I remember the first time I really travelled alone was on a 26 hour flight to Salt Lake City when I was 19. I had a 6 hour layover in Shanghai and a domestic transfer at the LAX.

All the while, my focus was entirely on not losing my passport, not missing my flight, not dropping my luggage, all with the inexplicable feeling of being lost and alone. I remember struggling with ordering food in Chinese, nervously looking around as I settled to sleep on an airport bench, and having miniature panic attacks when I forgot what I'd done with my ticket.

I was never a brave soul, but travelling alone just made it seem all the more daunting.

But looking back, I think I missed what the essence of travelling alone was all about. I treated the independence like a chore rather than a gift. I missed the opportunity to grow because I was so centered on wishing someone else would do things for me. I had entirely missed the spirit of adventure.

Now, many years later, I still don't travel very much. But I like to take small and simple steps by going places on my own every once in a while. Like booking a ferry to the Kusu Island, just to be by myself.

That way, I get the feeling that I'm not depending on anyone, even if it's just for a while.

I guess I'm just trying to discover what my spirit of adventure is like.