Twelve hours of uninterrupted me time. It’s every parent’s dream, right? A long haul flight with a book, films, tray-plated food that’s been prepared by someone else. A sleep mask. Ahh sleep! Maybe a glass of fizz to take the edge off. ‘Tis true that solo travel is, without doubt, one of the greatest privileges of my self employment. I’m enormously proud of the fact that I can do it in my business-of-one. But what I’ve not really admitted to before now is that each time I travel solo…I’m, well, a little bit lonely and a little bit scared.
The scary bit is two-fold:
There’s the fear of dropping the ball at home. That classic Mum guilt whereby even if you get all the childcare and domesticity down to a molecular plan, even if your child is actually asking you to go away, you still struggle to hand over the reins of your domain. This is magnified by the sheer stress of getting ready to leave, not to mention getting everyone else ready for your absence. Batch cooking. Food shopping. Washing. Carefully placing every bag needed for every day you’re gone in the correct line of sight so that it can’t possibly be missed at the necessary time.
It’s discombobulating being alone, without a handbag full of snacks, often in a different time zone, having to make decisions that only affect you. Somehow, I’m incredibly adept at multitasking and decision making when I’m juggling other people’s needs and whims. But left to my own devices, I’m afraid to say I’m bordering on inefficient. I … dawdle.
Then there’s the prep - not for the actual work - I always find time for that whether it’s first thing in the morning, lying in bed when my brain whizzes into gear at 5am, or on the sidelines of my son’s football practise or even a dentist appointment. I’m talking about the personal prep. Dyeing my hair, selecting outfits, dry cleaning, getting my nails done. Researching how much HRT I can get through in my carry on luggage, buying miniature bottles of my toothpaste, shampoo & conditioner, sorting daily vitamins for every day I’m gone. I don’t think it’s at all controversial to say that women have it FAR tougher than men when it comes to personal prepping for travel.
Here’s the second-fold part of the scary bit:
It’s not just the not having to look after anyone else bit that I find discombobulating about travelling solo. It’s that I’m the only one looking after me. I don’t have an agent. I book all my own work, negotiate contracts, often arrange my own travel without even a travel agent (do they even exist anymore?) to hold my hand. Hotels, flights, transfers, currency exchanges, languages. It’s a lot and requires some serious big girl pants to pull it off.
That’s the thing about being a bit scared and a bit lonely… deep breath, knicker reinforcements applied, and if you face those fears head on, it’s likely you’ll have the most incredible experiences along the way. In the years since founding my own business, I’ve travelled to the U.S, Luxembourg, Switzerland, Canada, Poland, Monaco, Austria, France, Sweden, Germany and others I’m sure I can’t remember right now.
I’m acutely aware of how privileged I am to travel and do the work I do. I parachute into different worlds for a short period of time, get to converse with the biggest players in their field, and then shuffle on home again to resume school mum duties. So this is in no way a sob story. This is a story of being proud of myself. Furthermore, being allowed to be proud of myself. Because for a long time I simply wouldn’t have dared to be as bold as I am now. Motherhood, midlife and maturity have given me a depth of self I never knew possible. My mantra has always been “it’s not rocket science” and I repeat this to myself whenever I get a bout of the jitters. It basically comes down to this: if other people on this planet can do it, then so can I. It also makes me smile because once I was reciting that mantra over and over in my head before going on stage at the IAEA in Vienna - this is the HQ for the UN’s nuclear watchdog - where the subject matter at hand literally was rocket science. So ha! The joke was very much on me! I guess I’ve got good at sitting in the uncomfortable moments and enjoying them rather than shying away.
I’ve also had extraordinary experiences during solo travel. I once arrived in the U.S. and was told there would be a taxi transfer taking me and one other summit participant to the venue. Standing in the customs line I spotted the man who used to be Russia’s richest man, Putin’s nemesis, and the now exiled former Siberian prison inmate, Mikhail Khodorkovsky. Many moons ago while I was living and working in Moscow this guy had been a massive news story that I covered on a near daily basis. And now here I was, standing in line with him, waiting to enter America. Sure enough, we both got into the same car and shared a two hour taxi ride deep into the red desert landscape of Arizona. Surreal doesn’t quite cut it.
I flew to Stockholm solo when I’d just had our final embryo transfer. It was during the dreaded IVF two week wait so I wasn’t drinking, but I tucked into the local cuisine unaware of whether reindeer was a recommended IVF food. Turns out I was three weeks pregnant while I was there (someone shove reindeer on the recommended menu now!).
The sense of freedom that finally being pregnant gave me was so empowering that I actually travelled a lot more during my pregnancy. To Canada, all across the UK for political interviews, to Paris. Technically it wasn’t solo travel… I had my boy in my belly and I guess that was comforting in and of itself. I wasn’t actually alone.
Which brings me to my latest trip. 48 hours in The Philippines for a Global Health summit. The subject matter and agenda is outstanding so I know I’ll be busy and invigorated (albeit horrendously jet lagged) while I’m on the ground. But it’s those few days before, where I am now as I’m writing this. Amidst the packing, the prepping, the self care, the batch cooking, the laundry. Amidst big group summer holidays with friends where it’s loud and fun and all hands on deck. To now, just my two hands, and a head that feels like it’s going to implode with anxious anticipation.
Am I looking forward to watching The Devil Wears Prada 2 on the flight? Ohhh yes. Am I looking forward to my melatonin kicking in after my tray plate meal? You better believe it. And this time, I’m going to try and channel my inner Miranda Priestley and enjoy being a proud bad ass. After all, it’s really not rocket science. “That’s all”.