As my first week abroad comes to a close, I realize that that I am a firm believer in the idea of getting lost. When I first arrived in Brussels, stepping into an unfamiliar airport on an unfamiliar continent, I had a deep seated nervousness that approached irrational fear. How would I find my way in this new country? What was in store for me in my journey throughout Europe? How would I even find the train station?
All of these fears swirled in my mind for the first couple of days. I felt like every experience was something brand new, and that I was growing up all over again, very quickly. Small tasks that gained little bits of independence felt like major milestones to me. The first time I found the train station by myself. The first time I made it to the classroom. The first time I got lost and found my way home. These experiences are the ones that most vividly color my memories, and feel like going to school for the first time, or the first time my dad handed me the keys to the car and said “You drive.”

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