Everyone seems to be solo travelling. This is why I hate it.

The truth was far less dramatic: my friend wasn't arriving until the following day. Thirty long hours to kill in a strange city, alone. It was my first, tiny taste of solo travel - and I couldn't stand it.

A few years later, I tried again on Magnetic Island in Far North Queensland. After a week with friends further south, I tacked on four days of "independent exploration". It was fun in parts, but every night I grew sullen and sentimental over nothing in particular. I broke my self-imposed digital detox by calling my sister, journaling like an angsty teenager, even googling Sylvia Plath - hardly signs of a self-fulfilled adult.

Other solo trips around Australia have ended the same way: with me sad. The feeling is oddly specific, like when you were a child and the best playdate ended: suddenly lonely, restless and unsure what to do with yourself. Outside of work, I've never travelled overseas alone, and I have no desire to.

Over the past few years I've wondered why I can't seem to embrace the solo travel trend. It's not about independence - I've moved cities three times alone and made friends quickly each time. I also enjoy a beer in a pub, the fastest way to meet people on the road. But when it comes to holidays, I've realised a few things.

I don't buy the whole idea of finding your true self on a backpacking escapade. After all, I love (communal) travel and have been to some pretty remote places with ease. But while you're all eat-pray-loving for thousands of bucks in Europe, I'm achieving the same kind of self-reflection with a wine in the bath for just a couple of dollars. Finding yourself abroad seems like a good, global marketing stunt to me.

There's also the practical side. Travelling with a responsible friend or partner means neither of you has to be "on" all the time. You can split the booking, navigating and planning between you. And we have to address the single's tax: hotels don't halve their rates for one.

But the biggest reason I am anti "catch flights not feelings" on your own - and the one I just can't shake - is that travel, at its core, is communal. Solo voyages are a relatively modern phenomenon, maybe reflecting our culture's shift toward individualism. For me, the joy is in remembering trips together - laughing years later at shared mishaps or pointing out moments that only those who were there would understand. What's the point of seeing the best places on earth if you can't discuss the joy of them with people who were there?

I also think the explosion of long solo stints among millennials and Gen Z is ruining our social circles and sense of community. While I don't begrudge my friends who have taken month-long backpacking stints, it changes the way you interact with one another when one party has been out of the country, needing to think only of themselves, for half a year. Not wanting to travel with friends perhaps speaks to a broader social trend of wanting to be entirely autonomous in your decision-making, rather than having to work through other people's quirks and mutual grievances.

I don't have children, nor do I have a job that requires me to be face-to-face with people all day. I imagine either of those factors might change my outlook. I also acknowledge my hatred of solo travel is self-limiting. Now in their mid-20s to early-30s, many of my friends have partners, careers and babies that make travel hard.

My behaviour is, at times, akin to a young puppy awaiting a walk; I'll settle for mundane trips that were not previously on my radar just because someone wants to go, too. When a friend told me they, too, wanted to hike Nepal's Annapurna Circuit, I booked flights the next day.

For now, though, I'm content keeping my dislike. The best journeys, for me, are shared ones: the memories, the misadventures, the joy. I'd rather cry happy tears with friends than lonely ones in a Melbourne bar.

Are you sold on solo travel? Let us know at editor@exploretravel.com.au