I knew it was going to happen. Almost every other travel blogger I grew to love and followed faithfully during my year of planning has at least one post about it. That day when the little voice whispering, ‘WTF are you doing?’ becomes louder than the chorus of excitement propelling me forward. It hit, and hit hard, the moment I unlocked the door to my apartment in Split.

Up until I left Austria I had been staying with couch surfing hosts, old friends, relatives. Forming new, if temporary, bonds of friendship. Becoming reacquainted with family, building upon relationships that had grown obscure and faded with the passing of years spent on separate continents. I had organized the first three months of my trip this way on purpose, knowing that mixing destinations with people would be the best method to ease into a year of solo travel.

Even so, when I walked through this door I felt a wave of despair.

The first few days I went through the motions. My feet trudging the path of a stubborn zombie along a check list of destinations burnt into my subconscious after dozens of previous stops. Local bio grocery store, check. Tourist info centre for paper maps and flyers of upcoming events, check. Criss cross the cobbled streets of the old city centre following whatever catches my eye and marking my map with interesting locals to visit later, check. Do groceries and unpack bag, check. Find the green spaces, stare at the ocean for the first time since St-Malo, check.

I knew what was happening, and I was helpless to stop it. So, I wallowed. My check list turned round and round, morphing from a source of motivation into a rutted record grooved with the incessant repetition of playing just one track. Until one day the record player stopped turning altogether and I did not even leave the apartment.

Entire afternoons and evenings were filled with cheesy Hollywood films, BBC productions of Jane Austin novels, catching up on the last batch of action movies, anything would do. Ok, almost anything. Until the voice that used to crow in excitement became an echo of an echo.

A week ticked by, desperation ruled, my allotted time to see Croatia was running out. Then it occurred to me:

Maybe this is ok.

Disgust evolved into acceptance, creating room for a growing sense of calm and slowly breathing life into my stagnant motivation. Two weeks of down time, a vacation from my vacation. The ultimate in indulgences when I really think about it.

Each solo traveler needs to find their own path through the loneliness. Now I know mine begins with an act of acquiescence, not forced activity. A few quiet days cocooned in a temporary nest with a well stocked tea cupboard, a marathon of IMDb chick flick recommendations, perhaps a bar of chocolate or five, is this wanderer’s reset button.

Fighting loneliness with alone time. Poetic or slightly nuts? What do you think?