a postcard from ithaca
notes on a short solo excursion and enduring discomfort
It was an ordinary Saturday morning in late August when I decided to book a solo overnight trip to Ithaca. I was about halfway through my morning pages, lamenting about how profoundly boring my life felt and how I might remedy that. I didn’t realize it then, but this had been a recurring complaint of mine for years.
I don’t know what it was about that particular morning, but something clicked for me—I realized that it was entirely within my power to change that narrative by simply doing something.
As soon as I finished my pages, I went onto my laptop, chose a date in early October, and booked a single night at a hotel in Ithaca without a second thought. Did I have any semblance of a plan? Absolutely not. That, I decided, was something for future me to figure out.
When that October day finally rolled around, autumn foliage was nearly at its peak. I figured this would be a great time to explore the gorges in the area and spend some time with myself out in nature. The last time I went on a solo excursion like this must’ve been sometime in 2018, and I’d forgotten how liberating it feels. I have no one to answer to, I don’t spend my entire time worrying about whether everyone around me is having a good time, and I can follow my whims at will.
The day before my departure, I decided I’d stop at Watkins Glen and explore. Having grown up in the Finger Lakes, I’d been there many times before, but rarely have I gone during the autumn months. The gorge is incredible and the waterfalls are abundant on the first mile of the trail. It’s after the one mile point that a lot of visitors turn around, having already seen all the waterfalls and experienced the more dramatic scenery.
It’s a shame, too, because although the landscape transforms into something a bit more understated, it’s still beautiful in its own way. The trail quiets, the foliage becomes more lush, the sound of the waterfalls fades and left in its wake is the soft murmur of the stream that flows through the gorge. It’s my favorite part of the hike, especially during autumn.
Hours later, I’d find myself holed up in my hotel room, cocooned in the blindingly white bedding, my face wet with tears. I was alone, overwhelmed, and frustrated that I couldn’t seem to sleep. It wasn’t that I was unhappy or that I was having a bad time—all in all, it was a great day. It was more that the discomfort of being on my own outside the confines of my safe and comfortable bubble had hit me all at once.
For a moment, I was ashamed of myself for feeling that way. I mean, I once up and moved across the country simply because I felt like it. There was a version of me who had absolutely no qualms about disappearing into the woods alone for days at a time. Yet, I was this rattled by half a day on my own away from home? Had the years transformed me into the type of person I swore I’d never become?
I was in the midst of self-pity when a long-forgotten memory emerged from some dark, dusty corner of my mind: me, the day I left everything I knew behind to move to Oregon, sobbing in a hotel bathroom in Indiana. Being nearly nine years removed from that day, it was easy to forget how terrified I was during that transition; that amidst the excitement and wonder of it all was an undertone of discomfort and uncertainty.
It was in that moment of reminiscence that it occurred to me that there’s nothing wrong with doing something scared. There’s nothing wrong with crying when I’m facing something unfamiliar or uncomfortable. What matters is that I have the courage to do those things despite the fear and the unease.
I woke the next morning feeling much lighter.
The only thing on my agenda for the day was a visit to Robert H. Treman State Park—a park I’ve only ever visited as a small child and have very little memory of.
This place was absolutely incredible. It was as if I’d been transported into a fantasy setting. Shortly into the hike, the gorge opened up into what felt like a canyon and the sheer immensity of it left me awestruck. The rock formations towered above and the rumble of a waterfall echoed off the walls of the gorge.
I sat by the waterfall for a half hour or so, appreciating the beauty of the surrounding landscape. There were a couple of other people nearby, one simply enjoying the view, another drawing the waterfall in her small sketchbook.
Later, I made my way over to Taughannock Falls, an old favorite of mine. The gorge trail is short but beautiful nonetheless. The sun had begun to lower, painting the trees along the rim of the gorge a vibrant orange. One of my favorite things about returning to these nearby marvels is witnessing people experience them for the first time. The wonder and awe is almost palpable. It reminds me how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful place.
I returned home renewed. Although short, this trip was everything I needed it to be—a temporary escape from the monotony of everyday life and an opportunity to spend some time with myself.
Pit Stops:
Autumn Leaves Used Books: A charming used bookstore on the commons. They have a wide assortment of both new and used books, and also have vinyl records for sale downstairs.
Thompson and Bleecker: A small Italian restaurant offering Neapolitan style pizza and other delicious fare. I had the Margherita and it was delicious.
Hound and Mare: A cute, quiet café known for its breakfast sandwiches. They also had a variety of baked goods. I had my regular go-to: egg and cheese on an everything bagel.
Odyssey Bookstore: A cozy independent bookstore with a small but impressive selection of books.