I lost myself in a relationship. Single and 34, I'm committing to travel, the open road, and myself.

I look at the landscape around me. The rice fields take my breath away—vibrant and green, they are such a good example of thriving life. Banana and cacao plants are sprinkled here and there across the Ecuadorian landscape. I ease the motorcycle into the next curve. This is one of my favourite parts of the drive from the coast up to the Andean highlands. I left the ocean behind many kilometers ago and this flat fertile soil before the ascent is stunning. Now, if only the weather would cooperate.

It’s the start of the new year and I’m travelling solo on my Royal Enfield Himalayan. Named Penelope, she’s all black and more of an adventurer than my old scooter Ceilia ever was. The bike will get me from 200 meters above sea level to an altitude of just over 4,000 in a matter of hours. The motorcycle is designed for rough terrain and it’s moments like this that I’m so grateful I chose her. I trust the machine and my skills as a driver, but even still, the wall of fog and the increasing amount of rain make me a little nervous. Needing a moment, I decide to pull over at a gas station.

I’m due for a quick bathroom and hydration stop anyway. I’ve been driving for more than four hours and my legs need a stretch. It feels good to be going through the simple motions of checking my gear. It soothes my creeping anxiety which has been rising along with the winds. Because regardless of my driving ability and Penelope’s dependability, the reality is this: if something happens while on the road, I’ll be at the mercy of the first good samaritan who stops to take pity on a stranded gringa. I cannot afford to leave the bike roadside and I would need to wave down help. I want to avoid flat tires that could happen due to the recent mudslides I saw on the local news reports, or a potential wipe-out caused by rain, and I worry about the lack of visibility in the fog.

As I start pulling out my rain jacket, I’m caught between feeling a humble sense of gratitude and a look-at-me-now-bitch vibe as I reminisce on the fact that my ex taught me everything I know about motorcycle travel. Through trial and error, we learned that on the road, it pays to be prepared, to keep your machine in check, and to always bring nasty-weather gear and a kit in case you get a flat. I’m grateful for the practice and the trips we took into the Amazon, up the coast, and down into the northern deserts of Peru. We learned the hard way one night when his bike broke down in the middle of the Andes. We hadn’t thought to pack anything to fix it with. Luckily, local farmers took us into their home offering us hot chocolate until his friends could arrive hours later with a rescue truck. The experiences I had with him in the driver’s seat were valuable and I now pack for my own solo trips using these hard-earned memories as a reminder to stay smart.

The reality is, it’s a whole different type of adrenaline rush being a single female travelling alone through South America on a motorcycle. But if this breakup has taught me anything, it’s that I’m resilient. I can start again, find my way in the dark, create a new path, and ask for help when I need it. As I stand by myself in the rain, I zip up my outer layers and check the chain for slackness once more before I mount back up. In this moment, I allow myself a small, confident smile. I can drive through the mountains. I give myself an internal pep-talk. A boost. I know I can make the climb.

I stayed with my ex long enough to create an entire life based around an identity that I never really wanted. It looked like a penthouse apartment in the city, two dogs, his family’s country house on the weekends, and obligatory social events to maintain stable couple status. The eight years we were together had given me security in the form of boring monotony and all the latest electronics he chose to fill our home with. I left one night in the middle of a rainstorm with my backpack, some overnight clothes, and absolutely no plan. I chose the risk of the unknown over the constant ache of emptiness that I’d been feeling for far too long. I walked out into the pouring rain and jumped on my bike. It was a simple, pure, hard-and-gritty thing. Walk out the door. It scared me but it allowed me to recover my sense of freedom and ferociousness. The best medicine you can give yourself after having regained the autonomy you lost for several years is a fresh challenge. Now, here I am again facing another storm and I know it’s just a bit of rain. I am a woman with a mission: get up the mountain pass before the weather catches you. Or, ride out the storm. I’ve been through worse.

Luckily in the time it takes me to put on my extra gear, the wind dies down. But still, I’m constantly wiping my gloved hand across my helmet as I start to make my way up into the cloud forest, leaving all traces of banana trees behind. It’s refreshing to be doing something completely on my own. I’m driving my own bike, and choosing my own adventure after years of concession and so-called compromise. I suppose that’s why things ended. My 34th birthday is just around the corner and I’ve decided to declare myself a powerful woman this year. I shaved half my head, got new tattoos, and asked myself to see just how strong I can become. I’m no longer living under constant criticism from someone who never really loved me for me. Why not see what I can really do now that I’m free? This year is about loving myself enough in order to unleash a brand new femininity.

In the hardest moments of my life, travel has always saved me. Growing up in child neglect as a teen, I escaped to Southern France and the Italian countryside for two months with a backpack and just enough cash for one meal a day. I sailed and scuba dived in the Caribbean when my mother got yet another divorce. I rode a bus into Mexico rather than participate in my chaotic life at home and preferred getting Delhi Belly in India over family calls during the holidays one year. Travel is my refuge when I’m empty and in need of a refill. It’s a reminder that I’m more than capable. It’s also a catalyst for change and the confidence to seek new relationships—romantic or otherwise.

Now, here I am depending on the healing power of travel yet again. If you want my advice, travelling is some of the best breakup therapy out there. It gives you the space to face your demons and know that you can survive. It offers you the present moment on a platter. With the wind on my face, the rain dripping down my back, the sound of the motor, and the cascading beauty all around me, I’m experiencing the world and the raw truth it has to offer. This is how I’m choosing to live my life right now. Travelling on Penelope all over Ecuador. I’ve been to worse places and through stronger weather. By comparison, this storm isn’t bad.

However, my safety is in my own hands and my well-being is my responsibility alone. And so, I drive with caution and take my time, constantly wiping my helmet clean and avoiding potholes and fallen rocks. Within an hour, I make my way out of the rain and into higher altitudes where the sky’s a little more clear, but still heavy and grey. My gloves start to freeze in the cold and so I shake my hands when the road straightens out, opening and closing my fingers to keep the blood flow circulating to my frozen fingers. I’m getting close to home and I start thinking about a warm shower and some hot ginger tea with honey.

This is the end of a two-week trip. I spent time journalling, doing yoga, reading fantasy novels on the beach and baking for too long in the sun. I drove the motorcycle up and down the coast from Santa Elena to the province of Manabí. I stayed up late and jumped in the sea. I ran in the jungle, dined on seafood, and spent a lot of time with me. It was exactly what I chose to do. I gave myself the freedom to be just as I am without any expectation, assumption, or preconceived notion of what that should look like. After staying too long in a place where that didn’t exist, I’m addicted to the feeling of being myself. It feels badass. It is the sweetness of relief. I spent years craving stability and a home but realized it will always be empty if I cannot truly fill it with my soul. Now, my life is filled with wild uncertainty. It’s the adventure my heart has been craving.

My hands are warmer now and the sky is finally blue. The valleys and lakes that I’m driving past now are familiar ones and signs that my ride is almost done. I’ve almost made it home and it feels incredible to know that I did it. I drove a motorcycle from the mountains to the coast and back again. I can do anything, go anywhere, be who I am. This is the reminder that I needed to start the new year.