Let’s be honest, the dating scene in Los Angeles has been… a scene. And not always the good kind. But one silver lining to my current single status is a glorious rediscovery: the sheer, unadulterated joy of solo travel. Working remotely means my office is wherever I plug in my laptop, which, these days, could be anywhere from a bustling New York City café to a quiet Denver airport lounge. Last-minute trips, answering to no one but myself, are my new love language.
I’m a sucker for a city. The way a new place unfolds, the unique rhythm of its streets, the unexpected connections – it all just speaks to me. New York, in particular, is easy to fall for. It’s a whirlwind of energy, an electric current that pulses through you. Two to three days there? Absolutely incredible. Any longer, and I find myself craving the calmer pace of a beach city or suburban home. But for a short, intense affair, NYC is perfect. I wandered, ate delicious food, and, as always, struck up conversations with strangers.
“New York is easy to love and hard to stay in love with – the energy and excitement is amazing but within a few days it’s too much.”
One random Monday night, I found myself in a dive bar on the Upper East Side (I think it was actually called “Dive Bar” – truly original). I expected a mellow evening, but soon, it filled with twenty-somethings. I started chatting with a young waitress trying to break into Broadway. Her friends arrived, and it turned out to be a musical theater open mic night. Before I knew it, there was singing, I was somehow buying shots for my new friends, and then an attractive man sat down next to me. My new, boisterous companions urged me to flirt, so I did.
“How are you doing?” I asked, trying to sound effortlessly charming.
His response? His young child had just been seriously injured. Well. That put a rather abrupt end to any budding flirtation. Still, I listened, offering what sympathetic words I could. He was there to watch sports, clearly annoyed by the impromptu Broadway show, but I was loving every minute of it. As he left, he gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I told him I’d think of him and hoped his kid would be okay.
“It’s those kinds of unexpected encounters… that make me feel like a part of the wider world.”
It’s these kinds of unexpected encounters – a moment or two seeing the world through the eyes of young, aspiring performers, a sad momentary connection – that make me feel like a part of something bigger. It’s why I love cities and their glorious unpredictability. I flew home the next day, not remembering the tourist clichés like “The Book of Mormon” or the ferry past the Statue of Liberty, but the people I met. I’ll be back in NYC soon, I know it.
Denver was also a blast, reminding me a bit of my hometown, until I overheard a few conversations. It’s a very purple state, and the politics aren’t quite my cup of tea. Still, it was a fantastic trip. I got to visit an interactive art space that I’d been aspiring to see for several years now.
What a privilege it is to be able to hop around on the spur of the moment. I’m incredibly grateful for this freedom. When I start feeling sorry for myself – no kids, no partner – I try to remember what else I have: all the experiences, the memories, and the open road. Because right now, that’s enough.
What random encounters have you had while traveling?