Why Taking a Solo Trip Could Be the Best Gift You Ever Give Yourself

Solo. One word, one goal, one person. I’m not “free-soloing” like Alex Honnold, the infamous American rock climber, although some could call what I’m doing just as exposing. It’s not as challenging as climbing the face of a mountain without ropes, but seeking purposeful solitude can be uncomfortable and scary all the same.

A few months ago, I signed up both my kids for an overnight camp for a week in July. For the first time in years, my husband and I planned on having a “stay-cation”- a whole week at home, just the two of us. However, as fate would have it, a mandatory work training was scheduled for the same week, leaving me alone for six days, with no plans on the horizon.

I questioned what to do with this time, thinking I could plan a trip with a friend, or spend the days at home, catching up on projects that I’ve neglected with the kids home this summer. But as I sat with these ideas, I felt something holding me back. I began to wonder what it would be like to plan a trip just for me- with no set agenda, but adventuring with my true self.

Setting the Challenge: My First Solo Trip

I anchored myself to this idea and began to plan slight details, also leaving my agenda open to spontaneity. I selected to spend three days in Marquette- a place I’d been to before, which was familiar, where I knew I’d both be safe, and within a five-hour drive of home in case of an emergency. I booked a “glamping” tent at Raging River Resort, knowing that this rustic location would offer both privacy and safety, which was important, since I’m a woman and traveling alone.

As these days began to approach, I made myself a list of possible things I would want to do on my travels. I decided to add an element to my trip, insisting that most of my activities weren’t repeats, but things I hadn’t done before. New hikes, fresh biking trails, and exploring the unknown places both within myself and in Marquette topped my list.

This is the thing about traveling solo- no one can tell you what to do. No one is in a hurry; there are no timelines or deadlines. Just me, and the tiny voice of my own intuition.

It’s “Go” Time

Finally, the week was here. I dropped my kids off at camp, put my husband on his airplane, and threw my things into a bag. Swimsuit, check. Mountain bike, check. Bottle of wine, French press for coffee, and hiking shoes? Check, check, check.

I began my five-hour drive in silence, determined to set the tone for the days ahead. As much as I wanted this trip to be full of adventure and spontaneity, I also vowed to myself to make peace with the quiet, giving my inner voice a chance to be heard. 

Crossing the Mackinaw Bridge into the Upper Peninsula was a sigh of relief. As buildings dwindled, so did my thoughts of home. I watched the water of Lake Michigan wave to me from my windows, and I drove through the long stretches of towering pines that led me to the shores of Lake Superior. The day was so hot, unusual for this part of Michigan, and I swerved into a parking lot, running down to dip my feet into the water. 

This is the thing about traveling solo- no one can tell you what to do. No one is in a hurry; there are no timelines or deadlines. Just me, and the tiny voice of my own intuition. I sank into the sand, just savoring this tiny moment of peace.

Dirt Roads and Solitude

A few minutes later, now refreshed by this quick dip, I climbed back into the van to finish the drive to Marquette. My first stop- checking into my glamping tent at Raging River Resort! This was my first visit to this new camping property; my family and I typically stay at the always bustling Rippling River campground. As I turned down the dirt road to reach camp, my heart almost burst from joy. Wildflowers lined the road, and tall grasses rustled in the wind. A small turn-off led to Lake Pelissier- a small, but beautiful lake on the property. I continued down the winding road, finally finding my glamping tent, tucked into the pines. 

I opted for one of these glamping tents for several reasons- but safety and simplicity topped my list. The accommodations weren’t fancy, but extremely comfortable and just what I needed. A queen bed, complete with plush linens; a table and chairs for writing and making coffee; electricity for ease in the darker hours; and a small heater in case the temperature dropped. These simple provisions were more than enough for my stay.

The forecast predicted incoming thunderstorms, so I wasted no time unpacking. I climbed on my bike and rode over to the camp lodge, seeking information on how to connect to the Noquemanon Trails. The camp lodge sat on the banks of the Carp River and provided a store full of necessary camp items. The downstairs level had a few arcade games- perfect for entertaining kids on a rainy afternoon. 

This is Not a Race

The staff member helped me find the trail I was looking for, and off I went. My trail took me along the banks of the river, and then inclined up into the trees. It was decently challenging without being too technical for my intermediate skills, and I found my mind wandering back to one phrase. 

“Remember, this is not a race. Not even against yourself.”

Anyone who knows me understands that I have a need for movement. I’m constantly on the go, packing as much as I can into a day. This phrase kept echoing- reminding me that I am not out here to ride as many trails as I can, or knock a bunch of items off a bucket list. No, what I’m out here doing is to traverse these trails with purpose- to find a pace that allows me to gather joy. I slowed my ride, noticing the way the river was singing. I plucked a wildflower and tucked it into my helmet. I sat on a rock and simply listened. When was the last time I gave myself permission to do that?

Just hours into my trip, and I could already see the way these days would ripple their impact into my everyday life.

Making Room for Reflection

At the end of my ride, with these thoughts in mind, I grabbed a cold beer from my cooler and sat in a chair, smack dab in the heart of the Carp River. I don’t know how long I sat there- but what I do know is this- to find peace, you have to make room for it. This was my first attempt.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget these moments down by the river- my mind was finally still, my body at rest. There aren’t many moments in life that I don’t answer to someone else; I’m the keeper of the clock, the master of our family calendar, and I carry a mental load that is constantly considering others. On most days, taking a break from this weight seems impossible. And so, with my feet planted in the river, I stood and claimed this moment of freedom. 

Just hours into my trip, and I could already see the way these days would ripple their impact into my everyday life.

I’m quickly realizing how many unnecessary interruptions I fill my life with, even with good intentions. Most of it is just noise- replacing connection with distraction.

Throwing Away Distraction

As the sky rumbled above, I rose and moved through the rest of my evening. First, a stop at Drifa Brewery for dinner and a brew; then, a drive out to the moody Black Rocks to watch the clouds roll in; and finally back to camp, where I took a walk down to the moonlit lake. 

Late that night, I lay in a hammock, the humidity thick around me like a cloak. The thunderstorms were in the distance, and the wildlife was quietening down with the approaching storm. Again, I reminded myself that no one was watching the clock but me- and the freedom of this began to break my soul wide open, reminding me of WHO I AM. 

Isn’t this what we are all searching for? The core of who we are, when all else is stripped away? And, isn’t that the point? I’m quickly realizing how many unnecessary interruptions I fill my life with, even with good intentions. Most of it is just noise- replacing connection with distraction. But, even when I acknowledge this, what makes silence so unsettling?

I climb into bed with these thoughts echoing- and I remind myself I’m not here to find solutions, but instead, to get comfortable with questions.

I awake in the early hours of the morning, with the storm raging overhead. I’m now thankful for the metal roof and the tiny heater, as the temperatures plummeted from 89 to 49. The rain continues in a downpour, and so I adjust my plans, allowing myself more time with my coffee and a good book. I’m slowly getting better at paying attention to the small voice informing me of what I really want to do.

The morning starts to fade, and finally, the rain lightens to a gentle drip. I toss my gear back into the van, ready for wherever the day may lead. Another benefit to traveling solo? Not having to worry about anyone other than myself.

Another benefit to traveling solo? Not having to worry about anyone other than myself.

Letting the Silence Speak

I find directions to a new-to-me trail, The Greywalls Loop within the Noq Trails, and am amazed by how the rainy mist has turned the path into a Narnia-like world. Under the cover of trees, a stream runs adjacent to my bike tires, and I cross bridges and make turns close to rock walls looming over me. The green leaves are striking, reminding me that rain can make things beautiful, and even in gloomy conditions, there is magic here. Eventually, I enter a meadow, and it feels like home. With no clock ticking and no one waiting on me, I get off my bike and stay a while in this field, just watching the fog roll in and out of the pines. It’s quiet, and I realize I’ve not spoken one word today.

Here’s the thing no one says about silence- how it can be almost deafening. We all long for peace of mind- for no quarreling children, nobody asking what’s for dinner, not to have to answer to anyone. But the true test is this- when given the silence we so desperately crave, what do we do with it? Why can it feel scary? And how do I quiet the thoughts that start to race through my mind?

After almost two days of this, I can see that this is the point. This is not a race- I don’t need to solve all my problems in two days of solitude. What I do need is to make peace with MYSELF. To re-learn the joy of just being ME. 

I finish the day by thrifting, and eventually find a seat at Ore Dock Brewing Company for a hot pizza and cold beer. After, I wander down by the ore docks and stop for a chocolate dessert in town.

Back at camp, the rain has finally stopped, and I fall asleep to the wind in the trees.

This is not a race- I don’t need to solve all my problems in two days of solitude. What I do need is to make peace with MYSELF. To re-learn the joy of just being ME. 

Time for Everything

I wake on my final day to glorious sunshine, and I tell myself not to rush. Take time for one last walk to the lake, one more climb up the hillside, one more cup of coffee on the porch. There is time, I remind myself, for everything.

I dress for the possibilities of my last day- a swimsuit for a quick dip, hiking shoes to cover some new ground, and something comfortable for later, when I’ll have to make my return drive back to lower Michigan.

First up, a long hike around Harlow Lake, with a climb up to the Top of the World viewpoint. I’ve done similar, more populated trails in the area, but this offered a fresh perspective and the advantage of having the trail to myself. I’m never ceased to be amazed by this view – the water of Lake Superior sparkling in the distance, the rocky outcroppings and mossy meadows spread under my feet like a painting. I’ve seen many beautiful views in my life, but somehow, this one rivals them all. Maybe it’s the fact I’m alone- maybe it’s having the perspective of my age- maybe it’s just magic. The ever-elusive peace of mind has woven its way into my mind these last few days, and I claim this moment for myself, burning it into my brain, so I won’t forget it.

There’s something about solitude that lightens a load, that reminds me that I am enough.

Making the Leap to Freedom

I still have time for one more thing, and I know exactly what I want to do. I drive to the outskirts of town, shedding my overalls and stripping down to my swimsuit. I’m back at the Black Rocks, but this time, I have the sunshine’s blessing on my side. This is a bucket list item I’ve never managed to cross off on my previous trips to the area, but today is the time.

As I step to the ledge, I think of all the blessings of these days: tuning in to hear my own voice, intentionally slowing down to savor small moments, and the interactions with this earth and the beauty that lies within it.  It’s not lost on me that these memories will impact me beyond the duration of this trip, and I vow to myself to bring a less rushed version of myself back home. There’s something about solitude that lightens a load, that reminds me that I am enough. 

And with that thought in mind, I jump from the Black Rocks down into the breath-stealing water of Lake Superior. I climb out, and do it again, and again, each time celebrating my freedom, my own spirit, and the light that lies within.