The Journey We Imagined, and the One We Actually Take

Have you ever looked forward to something for so long that you could almost imagine exactly how it would feel?

Perhaps it was a holiday you'd dreamed about for years. Somewhere you'd always wanted to visit. An experience you'd imagined over and over again.

We have a wonderful ability to picture the future. We imagine the places we'll see, the things we'll do, the excitement we'll feel when we finally arrive. And sometimes, when that long-awaited moment comes, it really is everything we hoped for.

But sometimes it isn't.

Not necessarily because anything has gone wrong, or because the experience isn't wonderful.

Simply because the way we actually feel isn't quite the way we'd imagined. And I've come to realise that there's nothing wrong with that.

The Feelings We Didn't Expect

Imagine sitting alone in your cabin on the first evening of a long-awaited cruise.

You've finally done it. You've made the booking, packed your suitcase, travelled to the port and stepped aboard.

Perhaps you've spent months finding the courage to take this journey.

And now you're here.

But instead of feeling wonderfully excited, perhaps you feel a little sad. Or anxious. Or strangely flat.

Maybe you miss someone. Maybe you feel happier than you expected. Or perhaps you're surprised to discover that you don't feel very much at all.

It can be unsettling when our feelings don't match the picture we've carried around in our heads.

But feelings don't always arrive when we expect them to, or in the form we'd imagined. We can be happy and sad at the same time. Excited about discovering somewhere new and frightened of doing it alone. We can miss someone terribly and still enjoy an experience without them. And none of that means we've made the wrong decision.

Sometimes we simply need to acknowledge how we're feeling, without rushing to change it.

Perhaps we need some company. Perhaps we need a quiet evening, a little rest or a good cry.

And perhaps tomorrow will feel completely different. We don't have to judge an entire journey by one difficult moment.

Getting to Know Ourselves Again

I think there's another reason why travelling alone can feel daunting, particularly when we've spent many years sharing our lives with someone. Over time, we can become accustomed to being part of a pair. We develop routines, make decisions together and learn to rely on each other's strengths.

Not everyone experiences this, of course. But sometimes, when our circumstances change, we discover that we're not quite sure how to make certain decisions entirely for ourselves.

What do I want to do today?

Where would I like to eat?

Would I enjoy some company, or would I rather spend the afternoon alone?

They sound like such simple questions, don't they?

But when we're used to considering someone else, it can take time to become comfortable putting our own wishes first. And perhaps some of the fear comes from that uncertainty. Not knowing how we'll react. Wondering whether we'll cope. Perhaps even wondering whether we'll enjoy our own company.

I don't think confidence is something we either have or don't have. I think, very often, it comes from practice. We make a decision. We try something unfamiliar. Sometimes it works beautifully. Sometimes we get things wrong. And each time, we learn a little more about ourselves.

We discover what we enjoy, what makes us uncomfortable, when we need support and when we're perfectly capable of finding our own way.

The fear doesn't necessarily disappear.

But slowly, we begin to trust ourselves.

And that trust can make all the difference.

A Walk I'll Never Forget

I remember walking alone one day in the Falkland Islands. It wasn't a particularly dramatic moment. Nothing extraordinary happened. But I remember it so clearly.

The colour of the grass. The soft moss beneath my feet. The sunshine and the wind.

I was somewhere I'd dreamed of visiting, experiencing something that had mattered enormously to me for a very long time. And as I walked, I found myself thinking about what it meant to have dreams of my own.

I realised that if something mattered to me, I had a responsibility to give it a place in my life.

Not because other people didn't matter, or because I had to do everything alone. But because I couldn't always rely on someone else to understand what I wanted, or why it was important.

And perhaps I didn't need them to.

I could listen to my own wishes. Make my own decisions. Choose to experience the things that brought me joy. I couldn't control everything that happened in my life, and I certainly couldn't guarantee that every dream would turn out as I'd imagined. But I could take responsibility for pursuing the things that mattered to me.

There was no grand declaration. No sudden transformation. Just me, walking through the grass, feeling the wind and recognising something I hadn't quite understood before.

My dreams mattered because they mattered to me.

And that was enough.

The Courage to Write Our Own Story

I sometimes think we put too much pressure on ourselves to be brave. Particularly when we're beginning something new.

We imagine that confidence means walking into a room without hesitation, introducing ourselves to strangers or setting off on an adventure without a moment's doubt. But I'm not sure that's what confidence really looks like.

Sometimes it's making a small decision and trusting ourselves to deal with the outcome.

Sometimes it's admitting we're frightened and going anyway.

And sometimes it's recognising that something isn't right for us and having the courage to choose differently.

Because this is our story.

We don't have to live according to someone else's expectations, or measure our experiences against the wonderful photographs and happy endings we see around us.

We can admire somebody else's journey without wanting to take exactly the same one.

And we can change our minds about what we want along the way.

Perhaps that's one of the greatest freedoms we have.

Not knowing exactly how the story will unfold, but recognising that we have a voice in how it's written.

The Moments We Never Planned

Looking back at my travels, I've realised that the moments I remember most aren't always the ones I spent the longest dreaming about. Sometimes they're the little things. An unexpected conversation. A shared laugh. Someone showing kindness when I needed it. A quiet moment in a beautiful place when everything seemed to make sense. Things I couldn't have planned, however carefully I'd prepared for the journey. And perhaps that's something worth remembering when we're looking forward to our next adventure.

It's wonderful to dream, to make plans and to imagine all the lovely things waiting for us.

Anticipation is one of life's great pleasures.

But we can leave a little room for the unexpected, too.

For feelings that surprise us. For people we never imagined meeting. For experiences that turn out differently from how we'd pictured them. And for the possibility that something quite ordinary might become the moment we treasure most.

I still remember that walk in the Falkland Islands. Not because it was the grandest moment of my travels, but because of something I came to understand while I was there. We don't have to wait for someone else's permission to pursue our dreams. We don't have to be fearless, or always happy, or certain that everything will work out exactly as we'd hoped. We simply have to recognise that our wishes, our feelings and our experiences deserve to matter.

The journey we actually take may not always be the one we imagined.

But it's ours. And we have a part in deciding where it takes us next.

Wendy

Stories from the Journey · The Travel Collective