March 23, 2026, 9:17 am | Read time: 5 minutes
TRAVELBOOK author Anna Chiodo (formerly Anna Wengel) was an avid solo traveler for a long time. Then her husband and child came into her life, and from then on, she traveled only in pairs or threes. Recently, she traveled alone for the first time in seven years. And what did she rediscover there? Herself. For TRAVELBOOK, she wrote about her experience of traveling without a child.
Nervously, I look at the display board on the train platform, feeling the pressure in my chest that has been with me all morning. What’s wrong with me? I’ve traveled alone so many times, all over the world, feeling alone in Kabul, actually alone in Sri Lanka, New Zealand, Australia, Portugal… and now I’m nervous? Because of a weekend trip to Amsterdam?! Yep, nervous, to say the least, honestly anxious.
But why, really? My mind immediately provides the logical explanation: Because so much has happened on trains lately, and the world feels so uncertain right now. Because I’m afraid something might happen to me and my child could lose me. Sure, that’s true. And yet, there’s nothing actually threatening at the moment. I’m now sitting in my seat, with coffee and a book in hand, the landscape flying by. Everything’s fine. And yet, I feel like I did back in Kabul, when things were exploding somewhere nearby.
Alone in Amsterdam
Arriving in Amsterdam, the pressure in my chest eases a bit, and my breath flows more easily through my throat. I look up at the beautiful houses, deep into the dark water of the canals, and stop in the middle of the bridge. I feel the sun on my face, and a small voice inside me softly whispers, “There you are again.” Still a bit unsteady on my feet, I walk hour after hour through this beautiful city, observing, feeling, and letting the surroundings affect me, driven by my curiosity into alleys and along chic streets.
Yes, that’s how it always was before. Alone. Without a child who would rather go to the playground than walk through countless streets for hours. Without a husband who also brings his own travel demands, with training and healthy, regular eating habits. Back then, when I booked outbound tickets without an idea of when I’d return. When an outbound ticket often didn’t mean I’d fly back from the same country. Back then, when I had no home and the world was my home. When the world lay open before me, and nothing and no one could stop me from following my own path. Today, there are three of us. Traveling has become a bit different.
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Workshop with Elizabeth Gilbert
Fast forward to the next morning: Tears run down my cheeks, my mouth doesn’t know where else to spread, having already turned the entire lower half of my face into a smile. This weekend, I’m at a workshop with one of my personal, well, what exactly? Role models, gurus, mentors? So I’m sitting in a workshop with Elizabeth Gilbert, author of “Eat Pray Love,” “Big Magic,” and “All the Way to the River,” among others. I get to be guided through tasks by this fascinating woman and learn.
Liz fills the room. And I clearly feel that this is exactly right, exactly now. Alone in another city, without my family, and engaged with a topic I discovered and made my own while traveling. And that somewhere along the way got buried in motherhood. No longer as important, somehow pushed to the background behind everything that becomes more important in daily life with a child. Suddenly, I remember again how it was when I was still traveling the world alone. When I longed for a child and a husband.
Those years were beautiful and very painful. But they were my years. My time, when I lived my life exactly as it was right for me. My time, when I figured out piece by piece what I really wanted from life and what was important to me. I feel all of that again today. With a warm, comforting feeling that was missing back then: My child and my husband are here with me, many of my words include them. They are here. And I am finally alone with myself again.
Alone, But Not Lonely
I used to be alone a lot, very much so. I always sought out moments alone, often preferring them over moments with random vacation acquaintances. The same goes for this weekend. I see many workshop participants again at the hotel, many want to discuss and exchange thoughts about what we experienced this weekend and what raises so many questions about one’s own life. Not me. Instead, I explain to a kind hotel neighbor, “I haven’t traveled alone in seven years, almost always with my husband and child. I just want to sit in my hotel room with a pizza and be alone with myself.”
Fortunately, she understands this well, and soon after, I’m grinning with happiness in my room. It’s been so long. I wasn’t even aware of how much I missed it. Alone with myself in a hotel room. So simple. It’s just a weekend, a small break. And honestly, I wouldn’t want it any longer. I love showing my child the world. Traveling as a pair and as a trio. We’ll continue to do that. But this weekend is just mine. And a beautiful reminder of myself.
Later, I also call my child and husband—and I can see the surprised joy on both faces. Something is different about Mom. I look in the mirror. The woman looking back at me looks like she used to. Hardly recognizable.