36 hours from now I’ll be in Lithuania, and by the time you read this I’ll already be on the plane.
Why am I so chill about this? Why am I not freaking out more? If you told freshman-year-of-college-me this was my plan for the summer of 2017, I would’ve laughed in your face.
I remember my first college spring break. I was stuck at home all week because we had a HUGE snow storm, so I had nothing to do except watch Kimmy Schmidt (funnily enough, the 3rd season just came out on Netflix and I’m watching it right now) and toot around on the internet. I’m not sure what led me there, but suddenly I was sucked into the vortex of travel blogs and the “phenomenon” of solo female travel. I thought it was the coolest, most badass thing. I remember reading about post-graduation Europe trips and how 3 months felt like such a long time to travel. I remember reading about people backpacking around Southeast Asia for 7 months and thinking “what in the world would you do with all that time?”.
Flash forward 2 years and here I am, about to be gallivanting around Europe for 81 days. And before that, I was in Scotland for 5 months, 1 month of which was traveling outside of the UK. By the time I get home, I’ll have been gone 8 months. The last time I was on American soil, Obama was still president.
It feels very, very weird when dreams become reality.