Becoming My Own Best Friend

In the fall of 2024, I took a last-minute leap of faith.

I’d always known about UMiami’s study abroad program, but I never seriously considered it. It felt out of reach—too complicated, too expensive, maybe not meant for me. But as the application deadline crept closer and my friends began finalizing their plans, I had this gut feeling I’d regret not trying.

After a heart-to-heart with one of my roommates, she looked at me and said, “Just apply. See what happens.” She reminded me that nothing was set in stone and that if I really wanted to make it happen, I could. That night kicked off two of the most stressful—but rewarding—days of my college career. Recommendation letters, applications, deposits, documents… all the stuff that everyone else had spent a month on, I did in 48 hours.

And I’m so, so glad I did.

Months later, I found myself stepping off a plane in Barcelona, Spain, about to start what I would later call the best adventure of my life.

Barcelona was new, exciting, and exactly the kind of unknown I love. I became a regular at the café across the street from my apartment, practicing my Spanish with the barista who made my cappuccino every morning. I started taking ballet classes (despite never having danced before), learned how to navigate grocery shopping in a different language and culture, and figured out how to fit my life into a backpack for weekend trips across Europe (as a chronic over-packer, this was huge).

I planned meticulous itineraries, hunted down hidden gems in every city, and slowly became the person in my group who booked all our stays. As someone who has never lived in a city with public transportation—and admittedly has terrible directional sense—memorizing metro routes felt like a small personal miracle. At one point, a tourist stopped me and asked for directions in Spanish. I gave them, confidently. That moment, as tiny as it was, made me feel like I had made it.

As much as I was thriving, I realized I hadn’t really tested my independence yet. I had moved across the world—but I’d done it with friends from school. My classes were filled with familiar faces. I wanted to know what would happen if I went for something even riskier. So, when a free weekend opened up, I decided not to stay in Barcelona. I wanted something unfamiliar.

So, I booked a solo trip to Sorrento, Italy.

As someone working for a travel agency at the time, I’d become pretty good at planning trips, and I took this one seriously. I needed a destination that was safe, solo-friendly, and easy to get around. Sorrento checked every box. It was close to Positano, Capri, Pompeii—dream destinations—and I had always romanticized the Amalfi Coast. So I did the research, made a plan, and booked the flight.

I had three main goals:

• Enjoy a dinner by myself

• Learn how to use Italy’s transportation system

• Visit Positano, no matter what

Getting there was… rough. The Naples train station was pure chaos, and despite all my research, I missed my first train because I couldn’t figure out where to go. When I finally tried to buy a bus ticket and asked confidently for “just one,” the man laughed in my face. He made a snide comment about where my “boyfriend” must be. Obviously, it made me uncomfortable and worried about what was to come; and yes, there’s a larger conversation to be had about how women are perceived when they travel alone—but this isn’t that story. I decided in that moment not to let discomfort win. I was here to prove something to myself.

That Friday night, I took myself to dinner. I asked for a table for one, and I meant it. I ignored the looks. I ordered what I wanted. And it was amazing.

The next morning, I explored Sorrento and Meta, wandered into tiny alleyway shops to pick up gifts, then successfully navigated the buses to Positano. That bus ride—windows down, sunlight everywhere, “That’s Amore” and “Dedicated to the One I Love” playing in my headphones—was magic. Actual magic. The kind that feels like you’ve stumbled into a dream version of your own life.

I climbed 100+ flights of stairs. I ate fresh mussels and handmade pasta with a limoncello spritz. I sat on the beach and watched kids play. I got lost in winding streets. I watched the city light up at night from the window of my return bus and grabbed the best pizza I’ve ever had on the walk home to my Airbnb.

By the end of the weekend, I felt like a different person. I’d navigated unfamiliar systems, handled uncomfortable moments, and experienced beauty I still struggle to describe.

March, for the record, is a perfect time to visit the Amalfi Coast. Everything is peaceful. Quiet. It felt like the whole coastline had opened itself up just for me. (I loved it so much, I came back in April with my mom—and yes, everything’s more open then, but I’ll always be partial to the stillness of March.) I left Sorrento with new memories, more confidence, and a strong belief that dinner for one is never weird—it’s actually kind of lovely.

I’m someone who deeply values friendship and community—my friends mean the world to me. But this trip reminded me of something just as important: you have to be your own best friend too.

You’re the only person you’re guaranteed to spend your whole life with. You have to learn how to enjoy your own company. How to be still. How to feel things without needing distraction. I think our generation talks a lot about individualism, but we’re also incredibly uncomfortable being alone. There’s a difference between independence and isolation, and I think many of us haven’t figured out how to just sit with ourselves. When we’re not surrounded by people, we reach for noise: our phones, our playlists, our scrolling. We seek connection or chaos. And sometimes, we forget how to just be.

But I don’t want to be that way.

I want to know myself. I want to take myself out, trust myself, sit in silence, and actually like the person I’m with. I want to live in a way that honors both connection and introspection. And on this trip, I did.

This trip reminded me that I can do hard things—and more than that, I can enjoy them. I’m grateful for Sorrento, for the views, the pasta, the postcards that couldn't possible capture what it really felt like… and for the chance to realize that being alone doesn’t have to be lonely.

In fact, sometimes, it’s the best thing you can do.