“It was life-altering.” “It was the peak of my college experience.” “I didn’t think about W&L once.” These are the types of statements that I’ve heard from friends upon their return from a semester abroad: sweeping declarations of endless adventure and personal transformation. I’ve always known that I wanted to study abroad, and traveling is something that I’ve dreamed about since middle school. With such glowing reviews and an idealized childhood vision at the forefront of my mind, I stepped into my study abroad experience in February with wide-eyed optimism, blissfully naive of the obstacles that loomed ahead.
While we are so eager to celebrate the highlights of studying abroad, speaking of the life-long friendships, reminiscing on the breathtaking views, and sharing meticulously curated montages of budget airline-fueled excursions on social media, rarely do conversations about study abroad venture into the very real challenges that can characterize the experience.
While much less glamorous, the moments of uncertainty, loneliness, fear and efforts to reconcile expectation and reality have been equally defining aspects of my time abroad. Thus, in an attempt to break through the romanticized haze and address the all-too-often ignored difficulties of spending a semester away from the comfort of W&L’s campus, I hope to reflect on some of the emotional and practical struggles that I’ve encountered over the past few weeks.
One of the most immediate difficulties I’ve faced is overcoming the pressure to constantly be doing. We live in a world where there is a compulsion to be always immersed in invigorating, novel, anecdote-worthy activities, and this is especially true when traveling. For me, confronting feelings of guilt at choosing rest has been a huge adjustment.
What I’ve realized, though, is that growth is derived not only from grand adventures but also from the seemingly “unremarkable” moments of not doing. From moments of subtle quiet and “normal” routine. The knowledge that I have gained from my study-abroad courses hasn’t necessarily been revolutionary. Instead, I’ve found that my most valuable learning has emerged not from huge moments of academic revelation, but in traversing the realities of mundane existence.
Another similar and still surprisingly difficult change has been adapting to the change of pace. At W&L, the rhythm of life is unarguably fast. Our existence is defined by a perpetual cycle of classes, meetings and a quasi-collective pressure to remain constantly productive. Stepping off the plane and into my new home for the semester, I felt an almost immediate release from the slew of recurrent thoughts that would typically occupy my mind. While such a scenario may sound enticing, rather than feeling liberated, I found myself struggling with this newfound stillness. How was I supposed to exist outside the structure that usually dictates my sense of purpose?
Immersed in the hustle and bustle of academic, extracurricular and social obligations, it is so easy to default to auto-pilot. Here, I’ve been quickly forced to adopt a greater sense of intentionality. Rather than just going through the motions, I’ve reluctantly found newfound sovereignty over what fills my thoughts and time.
While grappling with changes in learning expectations and pace were certainly a challenge, no difficulty can compare to the intense loneliness that I’ve encountered over the last few weeks. On campus, outside of the occasional study session locked away in the depths of Leyburn, I rarely ever find myself alone for an extended period of time. We are fortunate to attend a university that emphasizes the value of community — a characteristic I am immensely thankful for. Yet, the prevalence of connection that I am accustomed to left me ill-prepared for the physical and emotional separation that comes with being abroad.
It is common for groups of W&L students to study abroad together, entering into the inherently hard endeavor with a built-in support system and a concrete sense of familiarity. This has not been my experience. I didn’t know any of the ten students participating in my program beforehand, which meant navigating this transition in relative isolation. Estranged from my closest friends and spending a lot of time by myself, for the first few weeks I felt entirely alone. Not only was I attempting to navigate the challenges of adjusting to cultural differences, but I was also frantically attempting to establish new relationships that would provide some sense of grounding amidst a world of the unknown.
Very quickly I had to face the reality that life at home persists, even when I’m not physically a part of it. Staying in contact with friends and family also isn’t easy. Time differences and the previously spoken-of busy-ness of W&L make remaining in touch hard to maintain. I’ve acknowledged that perhaps this is preparation for the inevitable day in the near future when friends who once lived across the hall will be a phone call away at best, a plane ride at worst.
Separation from all of the people and comforts of home has made me come to terms with their transient nature. So much of what we cherish about life at W&L can (and will) so easily slip through our fingers. While it’s hard to know that you are spending months of a fleeting experience removed from it, being away has instilled in me a greater appreciation for that which I had regrettably come to apathetically expect — a change I’m hopeful will leave me entering my last year of college as a more intentional friend and student.
The isolation is especially potent if you find yourself studying in a country where you don’t speak the predominant language, as I have. Simple interactions, such as ordering coffee, communicating with a taxi driver or asking your host family about their day, become daunting. While draining and initially lonesome, this inability to both understand and be understood has required me to gain an increased sensitivity for forms of communication beyond speech. This appreciation for other strategies of community building is something I hope to take with me.
Finally, I quickly realized during my first few days studying abroad that tourism and travel are ethically ambiguous concepts that almost always prompt an array of often hard-to-answer questions. Attempting to discern both the practical and moral implications of your participation in a study abroad program, while currently completing said study abroad program, is definitely an emotional challenge – and one that I am still actively navigating.
While I’d be lying if I said there aren’t days when all I want, more than anything, is to hop on the next flight, drive down 81, and sink into the warm familiarity of a politics class in Huntley, I don’t regret my decision to study abroad.
Even if we only speak of studying abroad through highlight reels, the highlights are incredibly real. But they are just as real as the moments of intense isolation, discomfort and all-consuming fear of missing out. I’m not suggesting that we cease all sharing of the good, just that we also embrace a willingness to share the less good. In the end, it’s the entire spectrum of experiences (the entire emotional rollercoaster — highs and lows included) that make studying abroad meaningful, and I think it’s time we talk about it!
