A Solo Journey Through Southern Utah
There’s something sacred about the open road. The moment I left the noise and neon of Las Vegas behind and set out toward the red cliffs and wide skies of southern Utah, I could feel something shift inside me. I rolled down the windows, turned up my music, and let the landscape begin to work its quiet magic. This was more than a vacation. This was a long-awaited solo pilgrimage—my first ever—and a celebration of self.
I landed in the tiny town of Hatch, Utah just as the sun dipped below the horizon. My cozy Airbnb, with its lofted bedroom and skylights to the stars, greeted me like an old friend. After days of dining out, cooking my own simple dinner and making tea in a real kitchen felt like a return to myself. It was already everything I had hoped for: peaceful, grounded, real.
A Journey of Independence and Inner Strength
For years, I’ve wanted to explore the beauty of Southern Utah; it’s been a dream quietly tucked away in the corners of my heart for a very long while. But life has a way of taking the wheel—raising kids, tending relationships, handling responsibilities—and before you know it, years pass in a blur. Time slips by like sand in an hourglass, and dreams, even the most meaningful ones, can start to feel distant or impractical.
This trip was my way of saying, “I’m here. I’m whole. I can do this.”
Was I nervous about traveling solo through the desolate beauty of Utah? Heck yes, I was. (Maybe not quite as nervous as my mom and daughter were for me, but close!) I had all the usual doubts: What if something goes wrong? What if I get lost? What if I’m not strong enough, brave enough, prepared enough? But here’s the thing about fear—it’s loud, persistent, and often a liar. Most of what we fear never actually happens. We waste so much energy imagining worst-case scenarios that never come to pass.
What if, instead, we imagined what could go right?
I needed the desert’s silence, the space between canyons, the echo of my own footsteps to remind me who I’ve become. The past seven years have been a slow, grueling climb—one marked by grief, growth, and the quiet work of healing. For a long time, I waited. Waited for life to settle, for a sign, for the next “right” thing to magically appear. But this journey reminded me that the shift doesn’t always come with clarity—it comes with movement. Forward motion often begins when you simply decide to begin.
So I began.
Riding, Hiking, and Rediscovering Joy
From horseback riding along Zion National Park’s white mountains to UTVs and hiking crimson slot canyons to sipping coffee in unexpected places, each day unfolded with both adventure and an opportunity for reflection. I immersed myself fully, talking to fellow travelers, listening to the wisdom of guides, and most of all, listening to myself.
One of the most profound moments of the journey came courtesy of the Zion Ponderosa shuttle, which dropped me at the trailhead for a 7-mile solo hike to Observation Point—perched some 700 feet above the iconic Angel’s Landing. The trail challenged me physically, but it also invited deep inner stillness. Alone on that path, with a carefully curated playlist in my ears and breathtaking beauty all around me, I began to reflect on the woman I was seven years ago, and the woman I’ve become.
I’ve weathered heartbreak and loss, navigated hard transitions, and survived seasons of doubt and loneliness. But I’ve also discovered reservoirs of strength I didn’t know I had. I thought about the people who’ve stood beside me—some for decades, some who arrived more recently like quiet miracles. I thought about love—both the kind I’ve known and the kind I’m learning is possible, even now, especially now.
What struck me most wasn’t just how far I’d hiked, but how far I’ve healed. Every obstacle I once thought insurmountable had, in its own way, shaped the blessings I now hold so dearly. The trials didn’t destroy me—they refined me. They taught me how to appreciate joy when it comes, how to be present, how to trust that even when life pulls the rug out from under me, the floor beneath it might be sturdier than I think.
By the time I reached the summit, I was in tears—not from exhaustion, but from gratitude and pride. Gratitude for the journey, for my body, for the gift of another sunrise. Gratitude for the heartbreaks that cracked me open and the unexpected joys that flooded in through the cracks. Gratitude for new love that’s blossoming and growing every day. Gratitude for the reminder that no challenge is permanent, and no mountain—literal or metaphorical—is too steep when climbed step by step.
Gratitude is so powerful. It doesn’t just soften the hard edges of life—it transforms them. It invites in peace. It attracts abundance. It opens your heart to possibilities you may have once thought had passed you by, including love—yes, even in midlife. Especially in midlife, when we finally know who we are and what we deserve.
So if you’re staring down your own steep climb right now, let this be your reminder: every challenge holds an opportunity. Every detour holds a hidden gift. And every single one of us is capable of starting again, of rising, of rediscovering joy and love when we least expect it.
A Different Point of View
It struck me on the hike back: when you look back over where you've been, the view changes. You see things more clearly, more deeply. The same ground, the same trail, but a different perspective. That metaphor followed me through the rest of my trip—through the orange spires of Bryce Canyon National Park, the quiet ripple of a waterfall on the Mossy Cave Trail, the dizzying drop-offs of The Hogsback on Scenic Byway 12. Everywhere I turned, I found proof that life is best understood in hindsight, but best lived moving forward.
If we don’t stop and look back every once in a while, how are we to learn from where we’ve been? That rear-view reflection is important, but I don’t allow myself to stay there for long. As my mom often reminds me, “That’s not where you’re going!” Look back to learn. Be grateful for how far you’ve come. Look ahead and move forward.
The Power of Solo Travel in Midlife
While I did share parts of this journey virtually with someone I care for deeply who has encouraged and supported me throughout, I also reveled in the fact that I was physically doing this on my own. This wasn’t about checking locations off a list. It was about reconnecting with myself, tuning in to what matters most, and finding deep contentment in my own company. I returned each evening with tired legs and a full heart, more empowered than ever.
There’s something uniquely transformative about solo travel in midlife—especially when you’re newly navigating life as an empty nester. After years of pouring so much of yourself into raising children, building relationships, managing careers, and meeting expectations, there comes a quiet but undeniable shift. The house is quieter. The calendar is emptier. And the question becomes: Who am I now?
Traveling alone gave me space to listen to that question without distraction or obligation. It reminded me that I’m not just a mother, partner, or professional—I’m a whole, dynamic woman who still has evolving desires, dreams, and curiosities. It’s easy to lose touch with yourself in the noise of life. Midlife, with all its unexpected gifts and growing pains, offers a rare opportunity to come home to yourself. To rediscover what lights you up, what soothes your soul, and what kind of life you want to live next.
Yes, I was nervous about traveling alone, let alone hiking in the wilderness by myself! But I learned to trust myself deeply. I listened to my instincts. If something felt safe, I went with it. If it didn’t, I turned back. (I’m only 5’2”, but my attitude is 6’4”. Still, let’s be honest—I’m no match for the physical strength of a man in the woods, and I’m not trying to prove otherwise.)
What I was proving was this: that I am capable. That I can enjoy my own company. That I can make decisions for myself without second-guessing. That I can feel joy, peace, and strength, not in spite of being alone, but because of it.
Coming Home to Myself
Driving Scenic Byway 12 on my final full day, sunroof open, windows rolled down, and music playing, I felt like I was dancing with the landscape. The road twisted and curved like a living thing, winding through canyons, climbing plateaus, dipping into valleys—and with every mile, I felt more in sync with myself. The rhythm of the drive echoed the rhythm of my life: unpredictable, imperfect, but full of breathtaking moments if you pay close enough attention.
It wasn’t just a road—it was a mirror. A metaphor for the journey I’ve taken over the past several years. There were sharp turns I hadn’t seen coming. Detours I didn’t choose. Long, quiet stretches where I wondered if I was lost. But now, on this trip, I had the clarity to look around and finally take in the beauty I had once been too busy, too hurt, or too scared to see. This time, I wasn’t white knuckling the wheel. The sun was pouring in on me, and I was smiling and singing, extremely grateful to be exactly where I was.
That day felt like a culmination. A celebration. A quiet victory.
I had hours alone on that drive to reflect. To have honest conversations with myself about where I’ve been and where I want to go next. I thought about the woman who once doubted she could do this—who thought solo travel was meant for someone stronger, braver, or more skilled. And I realized that woman is me, now. She always was.
There’s something incredibly empowering about making space for your thoughts without interruption. Listening to your voice, uninterrupted by noise, obligation, or expectation. Out there, with nothing but the sound of tires on pavement and a horizon that stretched for miles, I felt more grounded, clearer, and more excited about the road ahead, whatever twists it may bring.
I came to Utah thinking I was seeking solitude or scenery or maybe just a change of pace. But what I really found was a deeper connection to myself. I found proof that I am capable of creating joy, building peace, and moving forward on my own terms. I found evidence that the work I’ve done—the healing, the rebuilding, the learning—has brought me somewhere beautiful. Somewhere free.
As I return to the familiar rhythm of daily life, I do so with an open heart. I carry with me the lessons from the rocks, the rivers, the red cliffs, and the winding road: that I am strong. I am whole. I am capable of navigating whatever lies ahead.
And most of all—I’m just getting started.
Ready to rediscover yourself?
Whether you’re navigating a new chapter in midlife or simply craving space to breathe, let the red rocks of Utah call you back to yourself. Take the trip. Find the trail. You might just find you out there.
Here’s all the info you need about where I hiked, stayed, and local businesses I visited!
Hikes completed on this trip:
Zion National Park - Observation Point
Bryce Canyon National Park:
Rim Trail from Bryce Point to Inspiration Point to Navajo Trail to Queens Garden and up to Sunrise Point. (Take the shuttle into the park to Bryce Point and hike all the way to Sunrise Point).
Mossy Cave Trail - Waterfalls and caves! Short, easy hike. Do it!
Where I stayed:
Local Businesses I recommend:
Orderville, Utah:
Lunch/coffee: The Shop Coffee Co. - The Shop Coffee Company
Cute little stop with outdoor seating, gifts shop, and excellent coffee and sandwiches
East Zion Adventures: Explore Zion National Park With Expert Tours | East Zion
The guides were so helpful and kind! Highly recommend!
The Rock Stop: Rock Stop shop Orderville
Espresso Chocolate Shake (Mic drop! Yes I had it at 2 pm and no I did not sleep that night, but it was worth it!)
Bryce City, Utah:
Dark Ranger Telescope Tours: Dark Ranger Telescope Tours - home
Dress warm and be prepared to be there for a while! If you’re into all things dark sky, you’ll dig it!
Escalante, Utah:
Had a black truffle burger with arugula, smoked gouda and grilled onions - out of this world! She was really sweet too!
