Fearless after 50

How to Overcome Travel Fears and Rediscover Adventure

A woman stands fearlessly on a rocky outcrop, overlooking a breathtaking misty valley and mountains, embracing adventure and exploration in her travels after 50.

The “What If” Trap

Fear and doubt have a funny way of sneaking up on us when we least expect them—especially in unfamiliar situations. For me, one of the most memorable moments of panic occurred on a business trip to Brussels. Despite having traveled to Europe before, this was my first solo experience with customs and immigration. And let me tell you, it didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped.

As I approached the queue for non-EU passport holders, I could feel my palms growing clammy, and a full-blown migration of butterflies took over my stomach. I was suddenly drowning in “What ifs.” What if something was wrong with my passport? What if they thought I was someone else—maybe a diamond smuggler? Did I need a visa? I was fairly certain I didn’t, but had I checked? Nope. My mind spiraled, imagining the worst-case scenario: being detained, interrogated, and disappearing into a bureaucratic black hole of paperwork, security officers, and signs I couldn’t read.

Just as I was about to be overtaken by anxiety, a voice inside me cut through the panic with some tough love: Get a grip! You think you’re going to move to China next year and start a whole new life, but you can’t even handle customs in Belgium?

Spoiler alert: I made it through unscathed and completely grounded. 

That moment taught me something crucial: fear will always try to creep in when we face the unknown, but it doesn’t have to stop us.

The Safety Concern: I Want a Passport Stamp, Not a Panic Attack

Travel often presents moments of excitement, but it can also bring unexpected challenges—like the time I almost starred in a real-life travel scam prevention video in Beijing.

It was a cold, frigid January afternoon during Lunar New Year, and my travel companions and I had just finished visiting the Summer Palace. As the sun dipped, we realized we were completely unprepared for the next part of the journey: we had no idea where the bus stop was, no taxis in sight, and no clear plan for getting back to our hotel. In short, we were lost.

Then, as if out of nowhere, a taxi driver appeared, waving us over. With no other cabs around, we approached him, and he assured us that he could give us a ride. “Sure, sure, no problem,” he said, ushering us into the car. I slid into the front seat, my friends climbed into the back, and just as the doors slammed shut, two things happened in rapid succession:

• First, the driver yanked the taxi sign off the roof and stuffed it into the center console.

• Second, a woman appeared out of nowhere and hopped into the back seat with my friends.

At that moment, something inside me went on high alert. My internal “this-is-a-scam” alarm was blaring. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I knew something was off. The driver muttered that the woman was his “friend” and that we’d be dropping her off “somewhere on the way.” I’d heard enough about scams like this before: at best, they’d overcharge us for the extra passenger; at worst, they’d take us far from our destination and demand more money to let us out.

I looked at my friends, and without missing a beat, said, “We need to get out. Now!”

Seatbelts flew open, doors unlatched, and we scrambled out of the car. As we stood on the curb, the cab sped off—and would you believe it? The official taxi stand was just up ahead.

Passport stamp secured. Panic attack? Dodged—this time.

What I’ve learned from this experience is simple: the more you travel, the sharper your instincts get. Being fearless doesn’t mean taking every ride; it means knowing when to trust your gut and when to get the heck out of the car.

The Solo Travel Worry: Who Saves Your Seat When You’re on Your Own?

Have you ever done the awkward bathroom shuffle—trying to squeeze yourself and an overstuffed daypack into a tiny stall because you didn’t dare leave it unattended? Solo travel comes with all sorts of logistical challenges, from keeping an eye on your belongings to navigating restaurant seating politics as a party of one. And while traveling alone can be empowering, it can also feel like an ongoing battle to prove you belong—especially as a woman over 50.

Take dining out, for example. In Krakow once, I arrived at a quiet restaurant near my hotel, eager for a good meal. The hostess greeted me with a thin smile, barely disguising her disapproval when I asked for a table for one. She motioned toward a dimly lit corner, far from the other diners. When I politely requested a better table, her expression hardened, but I stood my ground. “No, thank you,” I said, pointing to a booth in the center of the room. She sighed, I smiled, and I took my seat.

I wasn’t about to be hidden away just because I was dining solo. After all, I’d already been flat-out turned away in Vienna for requesting a table for one—yes, that actually happens in some places. Solo dining isn’t always welcomed, but sometimes, you just have to claim your space.

But then, there are moments when solo dining brings unexpected joys.

Case in point: An afternoon in Paris at the famous Chat Noir Café in Montmartre. I found myself staring down at a hamburger that looked like it belonged in a competitive eating contest when two older ladies at the table next to me leaned over, intrigued. “How is it?” That simple question led to an hour-long conversation. They were a mother and daughter from the Netherlands, visiting Paris just like I was. The mother had been a teacher, just like me. We swapped stories about our travels, our families, and even the difference in chocolates from country to country (a topic that, in my opinion, deserves far more global discussion).

And then, the real test of trust—one every solo traveler faces at some point. I needed to use the restroom, but my fully loaded daypack sat beside me. Did I haul it awkwardly through the restaurant, or trust these two kind women to watch it? I decided to take the chance. “Would you mind keeping an eye on my bag?” I asked. Without hesitation, they nodded, and off I went—no contortions required.

This is the thing about solo travel: yes, it forces you to be self-reliant. But it also teaches you when to trust your instincts and, sometimes, the kindness of strangers. It reminds you that even when you set out alone, you don’t always have to go it alone.

And while moments like these are wonderful, they don’t always happen. That’s where a small-group tour can make all the difference—someone to save your seat, watch your bags, or share a meal with. A built-in sense of community and support without sacrificing the adventure. Because being fearless after 50 doesn’t mean doing everything solo—it means knowing when to embrace the journey and the company along the way.

The Confidence Factor: What If I Look Like a Total Tourist?

No matter how much I travel, there’s always a small part of me that worries about standing out too much. What if I fumble with the language? What if I get completely lost? What if I make some cultural faux pas that screams, foreigner!?

Of course, those thoughts usually don’t stop me from traveling. But sometimes, reality tests those fears. Like the time I left Slovakia at 4:30 a.m. to catch a flight to Paris. My journey was long, starting with a commuter train to Vrútky, then a transfer to an intercity train to Bratislava, and finally, my flight from Vienna. I had planned everything carefully and felt confident in my timing—until things didn’t go as planned.

As the train approached a stop, I heard the Slovak announcement: something-something Vrútky. I glanced at my watch—wasn’t this stop a little early? But I shrugged it off, assuming the train was running ahead of schedule (which, if you know Slovakia’s train system, is a rare event). Without hesitation, I stepped off.

The platform was dark and nearly deserted. A handful of workers exited with me, their heavy boots crunching on the gravel. Then I spotted the station mistress—and the startled look on her face.

The train doors slid shut behind me. It was only then that I realized: this wasn’t the main Vrútky station. I had gotten off at a tiny factory stop on the outskirts of town.

My confidence evaporated in an instant.

I turned to the station mistress and asked, “Is this the train for Žilina?” She pointed at the train I had just stepped off of—now pulling out of the station. My heart sank.

I reached for my phone, my fingers fumbling to pull up Google Maps. Where the heck am I? How far was the main station? Could I walk there? Was there another train coming soon?

The station mistress, sensing my confusion, motioned for me to follow her inside the small office. She picked up the phone and spoke rapidly in Slovak. I only caught one word: anglický. English. That was me.

The man at the desk chuckled and said something that included “taxi.” Ah. I needed to take a taxi to the main station. Great. Another layer of complication added to my already long journey.

Just as I was bracing myself for the hassle of arranging a ride, the station mistress disappeared into a back room. When she reemerged, she didn’t hand me a taxi number. Instead, she motioned for me to follow her—out of the office, past the platform, and into the parking lot.

She walked straight to her car. I stood frozen for a second, confused. Was she really about to drive me to the main station? She gestured again. Get in. So I did.

The short drive to the main station passed mostly in silence, but I didn’t need words to understand the generosity of what she was doing. When we pulled up, I turned to her and said the only Slovak phrase I could muster: Dakujem. Dakujem. Dakujem. (Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

She nodded, smiled, and waved me off toward my next train—one that, despite my unexpected detour, I was still in time to catch.

Later, when I told my Slovak colleagues about what happened, they were shocked. “That doesn’t happen often,” they told me. Acts of kindness like that—especially toward an obvious foreigner—weren’t something to be expected.

And yet, there I was, back on my journey because a stranger had chosen to help.

I had felt like a clueless tourist, but instead, I found something else: proof that travel mishaps don’t have to be disasters. They can be reminders that, even when you make mistakes, you’ll find your way—and sometimes, a stranger will step in to help.

Travel confidence doesn’t mean you never mess up. It means knowing that, when you do, you can figure it out. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll walk away with a story you’ll never forget.

The Adventure Question: Am I Too Old for This?

At what point—if ever—does adventure have an expiration date? It’s a question that lingers for many travelers as they get older. There’s often hesitation: Will I have the stamina? Will I still enjoy it the same way? Will I be the oldest person in the group? But adventure isn’t just for the young—it simply evolves with time.

When I think back to my first adventures as a teenager, I remember the thrill of unpredictability. At 18, adventure meant stuffing a backpack with the bare essentials, grabbing a rail pass, and setting off with two friends to explore the UK and Ireland. With no internet, we relied on paper maps, guidebooks, and the kindness of strangers. We stayed in hostels, ate whatever was cheapest, and made plans on the fly. The thrill came from the unpredictability, the challenge of figuring things out, and the sense of absolute freedom.

Fast forward to a more recent trip to Italy, where my approach to adventure looked a bit different, yet the spirit of curiosity was still very much alive. I wasn’t rushing to check off every landmark; instead, I chose to slow down, visiting a few carefully selected spots like Lake Como, Rome, and Naples. The journey culminated with six blissful days sailing the Amalfi Coast, where time seemed to stand still.

So, what changed over the years? It’s not that my love for adventure disappeared—far from it. What shifted was my perspective. In my teens, it was all about movement, about ticking off as many places as possible. But now, adventure is more about savoring the moments, about being fully present in each place and connection.

Adventure, I’ve come to realize, doesn’t have a shelf life. It’s not bound by age; it’s shaped by how we choose to approach it. Whether it’s hiking to Machu Picchu, trying something new on a solo trip, or stepping outside our comfort zones in ways we haven’t before, the adventure remains available at every stage of life.

Small-group travel, in particular, strikes a wonderful balance. It provides the perfect blend of excitement and support, where like-minded people can share experiences and still enjoy the freedom to explore independently. You don’t have to “rough it” to find adventure. Sometimes, it’s as simple as savoring new foods, learning local customs, or having meaningful conversations with strangers in a new place.

So, am I too old for this? The answer is clear: not even close. The essence of adventure isn’t tied to age—it's about how we choose to experience the world, no matter where we are in life.

The Final Encouragement: Your Best Fearless After 50 Adventures Are Still Ahead

Fear and hesitation are natural before any new journey. What if something goes wrong? What if I’m not ready? What if I’m too old for this? These doubts creep in, especially when we step outside our comfort zones. But here’s what I’ve learned: adventure isn’t about being fearless—it’s about being open.

Looking back, I realize that my own journey toward embracing adventure wasn’t always as confident as it might seem now. In my younger years, I often relied on the presence of others to bolster my courage—whether it was backpacking through the UK with friends or joining small-group adventures that pushed me beyond my comfort zone. A five-day horseback ride through the Eastern Sierras, following a mustang herd, and a week sailing through California’s Channel Islands on a 130-foot three-mast schooner were some of my first solo sign-ups. But even in those experiences, I wasn’t truly alone—I had the structure of a small group, the camaraderie of fellow adventurers, and the reassurance that I didn’t have to figure it all out by myself.

Those experiences were stepping stones, laying the foundation for the more significant leaps I would later take. They gave me the confidence to tackle solo cross-country road trips, navigate immigration and customs alone on that business trip to Brussels, and even move abroad to become a teacher in my 40s. I still smile when I think back to that moment—the sweaty palms, the "What if they think I’m a diamond smuggler?" panic. But when I stepped forward and handed over my passport, I realized something crucial: I could do this.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from those moments, it’s this: You don’t have to have it all figured out before you take that first step. Whether it’s joining a small-group tour, booking that flight, or simply trusting that you’ll find your way, the most important thing is to start.

Every journey begins with that initial decision to go.

Now, as I step into a new adventure—starting my own travel company—I carry those early experiences with me. The camaraderie and connection I’ve always valued in travel are more important than ever, and I know just how transformative they can be.

So, if you’re wondering whether your best adventures are behind you, let me reassure you: they’re not. The most unforgettable moments, the connections, the discoveries—they’re still ahead. All you have to do is take that first step.