It's June 16, 2015. An estimated two months until I was officially a Tufts freshman and thrust head first into the jungle that is college. A day before I departed alone for a six week adventure in Europe. And yet, I was more concerned with what was to come within the next few months than the next 24 hours. Was I ready for college? My mind was filled with worry, drowning me in an endless flood of questions: Would I make friends? Would my roommate like me? Would my professors like me? And how in the world was I going to do my own laundry? Make my own food? I was a complete wreck. Coming from a small private school in an even smaller state (Delaware) it had taken me a few years to click with people and establish a steady friend group. And suddenly it was slowly dawning upon me that everything was coming to a close, and what was once a daily routine would become a distant memory: walking to class with all my friends. Sitting at the round table in the college counseling office giggling and gossiping with Mrs. Ogden from next door. Making faces at friends in classroom settings from the hall in an attempt to get them to laugh. Narrowly dodging our Spanish teacher's quick turning head to see who dared disrupt her class. Prom ask preparations. Pre-prom-ask jitters. Two hours of sports practice running the hills of Rockford park with the track team. Midnight drives through the empty roads of Greenville, Delaware, the music dial turned all the way to the right as we sang at the top of our lungs to whatever song was currently being overplayed on the radio. These were the things I lived for. The nights I'd remember. And I couldn't imagine anything ever being any different.
Fast forward a few hours and I suddenly found myself in Waterloo, Belgium, surrounded by family I had never met and in a foreign country where I didn't speak a word of the native tongue. My father had not talked to his Belgian family in over thirty years, so when he and my aunt finally reconnected through email, it had been decided that I would pack up my things and go live with them for a month in a half just as my aunt had done (although in the opposite direction, traveling from Belgium to America) when she was eighteen. Suddenly I realized that I had been fretting so much about college that I had neglected to see the opportunity presenting itself to me in this moment. Here I was, months before my arrival at Tufts, experiencing the very things I had been so scared to face in the months to come. Here I was, realizing how useless my endless fret and panic had been. I had to swallow my fears and make the best of my situation. I was here, I had to act now. I had to live in the now. And I couldn't let petty worries stop me from enjoying what was going to be one of the best summers of my life.
Fast forward to August 3, 2015. My six weeks are up: I have wandered through the winding streets of Brussels, roamed the narrow alleyways of Paris, and navigated the quiet waterways of Amsterdam. And yet... Suddenly I find myself back at my home in Wilmington, Delaware, surrounded by my family. About to go meet my friends. Hopping into my car to go meet people and experience the open road. Enjoy the fresh air. And yet I am a different person. I have become a different person. These questions that once consumed me now barely cross my mind - they are an anomaly that I push to the back of my head and laugh at. What was I so worried about? Why did I fret so? My six weeks abroad had taught me to think differently. They had answered my many questions and shaped me into a new person ready to face the challenges and joys that came with starting college. I no longer dreaded my arrival to campus - I LONGED for it. The end of August could not come sooner.
If I had to sum up the lessons I will take with me to college from my six weeks abroad, they would have to be these:
- Accept that there will be good days and that there will be bad days. Sometimes you're really going to miss home. Like, REALLY miss it. Maybe for some of you this doesn't come as a shock, but as someone who has spent a lot of their life saying they can't wait to get out of the house and into the world, I was shocked. I missed my family way more than I ever could have imagined. I missed my friends. But at the same time, I couldn't imagine not being where I was in that moment. Surrounded by strangers who eventually turned into friends, people who I never thought I would have encountered in a million years. People who, although I will probably never meet again, am forever grateful to have even met.
- Be spontaneous. Be random. Live in the now. College is all about new experiences, and it's really what you make of it. If you choose to reside in your room all day behind the comfort of a laptop screen and a Netflix account, just know what you're missing out on. I had my moments in Europe where I wanted nothing more than to hide away in my makeshift bedroom and surround myself with English television shows and chat with my friends residing far away in the states. Catch up on their gossip. Imagine myself there. I wasn't thinking about the limited time I had to spend with this new foreign land, these new sights and sounds. I was hurting my own chances at discovering new things and making new memories. Going on new adventures. Oh, how foolish I was! Never forget that there's a whole world out there. Be young and reckless. Be adventurous. Accept people's invitations to venture out at 1am or stay in the common room having deep, perhaps even philosophical discussions until the wee hours of the morning. Not all lessons will be learned inside of a classroom. Not all lessons SHOULD be learned inside of a classroom. There's a beautiful world out there just waiting for you to live and learn in it. So go ahead: go out and don't forget to be alive.
- Communication is key. Learn the "language" of others, but also teach others how to interpret your "language." Work together. Okay, I'll admit it - I should have been better prepared arriving in Belgium. Somehow I had convinced myself that a few lessons on Rosetta Stone would make me a native French speaker. Instead, my French and its pronunciation were horrific. And when I say horrific, I mean HORRIFIC. And yet, as much as I'd like to convince myself otherwise, I didn't do much to perfect it. I could have spent more time trying to get it to sound more clear and understandable. Studied more phrases. But instead I spent more time complaining about how no one understood me or wanted to talk to me. I wanted everyone to take the time to get to know me and understand me, and yet I was not doing much to understand them and get to know more about them. It was not until later did I realize that it was really a two-way street. Both parties had to communicate with each other in order for this to work. We all had to reach a compromise in order to find understanding. Little did I know that the challenge would go beyond a language barrier - there were cultural barriers that I really wasn't aware of either, and things that I might have found normal back home were considered quite strange there, and vice versa. Which is why I say this: remember that not everyone is like you, and that we're all coming from different places and backgrounds. You are about to spend nine months of your life living with someone who is (essentially) a stranger. Although scary, this gives you the opportunity to get to know someone new and learn how things are done differently by different people. It tests your limits and puts you out of your comfort zone, which is a good thing. Remember to communicate and be understanding with people, may it be your roommate, friend, boy/girlfriend, professor, or classmate. Remember that we're not all the same, and to be open-minded and accepting. And remember that just as what they do can seem odd to you, so can things you do seem odd to them. So understand. And listen. Because different is good. Different is cool. Different is what makes life so great.
- Always have a running buddy for your long runs. For real though. I can't tell you how many times I got lost and had to call my aunt from random streets in Belgium because I couldn't find my way back home. I would often find myself going from neighborhoods to farmlands with cows to the edge of highways and really wasn't sure how, where, or why. And referring back to point #3, it didn't help that I didn't speak the language (my six weeks in a French speaking country really did make me give a second thought towards all those years spent studying Spanish). And I really didn't blame people for being confused or even frightened when I'd approach them flailing my arms and shouting in a poor French accent, "Vico [my family's last name] house! Vico house! Mi casa... I mean maison?" It wasn't until one of my cousins decided to join me on a run did I learn the many twists and turns of each road and where they led. So, there you have it. Although I still have an awful sense of direction, the running buddy ultimately saved me from winding up who knows where.