Just a hot girl, curiosity & Budapest
When I was young, I wanted nothing more than to be an adult. Wearing heels, living in a big city, falling in love. So it’s funny years later, living in London, and after falling in and out of love, I’ve spent much of my late 20s trying to reclaim my youth.
I’m obsessed with youth, but not in the way that society is. I’m not talking about changing our exteriors in painful ways to look young; rather, the essence of it. The child-like excitement for life. Asking baristas and waiters, ‘how are you?’ instead of the emotionless transactions. Being genuinely interested in people when flirting instead of emotionally-flat pick-up lines.
Over the years, it’s clear to me that the best way to flex the muscle of youth is through taking risks. The art of following the heart over the rational mind. So here are some short stories about my first and most recent solo trips, and everyone I’ve encountered in between staying young.
“the best way to flex the muscle of youth is through taking risks.”
My first solo trip
At 22, I went to Budapest solo. I was living abroad in Europe, far away from home and everyone I knew, going through a breakup, and starting to realise that the career path I’d chosen wasn’t synonymous with joy. Things were changing out of my control, so why not feel all the feels in a sexy new foreign city?
I remember my first impression of Budapest in mostly smells and scents. It was early October so the air smelled of fresh autumn rain mixed with old bookstores, grungy bars and sweaty dance floors, and my leather vintage jacket and doc martens. Fitting, in a city so well lived- and broken-in like a good pair of denim and leather. The more you wear them, the cooler they get. And isn’t that true of life itself? Everything is a muscle and a relationship. Same with solitude.
Whenever I have conversations about solo trips, mixed sentiments are common. Some love it so much it becomes an annual ritual; others swear they could never do it. I find there’s a stereotype that time spent alone happens in isolation, away from community. Perhaps because singlehood is portrayed as lonely, though being alone and being lonely are two different things.
When people ask, ‘what am I going to do with all the time?,’ I'm always taken back. Time is a privilege. A gift. A luxury! In Budapest, Lisbon and every other city I’ve visited solo, the biggest gift was being on my own clock. And the close second, being in touch with my deepest desires and centering them in everything I do. What do I want for lunch? Where do I want to explore today? Not feeling it anymore? Cool – what’s next? In Budapest, I’d aimlessly walk for hours. And even when the autumn rain would make me change plans three times a day, it didn’t matter because the only person to please was me. We simply don’t get to do this much in our everyday hustle and bustle of life with all the responsibilities.
Solo trips, and solitude in general, are beautifully multifaceted in that they’re both selfish and inherently communal. In my case, the simple but difficult art of enjoying my own company has made me show up for my community more honestly, rejuvenated, and grounded.
It wouldn’t be complete without a scene from the grand budapest hotel, right? - VThis piece draws on inspiration and content originally posted on Substack.