Solo Story: Alaska, Anxiety, and the Quiet in Between

A Dream Vacation—Or So I Thought

I had planned what I hoped would be an unforgettable adventure—two solo Alaska cruises, glacier excursions, a visit with relatives, and a reunion with my daughter at the end of it all. But just days before I was set to leave, everything changed.

Life doesn't always follow the itinerary, and this trip would end up taking me somewhere far more unexpected: inward.

The Perfect Plan

Fresh from two incredible solo cruises, I couldn't wait to start planning my next thrilling adventure! My daughter had her own 4-week journey planned, culminating in Oregon, where we'd reunite for a few fun-filled days.

So, I eagerly dove into research and planning, and came up with an exciting itinerary: two Alaska cruises—first a 7-day from Whittier to Vancouver, followed two days later by a 9-day round-trip from Seattle. Then, before meeting up with my daughter in Oregon, I’d visit family in Alberta.

I was so excited to visit Alaska—I could hardly wait! Wanting to make the most of it, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and booked an excursion at every single port: a helicopter ride to a glacier (bucket list!), whale watching, a hover boat adventure, and even a scenic train ride to the Yukon Territory.

I had a feeling this trip was going to be absolutely epic.

When Everything Changed

Just a few days before I was set to leave, my daughter received some devastating news that completely shook her—and me. It was the kind of news without any quick resolution. Her travel plans were canceled, replaced by uncertainty and stress.

Naturally, I was filled with anxiety too. I felt torn and guilty about going on my trip while she was struggling. I agonized over what to do. But after some heartfelt conversations with close friends—and most importantly, with my daughter—I decided to go ahead with the first cruise.

I figured I’d take things one step at a time and see how life unfolded.

An Emotional Roller Coaster

The whole experience ended up being quite an emotional roller coaster. Even though I made the decision to go, the excitement I’d once felt was gone. I wanted to enjoy myself—I really did—but it was hard to feel joy when my heart was still so heavy.

You can’t just switch off being a mom, especially when your child is going through something difficult.

Still, off to Alaska I went.

Getting There

I flew into Seattle, spent the night at a nearby hotel, and caught a morning flight to Anchorage. Thankfully, the weather cooperated, and the views from the plane as we approached Alaska were breathtaking.

After a night in Anchorage, I boarded a train to Whittier to meet the ship. It was raining, so visibility wasn’t great, but the ride itself was enjoyable—even though it took much longer than expected.

Because I booked last minute and had limited transportation options, I didn’t get on board until nearly 5 p.m.—much later than I like. I quickly dropped my bags, changed clothes, and rushed off to the solo meetup, hoping for connection.

Disconnection and Disappointment

Finding the meetup space was harder than expected, and I arrived late. People were already mid-introductions. I shared a bit about myself, but I didn’t really connect with anyone. The vibe felt off—though, in truth, I know it was more about how I was feeling than the group itself.

That ended up being the only solo meetup I attended.

I was feeling deeply unsettled—torn between being present on this beautiful journey and the worry that kept tugging me home. I made a decision to take things one day at a time and only do what felt right in the moment.

Trying to Settle In

On Day 2, I checked out the thermal spa, hoping for some relaxation. But the layout felt awkward and didn’t have the welcoming energy I’d found on other ships. That ended up being my one and only visit there.

I wasn’t connecting with the cruise vibe, the solo events, or the ship itself. I found myself spending most of the cruise in my stateroom.

In the past, I’d never understood why some people book a balcony room just to stay in it—but now I do.

I spent hours sitting outside, watching the landscape drift by—reading, listening to music, reflecting. It wasn’t what I had envisioned, but in its own quiet way, it gave me what I needed.

Letting Go of the Plan

I ended up canceling all the excursions I had so carefully planned. It was disappointing—I had imagined this trip so vividly—but I didn’t have the emotional energy to enjoy them.

I still ventured out for meals, the occasional drink, and walks around the ship to take photos. Alaska’s beauty still moved me, even through the fog of worry.

I took a lot of photos on this trip. In some ways, they became a reminder of resilience—proof that even during hard times, there is still beauty worth noticing.

Cutting the Trip Short

Unfortunately, things got worse back home with my daughter’s situation. The anxiety became overwhelming, and I knew I couldn’t fully relax or enjoy myself. So, I made the decision to cancel the rest of my trip and fly home when we arrived back in Vancouver.

It wasn’t the epic adventure I had imagined, but it became something else—something quieter, more introspective, and in many ways, more meaningful.

Finding Meaning in the Unexpected

Instead of adrenaline-filled excursions and lively solo meetups, I was given space to pause, to sit with my thoughts, and to really listen to myself.

I had so badly wanted this to be a dream trip. But life had other plans, and in the middle of that unexpected shift, I had to learn how to adapt.

This trip taught me that not every journey is about adventure in the traditional sense. Sometimes, the real journey is internal—about navigating uncertainty, honoring your own limits, and letting go of expectations without shame.

The Beauty of Stillness

I learned that it’s okay to change course, even when it feels disappointing. I discovered that sitting alone on a balcony in Alaska, wrapped in a blanket with a book in my lap and my heart full of worry, could still be beautiful.

There were moments of stillness that felt sacred—watching glaciers pass in silence, breathing in the crisp air, letting tears come without judgment.

A Parent’s Heart

The hardest part was the emotional distance from my daughter, knowing she was struggling while I was thousands of miles away. But even in that discomfort, I saw how deeply love shapes us—how being a parent doesn’t stop when they grow up, and how the urge to protect and be present never fades.

That love pulled me home, and when the cruise docked in Vancouver, I didn’t hesitate to cancel the rest of my plans.

I just knew I needed to be with her.

No Regrets

And yet, I don’t regret going. I gave myself a window of time, even if it didn’t look like what I’d pictured. It reminded me that healing, rest, and clarity don’t always come from action—they often come from stillness.

I know now that I will return to Alaska someday. Not just to do the things I missed, but to reframe this chapter with fresh eyes and a fuller heart.

When that time comes, I’ll be ready—not just for the adventure, but for all the quiet in between.

Final Reflections: Trusting Your Own Path

One of the biggest lessons I learned is how essential it is to trust your own path, especially during emotionally difficult times.

It’s easy to be swayed by others’ opinions—whether it’s friends, family, or even well-meaning strangers—about what you should do. But the truth is, only you can know what’s right for your heart, your mind, and your circumstances.

Doing what’s best for you—even if it looks different from what others expect—is an act of self-respect and strength. There’s no one-size-fits-all approach to healing.

You’re allowed to process your emotions differently. You’re allowed to choose differently.

You’re allowed to be still. Sometimes, that’s the bravest choice.