The Art of Acting for Yourself – Motorcycle Solitude
Imagine that every minute of your life is dictated solely by your free will. Every decision you make depends entirely on where you want to go and what you want to do in that moment. You set your own direction through the space around you, and your gaze never has to look further than the next few hours. Everything you're doing is deeply satisfying and absorbing—you’re completely focused, experiencing the unique freedom and responsibility that comes from acting only for yourself. No one’s calling from work, there are no urgent meetings, and if you have kids, they’re in safe hands. It’s a return to a carefree childhood—but in a completely different form. You're a conscious version of yourself, allowed to forget adult responsibilities for a while. Your mind can be a child again, where the biggest worry is where to go today or where to sleep tonight—and each moment brings a joyful freedom to simply act.
The concept above was outlined in a somewhat fairy-tale-like manner, but not without reason. Today, I’d like to take you on a journey into the world of being a child again—finding joy in each day and facing the often-unwanted feeling of solitude. The journey I’m about to present serves as an example to illustrate certain assumptions and conclusions. It is merely a backdrop I created in order to place myself within the spaces described at the beginning. I want to show you the magic of doing something purely for yourself, the power of being alone, and how the world resonates with us when we enter a state known as "flow," where everything around us aligns with our choices. Of course, I’d like to point out that all of the ideas discussed today are based on my own subjective observations, and not everyone may agree with them—which is perfectly fine. After this brief introduction to the areas we’ll be exploring today, let’s get to the heart of it.
Let’s dive in. Once again, to sunny Italy—where I experienced things that deeply changed who I was becoming.
As the years go by and we grow up, we forget about the problems we had as children — about how we saw the world and how we used to welcome each new day with unrestrained joy. The purity of our emotions wasn’t conditioned by constant judgment or the need to conform to the expectations of adult life, which demands specific attitudes from us. We change under the weight of responsibilities, and the constant pressure from our surroundings effectively distracts us from ourselves. We have to get up for work, secure money to cover the mortgage, rent, living costs, and everything we’ve built around us over the years.
This whole range of tasks is understandable and rational — but what happened to our carefree joy over the years?
Where did those moments go — the ones when we simply enjoyed being ourselves without worrying about the future? Our natural desire to be a child once in a while, even in adult life, has been drowned out by everything adulthood has brought. We no longer allow ourselves to make mistakes, to be alone, to look up at the sky without thinking about everything we still have to get done today. Adulthood has drawn a kind of barrier, taking away the space for the joy of our inner child. But isn’t it worth, from time to time, to return — even carefreely — to those childhood emotions?
Sadly, I have to admit that I never really knew how to have fun or truly rest. As a working person, I shaped most of my actions around the duties I had to fulfill. I filled my free time with my passions, but work always remained the main element that defined my entire life. For years, I didn’t see anything wrong with that — and without realizing it, I allowed other people to control my life, handing over the reins to my personal calendar in exchange for just a portion of my time and money.
It was hard for me to notice this pattern because I was mostly focused on what I wanted to do to earn a living. I felt a certain sense of control, as I rarely found myself in a job that physically or mentally drained me or robbed me of my life energy. Whenever I started to feel that way, I would quickly change my situation to one that satisfied me. Let me be clear — I have no intention of criticizing work or dedication to a career, because it was precisely that path that led me to the point where I began acting primarily for myself, and only then to please others. What I’m talking about here is the context of our actions in the world — about what is truly our priority and main goal, and what is merely a tool to help us develop our own potential for being.
During my first motorcycle trip to Italy, which I mentioned earlier, the idea came to me that I wanted to return alone to the Alps on a bike — that I wanted to feel every kilometer as the most important thing I was doing at that moment. I wanted to enter a state of flow, to look at the surrounding world as the most beautiful thing I could possibly witness — simply because I had chosen it for myself. The year 2019 marked an important shift in my life.
I began breaking free from old mental patterns that had previously led me to places where I lost respect for myself — and as a person, I fell.
It took me quite some time to get back on my feet and evaluate my mistakes — mistakes for which I took full responsibility. But most importantly, I finally decided to do something just for myself. Something that would bring me joy and a sense of inner fulfillment. I booked time off from the job I had at the time — a job I generally liked. During this short two-week period, I decided to carry out a plan I had come up with years earlier. A few months prior, I had bought a motorcycle I once dreamed of owning, and I came to the conclusion that it was the perfect moment to return to the Italian mountain roads and test my character in new circumstances. The plan was simple — ride along the Italian coastline, make a stop in Sicily, and return to Poland.
After the intense experience of a saddlebag catching fire during my previous motorcycle trip (described in detail in the previous story), I knew I had to approach things differently this time. Minimizing my luggage, I packed everything into a small backpack, which I strapped onto the passenger seat — freeing up my back entirely during the ride, which makes a huge difference in comfort on long journeys. I prepared the motorcycle properly before departure, and so, on a beautiful September afternoon in 2019, I set off — ready to confront fear, solitude, and the challenge of being alone with my own thoughts, relying solely on the sound of my inner voice.
The first few hundred kilometers naturally passed in a heightened state of alertness, as I checked how well my new backpack mounting setup was holding up. The lack of any technical issues allowed me, with every passing kilometer, to relax more and more — letting my mind shift into a completely different mode, drawing immense joy from being on the road alone and on my own terms. I won’t go into detail again about how deeply I value my connection with the road as a rider — I covered that in the previous piece. Here, I’ll focus more on my impressions and what unfolded as a result. After two days of riding, I had already passed through many roads I had traveled years earlier, which gave me a clear point of reference for how much everything had changed since then.
On the second day, I entered Italy and could finally begin carrying out my plan, as the previous countries had merely served as a fast transit. Here, I intended to pay more attention to the roads I would be taking as I headed south toward Sicily. My accommodation plan was rather unconventional — I had brought a hammock, which was supposed to be my haven of rest after many hours of riding.
That night, I was aiming to sleep near the beautiful Lake Garda. I had already crossed the Alps that day and covered several hundred kilometers, so I was feeling a pleasant fatigue and emotional relief at being exactly where I was. It was already dark, so finding a good spot close to the shore — where I could park the motorcycle, hang my hammock, and go to sleep — wasn’t exactly straightforward. After about an hour of riding along the lakeshore, I finally found a suitable place.
I must admit, it was a moment of confronting subconscious fears and emotions. When the bike was safely parked in a roadside pull-off and my hammock was strung between two trees, I was ready for my first night of wild camping.
It was hard for me to fall asleep, and once I did, every slightest sound would wake me up and put me on full alert. I subconsciously felt some invisible threat and couldn’t fully relax. Of course, I knew it was just the paranoia in my head, but it was something important I had to confront — especially since most of my nights were going to look exactly like this. In the morning, I felt amazing. The blue of the lake soothed me with its beauty, and the motorcycle waiting nearby for the next adventure sparked a fresh excitement within me.
I took a swim in the lake, packed everything properly, and set off north to cross a few Alpine passes I had always dreamed of. Now the pace was different — it was more mine. My mind had shifted into a state of rest and mental focus. I knew that each day from now on would follow this rhythm: breathtaking roads, stunning views, and all kinds of unique overnight stays.
This entire setup was the perfect backdrop for me to get to know myself better — to truly touch the edges of my psychological and physical comfort zones. I entered a deep process of creating each moment, and nothing else mattered except covering the next kilometer in a way that filled me with pure, childlike joy of simply existing. Those were my only worries and responsibilities: to ride safely and take care of the machine.
Whenever I felt like it, I would stop to take photos, drink an espresso, and eat pizza. Fulfilling these small needs felt charming. I knew that in just a moment, I’d start the engine again and ride on — not looking much at the map, but simply following the direction I had chosen to pursue.
This is how the following days went by. I had already visited Rome and Naples, ridden up Mount Vesuvius, and traveled along the entire western coast, heading south to catch a ferry to Sicily. During those few days, I was completely in my element: immersed in motorcycles, the road, fulfillment, and doing things solely for myself. Each day, I explored Italian towns and got a real feel for the calm rhythm of local life. I greeted the mornings with espresso, alongside people starting another day of their everyday reality.
I really loved that context, and I was often met with warm reactions from people who would sometimes see me waking up in a hammock on the outskirts of town, getting ready to continue my journey. When I told them I was from Poland, they expressed admiration for the distance I had traveled to be there.
I was getting to know Italy from a different perspective—one that was real, beautiful, chaotic, and majestic, but also dirty, forgotten, and neglected. After those few days, my nights in the hammock brought me the rest I longed for and gave me a fresh dose of energy each morning to ride more kilometers. The nights I spent in hotels in Rome and Naples allowed me to properly shower and do laundry, so I realized that this system was actually working quite well, considering the minimal amount of belongings I had with me.
I felt that everything happening around me was working in my favor, that I was being guided by my intuition with perfect accuracy. I reached a deeply intimate sense of being—one that went beyond the mind, beyond future plans, work, or any of the people I knew. That time flowed for me and served me so that I could bring back something more from this journey than just the roads I had traveled—a realization that would come to me in the days that followed.
After riding 3,500 kilometers, I reached Palermo in Sicily. After a week of constant riding, I needed rest and time to regain my strength before the return journey, which would take another week. After making my way along the Sicilian coast and facing the chaos that greeted me in the capital, I managed to find accommodation and safely park the motorcycle. The first thing I did after heading into the city was buy half a watermelon and, like a child, walked down the street completely covered in seeds and juice, simply enjoying this small pleasure.
In that state, I immersed myself in the city: in the narrow streets, the crowds of people, the smell of pizza, and the all-encompassing hum of Italian voices. This was it—the crowning moment of all the effort, the struggle with fear, and the wild nights spent in places where no one had ever slept before. Now I felt as though the city was welcoming me with its warm hospitality, as if every alleyway was inviting me to uncover the story it held. But I had no idea that I was just a hair’s breadth away from an event that would change the course of the coming years, elevating the transformation process I had begun earlier to a level I had never imagined.
Celebrating my first evening on the island, I sat by the sea, surrendering to the soothing sound of the waves. In that moment, nothing else mattered but what I was experiencing right then. It may seem ordinary, but the feeling brought on by a week of solo riding—where I held the reins of my life entirely on my own—ushered me into the power of the present moment, something difficult to truly grasp through theory alone.
On a nearby beach, there was a woman sitting. Everything came down to that moment—and from that moment, everything began. Over the next three years, our lives became an inseparable part of a metamorphosis of our personalities, reaching far beyond a romantic relationship. It became a catalyst for change as we discovered who we truly are—not only for each other, but for the world we are shaping. Now, looking back on that moment, I feel grateful, because I now know that the intuition I had back then was right.
It awakened in me an even greater respect and trust in my intuition. Where did Palermo even come from on my travel itinerary? Well, ever since I was a child, I’d listened to stories from my father about his time driving through Italy, and I guess this place had somehow become deeply imprinted in me. The moment I set out on this journey, I knew I had to get there—and now I understand why I was meant to.
After two days in Palermo, I set off on the journey back. I returned to the mainland and headed toward the eastern coast, traveling north over the following days. During this time, something within me shifted. Back then, I thought it was simply falling in love with the woman I had met. But now I know it was a moment of deep transformation—one in which I came to know myself and understood who I wanted to become, the direction I wanted to take, and how I wanted to fill my time. It was an internal catharsis—I felt cleansed and renewed. My mind functioned with clarity, in harmony with what I was doing and what surrounded me. And yet, through some strange twist of fate, I couldn’t fully enjoy this state of change at the time.
On the contrary—I felt a strange discomfort, because I didn’t understand at all what was happening to me. Perhaps it was because the transformation was so deep and unfamiliar that I wasn’t yet able to fully grasp it. It’s often the case that moments of personal transformation and self-discovery are filled with uncertainty and confusion. What’s important, however, is to remember that even if we don’t fully understand them when they occur, they can still lead us to new discoveries and inspiring paths in the future.
Over the following days, I experienced the beauty of the Italian coastline—the turquoise sea, the red sunsets, the full power of the motorcycle at my command, and more wild overnight stays in totally unexpected places. My final goal was to conquer one of the Alpine passes—Passo di Stelvio—which I hadn’t been able to reach at the beginning of the journey due to one of the roads being closed. This time, I chose a different route, and on my second-to-last day in Italy, I began the climb to nearly 2,800 meters, winding my way up through dozens of sharp mountain turns, slowly making my way higher.
The view of the majestic Alps from that perspective completely transported me to another world—a world of responsibility for my own existence, of inner decisiveness, and of deep awareness of how much I had to go through—or rather ride through—to find myself here, in this perfectly flawless moment of my life.
I was grateful, happy as a child, and incredibly proud that I had fulfilled yet another dream—a goal achieved in the unique context I had envisioned for this journey. After a few hours of playing on the alpine switchbacks, dusk began to fall, and I descended into a nearby town for dinner, while also searching for a hotel for my last night, as it was too cold to sleep in the hammock.
The next morning sealed everything that had happened up to that point. I found a hotel that was supposed to be 20 kilometers away and offer a beautiful view. Unfortunately, the GPS led me to the wrong town, and I spent the night navigating steep mountain roads to find my actual accommodation. After two hours of searching, I finally arrived, but I had just enough energy left to fall into bed. Yet when I went down for breakfast the next morning, I was met with a majestic view of one of the alpine ranges of South Tyrol.
At that moment, I knew I had accomplished everything that had been prepared for me during this journey. That moment was the culmination of something greater than myself—something that had been waiting for me for many years until I earned the right to finally reach for it. I was ready to say goodbye to the Alps and begin my journey back from the adventure of a lifetime—an adventure that would never have been possible without a complex chain of circumstances, mistakes made, and the deep-seated driving forces within me. Those forces, as the darker side of my character, had led me to a breaking point—the moment I hit rock bottom and said, “enough.”
After another two days of riding, I arrived in Warsaw—happy, fulfilled, and grounded in myself. There was a clear sense within me that everything was on the right track, and now I know that it truly was. Everything that unfolded in the years that followed confirmed it—every instinct I had proved right, showing me how much I still had to learn about the life surrounding me.
Over the course of two weeks, I covered 7,500 kilometers—half of that time I slept wild, in a hammock. My motorcycle, which I probably cared for more than I did myself, repaid me with a flawless, trouble-free ride.
I didn’t just travel through Italy—I embarked on a long journey inward. I paused to confront the weaknesses of my character and experienced emotions that hadn’t visited me in such a pure and genuine form for a long time. I reconnected with my inner child and created space for it to enjoy life alongside my adult self. The events that unfolded in the weeks following my return also rewarded the idea behind my journey.
Right after publishing a Facebook post about the trip, I received an invitation to give an interview for a travel radio show on Radio Kampus—the link can be found at the end of this text. I also gave a talk with a photo presentation at a travel café, at the request of a friend, and eventually did one more interview for Polish Radio 4, although I no longer have access to that recording. This entire series of events came as a pleasant surprise and served as a beautiful conclusion to the journey and everything it set in motion.
I don’t expect anyone to agree with me or to see the world the same way I do—especially when it comes to everything I’ve described above. But if you, dear reader, recognize the magic in your own life and enjoy venturing inward as well as into the unknown, I want you to know: it’s worth it. It’s worth doing things for yourself. It’s worth pursuing your dreams—but with full awareness of everything that led you to the moment when you’re finally able to do so. I’m talking about respect. Respect for your own path and for all the people who, in one way or another, helped you get here—even if the road wasn’t always easy.
I’ve opened up something deeply personal to you—something that goes far beyond just the kilometers traveled. I’ve shared a deeper way of seeing the world, one I like to follow in my life, though I don’t always speak about it openly. At this point, I want to pay tribute to everyone who’s not afraid to follow their inner voice and face the truth about themselves—those who allow life to lead them to the places where answers to their most deeply hidden questions await. Sometimes, it takes a change in the context of our existence to start seeing more than just the responsibilities imposed from above, the behavioral norms, or the demanding projects that don’t bring us joy at all.
Let’s not allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by a reality that pulls our focus away from who we truly are. Let’s have the courage to do things that unleash within us a pure, childlike energy of joy for the world—not judging it, but consciously shaping it into something that better serves us and those around us. Because it’s in doing what helps us grow that we begin to change, to think differently, and to act with greater awareness—toward ourselves and everyone who crosses our path—passing on a kind of magic that can’t easily be measured, but is always worth feeling.
The moment when you find yourself alone—when the noise around you fades, and your attention turns inward. You begin to feel uneasy, uncomfortable without the usual stimuli that keep you occupied. A faint fear arises—that nothing is happening, that no one is writing to you, that there’s nothing to do. But that’s not fear—it’s the taste of solitude. A taste worth experiencing to better understand the full spectrum of your own personality.
-Link to the broadcast: Spotify - Kręte ścieżki
