The last time I traveled alone was ten years ago in East Africa. I stayed in Zanzibar for just two days but did everything I wasn’t supposed to do. I let the bar/resort manager flirt with me and take me on a walk on the beach after a few drinks one night. I went to a sea turtle rescue center with a stranger. I walked around in shorts and a tank top in the traditional community. I went to bed with a Swiss army knife under my pillow, in case the manager used his key to break into my room. No one back home knew where I was. If I never returned, no one would have known what happened. I was also in my early twenties and didn’t know any better. It was by luck that I made it home safely.

Recently, I went on a three-week solo journey to…