I am going to San Francisco next week. By myself.
When I booked it, I didn't mean for it to be a bold statement of independence or self-reliance. It was simply that Southwest was having a sale, I had enough points for a couple of free flights, and the draw of seeing that grand international orange bridge through the fog and walking up a hill or two in a city that almost everyone I know has told me I'd adore, was too great to bare.
All valid reasons for a somewhat random, not particularly thought out trip. Ah, who needs valid reasons anyway. I'd just find somebody to go with me later.
And when I didn't, I was ...surprisingly okay with it. I really didn't even try that hard, honestly. I think I knew in the back of my mind I wanted to go alone. To show myself that I can do it. That I can decipher a train schedule and actually end up where I want to go. Or ask for directions from a stranger when I get lost, which even with an impossibly smart cell phone, inevitably will happen. But that's okay, I will find my way.
So, for the last few months I have ignored my mom's worried winces (I think she forgets I have been a tiny blonde girl on public overnight buses in third world countries), dog-eared a few Lonely Planet pages, and didn't postpone what's important to me simply because others don't share my priorities.
Plus, let's be real, "I couldn't get anyone to go with me" is such a terrible excuse for not doing something.