When you’re alone, every instant is an nick of duration for something exciting to happen. There’s nearly always space for one more, but usually not for two.
The first duration I traveled alone, I flew to London and took the Eurostar to Paris, where I was studying abroad. It was a transformative two-sixty minutes trail ride because when I woke up, it was abruptly snowing and everyone was talk French. When I ran my belongings through safety at Gare du Nord, I ignorantly dropped my passport, only to have a foreigner peck it up for me. The kindness of strangers shines through when you’re freed from a set clan of friends, marking you as one of their own. When you’re alone, you belong to everyone.
There are other perks of being a ring of one. Like stopping to take a photograph without construction anyone wait. Creating your own guidebook on your own whim. Eating wherever and whatever you’d like without a controversy. You can go on foot away any seclusion and realize that sometimes it’s nice to keep unmoved and just observe.
