The Calculations Women Make

A Story from the Wandering & Wooing Series

Written by Joni Roberts

Traveler, storyteller, and public health advocate

One of the greatest privileges in the world is moving through it without constantly calculating risk.

It's such an ordinary privilege that many people don't even realize they have it.

Until someone points it out.

Or until you spend enough time traveling that the calculations become impossible to ignore.

I travel alone.

A lot.

When people hear that, they usually ask the same questions.

"Aren't you scared?"

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"What if something happens?"

The funny thing is...

Those questions almost always come after I've already done the math.

Women become experts at risk assessment long before we realize we're doing it.

Who is walking behind me?

Should I cross the street?

Do I smile?

Or does smiling invite conversation?

Should I ignore him?

Or will ignoring him make him angry?

Do I tell him I'm married?

Do I tell him I have a boyfriend?

Do I say I'm meeting someone?

Do I mention my hotel?

Absolutely not.

Do I give him my number?

No.

Do I make eye contact?

How do I leave this conversation without making him feel rejected?

Most of those decisions happen in seconds.

Sometimes in milliseconds.

They're so automatic that they don't even feel like decisions anymore.

They're instincts.

I remember talking with a man once who genuinely couldn't understand why women think this way.

He said,

"But I'm just talking."

I believed him.

He probably was.

The problem wasn't him.

The problem was that I had no way of knowing whether he was him...

Or someone else.

Every woman knows that most men won't hurt her.

The problem is that we don't know which ones will.

So we calculate.

Constantly.

Travel doesn't create those calculations.

It magnifies them.

Because suddenly you're making decisions in places where you don't know the rules.

You don't know which neighborhoods feel safe after dark.

You don't know whether persistence is normal.

You don't know whether someone is flirting, joking, or testing your boundaries.

You don't know who to ask.

You don't know what everyone else already knows.

So you pay attention.

One of the things I've noticed while traveling through Africa is how differently men and women often experience the exact same interaction.

A man compliments me.

He thinks he's being kind.

Maybe he is.

I immediately begin calculating.

How close is he standing?

Is anyone else around?

Does he seem intoxicated?

Can I leave easily?

If I say no, will he laugh?

Will he insist?

Will he follow me?

Most of the time, the conversation ends perfectly fine.

Sometimes it even becomes genuinely funny.

Like Wycliffe and his poetic declaration that my neck must be tired from carrying the weight of all the men pursuing me.

I still laugh thinking about that one.

But before I laughed...

I assessed.

Because that's what women do.

I don't think enough men realize how exhausting that can be.

Not because they're bad men.

Because they rarely have to do it themselves.

When was the last time a man planned his route home because a woman smiled at him?

When was the last time he pretended to be on the phone so someone would leave him alone?

When was the last time he debated whether accepting a compliment might be interpreted as accepting an invitation?

These are ordinary calculations for many women.

So ordinary that we've stopped calling them work.

I think about one conversation I had with a man who insisted women needed men more than men needed women.

He couldn't imagine a world where women were content without male companionship.

I laughed.

Not because companionship isn't beautiful.

It is.

But because he underestimated women in a way I'd encountered before.

He assumed dependence where I saw adaptability.

He assumed women were waiting to be chosen.

I knew countless women who had already chosen themselves.

Women build careers.

Communities.

Friendships.

Families.

Joy.

Entire lives.

Some with partners.

Some without.

The point isn't that women don't want love.

Many of us do.

The point is that wanting partnership isn't the same thing as needing rescue.

Solo travel has taught me something unexpected.

Freedom isn't the absence of fear.

It's the willingness to keep moving despite it.

Every country I visit asks me to trust my instincts while remaining open to strangers.

That's a delicate balance.

Become too trusting, and you ignore legitimate warning signs.

Become too fearful, and you miss the generosity that makes travel so transformative.

I've met extraordinary people because I said yes to conversations.

I've also walked away from conversations because something didn't feel right.

Both decisions have served me well.

Perhaps that's why I resist simple narratives.

"Men are dangerous."

No.

Most of the men I've met have been kind.

"Women overreact."

Also no.

Most women have learned these calculations through experience.

Life is rarely that binary.

Public health teaches us that risk isn't simply about probability.

It's about perception.

Two people can encounter the same situation and assess the risk completely differently.

Both assessments are shaped by lived experience.

Neither exists in a vacuum.

I think that's true of travel too.

The way we move through the world isn't only determined by where we are.

It's shaped by who we've had to become to survive it.

One of the greatest gifts traveling has given me isn't fearlessness.

It's discernment.

I've learned to trust my instincts without assuming my instincts are infallible.

I've learned to be curious without becoming naïve.

I've learned that boundaries and kindness can coexist.

I can smile.

I can laugh.

I can enjoy the conversation.

And I can still walk away.

Those things are not contradictions.

They're wisdom.

At least, the kind that wandering has been teaching me.

What I'm Still Wandering...

How much invisible labor do women carry simply by moving through the world?

What would change if more men understood the calculations women make every day?

How do we prepare young women to trust their instincts without teaching them to fear everyone?

Can we teach young men that respect isn't just about intention, but about understanding how their actions may be experienced?

And perhaps the question I keep coming back to...

What would the world feel like if women could move through it without constantly calculating risk?

I don't know.

But I hope it's a world we're all trying to build.

I'm still collecting data.

And I'm still wandering.