I'm traveling this week to #BlogHer15 in New York City. Packing always reminds me of the combined apprehension and freedom I feel taking off on my own. Knowing there will be no one to watch your bags while you use the facilities changes your suitcase strategy.

When I was a senior in high school, I'd sometimes drive the four hours from my hometown to The University of Iowa to visit friends. The closer I got to exit 242, the more nervous I'd get. I'd be lying if I didn't admit on every solo trip I've ever taken, starting then, there's a moment I consider chucking it all and turning around.

After college at Iowa, I moved to Chicago to sublease a room from a friend in an apartment I'd never seen. I thought the slowdown in traffic coming into Chicago proper was caused by an accident. I'd only previously driven into the suburbs by myself when I moved there.

I developed a taste for airplanes after embarking on a series of solo weeklong business trips for my Chicago PR agency job to exciting locales like Cincinnati and Duluth. I starting visiting friends everywhere I could and spent all my money on United Airlines, hoarding the ticket stubs as proof to myself of my ability to deliver on promises I made. Yes, I said. I'll come visit.

The scariest of these trips took me from Omaha to Chicago to LA to Sydney in one heady, 24-hour journey. There was a monitor on the plane that showed the plane relative to land. It was comforting until we passed Hawaii and I learned how big the Pacific Ocean is.

On the day after I returned from Australia, I boarded a plane alone to head to Florida to train for my new job in Kansas City. Jetlagged, I passed out on my backpack in the airport. My new co-workers found me at our agreed-upon meeting spot. Hi! I'm Rita!

I almost missed a flight doing that on one of the legs of my SLEEP IS FOR THE WEEK book tour. I visited most of the cities by myself, hooking up with my contributors at some point. In New York I Pricelined a room in what I thought was a convenient hotel off the east Brooklyn subway. When a cabbie refused to drive me back from a trip to meet a friend at MoMA, I realized once again how naive I am even after wandering so many cities alone. That same trip I also discovered gypsy cabs and had to talk myself down the whole way from my sketchy hotel to the signing while trying to ignore the driver's lack of credentials. In the end, I made him promise to drive me back, remembering the Manhattan cabbie. That night I slept in my ground-floor room with a chair in front of the door.

It was fine.

The most annoying travel hang up happened the night before the little angel's fourth birthday party. My Friday night flight out of Boston for a business trip got cancelled, and I rerouted through St. Louis, certain I could make it. Standing outside waiting for the rental car shuttle at 3 am, I reconsidered my plan and slept four hours at the cheapest airport hotel I could find before speeding four hours home.

I still missed the party. Sometimes my emotions override my reason, especially while traveling.

Now in my forties I understand the world a little better and my iPhone means I no longer carry a compass on my keychain or beg strangers for directions. Still, preparing to get myself halfway across the country on my own brings back that mix of nerves and adrenaline.

What adventures will I have this time?