I had a ticket. I had my passport. And he had cold feet. I might have known fairy tales don't come true.

　　Seven months out of my marriage， I had met the "great love of my life." We dated a year. I'd always longed to see Europe， and， with my divorce final， we planned the trip together. Then two weeks before takeoff， he took off. Having piggybacked two breakups， I felt as if I'd been through a double divorce. Here I was， thirty？nine years old， with two small children， and facing my ultimate fear： a life alone.

　　Was I ready to spend a month in Europe by myself？ I had a hard time going to a movie alone！ But it did seem now or never. The kids would be with their dad， the money came as part of my property settlement， and I had a job waiting when I returned. Okay， if I was going to be lonely for the next few years， I might as well start by being lonely in Europe.

　　The highlight of my journey was to be Paris， the city I'd always wanted to see. But now I was frightened to travel without a companion. I steeled myself and went anyway.

　　I arrived at the train station in Paris panicked and disoriented. I hadn't used my college French in twenty years. Pulling my red suitcase on wobbly wheels behind me， I was shoved and pushed by perspiring travelers reeking of cigarette smoke， different diets and not nearly enough deodorant. The roar of many languages bombarding me seemed unintelligible-just babble.

　　On my first Metro ride， I encountered an incompetent， clumsy pickpocket. I melted him with a look， and he eased his hand from my purse to fade into the crowded car. At my stop， I hauled my heavy suitcase up the steep stairs and froze.

　　Cars zoomed helter？skelter， honking belligerently. Somewhere in this confusing city my hotel was hidden， but the directions I had scrawled suddenly weren't legible.

　　I stopped two people. Both greeted me with that Parisian countenance that said： "Yes， I speak English， but you'll have to struggle with your French if you want to talk to me." I walked up one street and across another. A wheel broke off my suitcase. When I finally found the hotel， my heart was pounding， I was sweating like a basketball player and my spirits drooped. They flattened altogether when I saw my room.

　　I couldn't stay. Could I？ The wallpaper looked like it had been through a fire. The bedsprings creaked. The bathroom was down the hall， and the window looked out onto the brick wall of another building. Welcome to Paris.

　　I sincerely wanted to die. I missed my friend. I was entering my third week away from home and my kids， and I had arrived in the most romantic city in the world， alone. Alone and lonely. Alone， lonely and petrified.

　　The most important thing I did in Paris happened at that moment. I knew that if I didn't go out， right then， and find a place to have dinner， I would hide in this cubicle my entire time in Paris. My dream would be foregone， and I might never learn to enjoy the world as a single individual. So I pulled myself together and went out. Evening in Paris was light and balmy. When I reached the Tuileries， I strolled along a winding path， listening to birds sing， watching children float toy sailboats in a huge fountain. No one seemed to be in a hurry. Paris was beautiful. And I was here alone but suddenly not lonely. My sense of accomplishment at overcoming my fear and vulnerability had left me feeling free， not abandoned.

　　I wore out two pairs of shoes during my week's stay in Paris. I did everything there was to do， and it was the greatest week of my European vacation. I returned home a believer in the healing power of solitary travel. Years later， I still urge divorcing or widowed friends to take their solo flight in the form of travel plans.

　　Those who have gone have returned changed -even by a four-day weekend in Santa Fe， an Amtrak ride up the coast or an organized tour of Civil War battlefields. Traveling alone redeems itself by demanding self-reliance and building the kind of confidence that serves the single life well.

　　Certainly Paris became my metaphor for addressing life's challenges on my own. Now when I meet an obstacle I just say to myself： If I can go to Paris， I can go anywhere.

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