeply into my chest on that trip. Some sad, others made me believe in magic again. The point is that I put myself out there to feel them. I allowed myself the opportunity to do something I thought I wasn’t strong enough to do.
I could have stayed home and cried. Instead, I cried openly on a two hour train ride from Italy to Spain. I didn’t bother hide my tears in public. I earned those tears. I didn’t need a fairytale trip that healed my heart. Or to prove to the world that I was better off.
I just needed to show up for myself and do the hard thing. And although it didn’t click together like a big romantic movie scene, I learned something.
No matter how treacherous or tranquil, I have the strength to tread foreign waters when it comes to my heart. Also, Europe is full of cobblestone streets. Pack lightly and go with the comfortable shoes.
