The Woman Who Goes Anyway

I’m Writing This From Thailand. Alone.

It’s almost 10 p.m. in Bangkok.

The air is heavy. The city hums. Motorbikes weave through traffic like chaos has choreography.

And yes, I’m here alone.

I always travel alone before and after my retreats.

Not because I don’t have people I could invite.

Not because I don’t love shared experiences.

But because I learned something years ago:

If I waited for everyone else to commit, I would never leave.

There would always be a budget issue.

A work conflict.

A “maybe next year.”

A hesitation.

So I stopped waiting.

That doesn’t mean I don’t feel fear.

Today I walked, in the Bangkok heat, to the wrong ferry dock.

Sweating. Disoriented. Slightly irritated.

Then I got on the wrong ferry.

Watched the skyline shift and thought,

“Huh. This doesn’t feel right.”

Old Penny would have spiraled.

What if I’m lost?

What if I look stupid?

What if I waste the whole afternoon?

Instead?

I shrugged. “Mai pen Rai” (nevermind) you can’t control everything - smile, sweat and go with the flow.

And, spoiler alert: it all worked out.

I got off.

Re-routed.

Saw parts of the river I wouldn’t have otherwise seen.

Found my way.

Isn’t that the whole point?

Here’s what I’ve learned about fear:

It’s a choice.

You can run from it.

Or you can lean into it.

It can control your life.

Or it can expand it.

Was I afraid to launch my first retreat?

Yes.

Am I afraid every single time I launch one?

Yes.

Was I afraid to trek through places I’d never been?

Yes.

Was I afraid to leave it all behind and start a new life in a new country?

Yes.

Was/Am I afraid to share raw, vulnerable pieces of myself online?

Every. Single. Time.

Was I afraid to move countries and start over?

To fall in love again?

To risk again?

Fu*king right I was.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Scared.

Shitless.

And yet, I did it.

Because here’s the part we don’t say enough:

Fear doesn’t mean stop.

It means you’re at the edge of something that matters.

Had I waited until I felt calm, certain, or accompanied to travel, I would have missed so much of my life.

Morocco.

Bali.

Botswana, living in a tent for a year.

Peru.

This balcony in Bangkok.

And more importantly?

I would have missed becoming who I am, and continue to become.

Now let’s talk about you.

You’re waiting for the girls to confirm. For the group chat to show up.

You’re waiting for someone to say,

“Okay, I’ll go too.”

But underneath that?

You’re afraid.

Afraid of walking into a room alone at 50+.

Afraid of not knowing where to sit.

Afraid of awkwardness.

Afraid you won’t fit.

Afraid of what might shift if you step outside the structure of your life.

Afraid that if you go… something inside you might wake up.

Let me say this clearly:

If you keep waiting for everyone else to be ready, you will build your life around their comfort.

And one day, you will quietly resent it.

Coming alone strips you.

No roles.

No history.

No one to hide behind.

Just you.

And yes, sometimes that means walking to the wrong dock.

Sometimes that means boarding the wrong ferry.

Sometimes that means sweating through uncertainty.

But another spoiler alert?

You are more capable than you think.

You can re-route.

You can adjust.

You can recover.

You are not fragile.

If you feel pulled toward something, a retreat, a trip, a shift, a phone call, to press send…take the chance.

Not because it’s easy.

Because it’s calling you forward.

We always have a choice.

Let fear shrink you.

Or let it sharpen you.

Tonight I’m in Bangkok.

Alone.

Not fearless.

Just willing.

And that willingness has changed my entire life.

Book the spot.

Walk to the dock.

Even if it’s the wrong one.

You’ll figure it out.

You always do.

Penny