After my divorce, I dreaded any type of holiday alone. A group of friends changed that. [Business Insider]
For years, the word “holiday” felt like a trap. After my divorce, the idea of booking a trip alone sent a cold knot into my stomach. It wasn’t the logistics that scared me—I could plan a flight and book a hotel in my sleep. It was the silence. The empty seat next to me at dinner. The awkward look from a waiter when they asked, “Table for one?” I spent two years convincing myself that solo travel was for the brave, and I was not that. I was the guy who stayed home, watching travel documentaries and eating cereal for dinner.
Then, something unexpected happened. A group of friends—not close friends, more like familiar faces from a shared hobby—invited me on a long weekend trip to the coast. At first, I said no. The thought of being the “divorced guy” in a group of couples and singles felt like a social minefield. But one of them, a woman named Sarah I barely knew, called me out. “You’re not hiding forever,” she said, half-joking. “Pack a bag. We’ll handle the awkwardness.” I packed that bag with the same dread I used to reserve for tax season.
The first morning: a wake-up call
The morning we left, I nearly bailed. I sat in my car in the driveway, gripping the steering wheel, telling myself I could just drive to a coffee shop and pretend I went. But I didn’t. I pulled up to the meeting spot, and the group was already loading bags into a rented van. There was no ceremony. No one asked about my ex. No one pitied me. Within ten minutes, someone handed me a playlist to connect to the van’s speakers, and another person threw a bag of chips at my head. It was normal. Disarmingly normal.
The first night was the hardest. We checked into a shared Airbnb, and I instinctively looked for the smallest, most cornered bedroom. But the group didn’t let me hide. They dragged me to the kitchen to help cook pasta—badly—and then to the living room for a chaotic board game. I laughed for the first time in months. Not a polite laugh, but the kind that makes your stomach hurt. It hit me that I hadn’t shared a meal with people who weren’t related to me or my ex in nearly three years.
The real gift: shared silence
What surprised me most was the silence. Not the lonely kind, but the comfortable kind. On the second day, we hiked to a cliff overlooking the ocean. Everyone spread out, sitting on rocks, not talking. For twenty minutes, we just watched the waves. No one felt the need to fill the air with conversation. I realized then that I had been dreading the wrong thing. I wasn’t afraid of being alone—I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts. But in that group, I could be quiet without feeling judged. They didn’t need me to perform happiness. They just needed me to be present.
That trip taught me a hard truth: I had been romanticizing the idea of a partner as the only person who could make a holiday meaningful. I had built a story in my head that a vacation required a romantic partner, or at least a best friend who knew your life story. But this group didn’t know my life story. They knew I liked spicy food and made bad puns. And that was enough. They filled the spaces that I thought only a spouse could fill—not with romance, but with simple, consistent presence.
Building a new tradition
That first trip was two years ago. Since then, I’ve gone on five more trips with that same core group. We’ve done a cabin in the mountains, a city break in a place I can’t pronounce, and a disastrous camping trip where a raccoon stole our food. Each time, the dread has shrunk. Each time, I pack my bag a little faster. I still get a flutter of anxiety before leaving, but now it’s mixed with anticipation rather than fear.
I’ve also learned something important: a group of friends isn’t a substitute for a spouse. It’s a different kind of anchor. A spouse anchors you to a shared history. A group of friends anchors you to the present moment. When you’re laughing over burnt pancakes or arguing about which road to take, you’re not thinking about the past. You’re just there. And sometimes, just being there is the best travel plan of all.
If you’re recently divorced and dreading the holidays, I get it. The brochures are full of couples. The restaurants have two-for-one deals. It feels like the world is built for pairs. But I promise you, there is a version of travel that doesn’t require a plus-one. It requires a willingness to be a little awkward, to say yes to an invitation you’d rather decline, and to trust that people can care about you without knowing every scar.
I’m not saying it’s easy. I still sometimes feel a pang when I see a couple holding hands on a sunset walk. But now, I look at my group of friends—raucous, imperfect, and always hungry—and I realize I have something better. I have a family I chose. And that makes any destination feel like home.
— Ahmed Abed – News journalist