Here we are in the middle.
It has been an absolutely wild two months. I landed in London on the final day of August with two overweight suitcases and an empty passport. Now, seven weeks and five countries later, I feel that I finally have time to reflect.
I’m writing this in Copenhagen. It’s been quite the 36 hours. Copenhagen was a rainy, grey, blur and has left me with hopes go back with a better-packed suitcase and a warmer, waterproof jacket. Gatsby, my wonderful partner in travel for the past two months, left me for Budapestthis morningf. I am sleepless, hungry, and happy.
I didn’t know what I wanted from abroad, or what I would take from it. I didn’t know that I would see Paris, or Budapest, cities I’ve only dreamed of. I didn’t know that I would have the best burger of my life in Amsterdam, or that I would have some of the best pizza of my life in Kensington. I didn’t know that Copenhagen had it’s own mini amusement park, or how wonderful an above ground train to Paris was at sunset.
I was so clueless on August. Now I’m just a lot more broke and a lot more full of carbs — I am happy to report that the abroad bod is in full effect. I am not complaining.
I wanted to come abroad because i needed a break. I needed a break from my university and the drama there. I needed a break from the same routine of getting up, going to class, going to work, going out, and back again. I wanted something new, something exciting. While going to London wasn’t exactly the most culturally diverse option, studying somewhere I already loved so much forced me outward.
Spring 2016 was such a reclusive time. I took a lot of time to think about the person I was becoming and how that sized up to the person I wanted to be. I found myself going out less and eating more, smiling more and, thankfully, sleeping more. I met people that changed my life and altered my definition of friendship. I became closer to my family and worked hard at school and was repaid for it. I came back to New York in May a little heavier and a lot more calm.
Summer was anything but calm. Interning five days a week and then working on the weekends left me crying on my kitchen floor on multiple occasions. I asked for nothing and focused on the bottom line: being able to travel as much as I wanted for a semester. I often thought of sitting in an airport like this one when I was struggling to reach deadlines: Just get to London I would think. Just get on that plane.
I got on the plane. In fact, I got on several. I got on so many flights that I forgot what it meant to be in one time zone.
And now we’re in the middle, in an airport in Copenhagen.
I miss New York and I miss Los Angeles and I miss my bed. But what I don’t miss — and this is going to be seriously hard to adjust to once I’m home — is not doing anything.
So here’s to a life with a little more adventure, a little more spontaneity, and a lot more pasta. They’re gonna have to roll me home from JFK at this point.
Keep up with my travels on Instagram.