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Testing the waters of solo travel : Tulum, Mexico

I couldn't sleep because I was so eager to come out and watch the sunrise. My little room at Casa Utopia (pronounced "oo-toe-pee-uh") here in Tulum has windows all around covered by small pieces of burlap fabric that allow for little shelter and privacy. But it seems like that's all you need here. The electricity only runs from 5:30pm until 11:30pm, so everyone flocks in around the start time to charge their phones up and reconnect with the outside world.

The sea crabs are just as much inhabitants of Utopia as we are - they crawl underneath the wooden deck in the evenings and roll all the coconuts around that the staff had strategically placed on the sand earlier that day. Our night watcher Hans grins as he tells me how he thinks the crabs are intentionally trying to mess with him.

There are very few people out on the beach right now, but we are the select few who chose to let the breeze carry us to the beach to watch the sunrise. This is my first solo vacation I've ever taken, and I definitely had my reservations about it. The multiple judgements I hear playing in my head (i.e. "you must have no friends," "something must be wrong with you," or "it's too dangerous for a girl to travel alone") made me unsure if this was the right choice after everything I'd been through - Mike's death, my most recent ex's engagement, my parent's long standing separation... All of which catapulted me into having serious doubts about my career and what I'm choosing to do with my life.

Then the "what if's" started to roll in to try to prevent me from taking this trip: "What if I would be too lonely?" "What if I got kidnapped in Mexico?" "What if the yoga sucked?" I'm noticing a pattern that I like to try to talk myself out of things. But what shuts these thoughts up is the more paralyzing thought that doing nothing is scarier than risking everything.

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