I am writing this article in Perth, Australia (aka one of the most isolated and windiest cities in the world…) Yes, I am abroad. I made it, and the past few months have been incredible. But not exactly in the sense that I thought it would be.
My expectations were high. Every semester before this one, I watched as my older friends journeyed off into the great unknown, reporting back on Instagram and Facebook and Snapchat with unbelievable pictures of places I had only dreamt of. It was so exciting to know that my time was coming soon. I couldn’t wait to get to Australia and see a kangaroo for the first time, see the pristine, blue waters of the Indian Ocean, eat Vegemite (it is gross, for the record), and finally be the one showing off about the marvelous time I was having.
Then I got here… And for the first few weeks, it was marvelous! I tried Vegemite (again, gross.) I saw a kangaroo. I went swimming at the beach and took surfing lessons and tried to feel as Aussie as possible. But then it wore off. Around a month in, my boyfriend and I broke up. That hurt. A day later, my grandfather passed away. That really hurt. I felt so far from home, so disconnected, and so completely and utterly alone even though I was surrounded by the friends I had made and the people in my program (made up of 20 American students, 5 of whom are from Tulane too.) A trip to Bali helped with the heartbreak from the boyfriend situation and distracted me from the pain of my grandfather’s passing, but the trip didn’t mask the feeling that I am 13,000-plus miles away from my support system, my home, and all of the things I would normally turn to. I couldn’t run away from the anxiety and depression that was slowly creeping up on me every day.
That was the first week of September. Since then, I’ve traveled into the Outback and worked as a camp counselor in an Indigenous community for a week. I’ve been to Margaret River and Albany, which had some of the most incredible ocean views I’ve ever seen and wine that I’ve ever tasted. I went to a remote town called Toodyay and volunteered at an agricultural show, making balloon animals for kids and sweeping hay in chicken coops. I’ve explored Perth through my internship as a music writer for a local magazine and I’ve gotten to see some really amazing acts, like Florence and the Machine, Andrew McMahon and the Wilderness, and Joshua Radin. I’ve done all of these amazing things, things that many people may never get to do. I am exploring parts of the world that I have explored before, and as a whole, I am so grateful for the opportunity.
But this is not what I thought it would be. I don’t feel fulfilled, or independent, or worldly like I expected to. Don’t get me wrong. I have good days, and I remind myself “holy cow, I am across the freakin’ world eating kangaroo in the Outback…How did I get here? This is CRAZY!!!!” But a lot of the time, I feel alone, anxious, and scared––and then ashamed for feeling those things instead of thankful and appreciative. I feel guilty for only showing my friends and family the cool things I’m doing when a majority of my time here is spent in bed worried sick about the next thing on my schedule or in my school’s library doing assignments I’m terrified I’m unqualified for and unprepared to complete.
But I’m working on it. I’m doing the best that I can to make every day the best it can be. Sometimes, that means going on a date to the zoo with my Australian friends or going kayaking and sailing on the gorgeous river that surrounds Perth. I’m treating myself to a trip to Melbourne and the Great Barrier Reef with one of my best friends that I’ve made here and I can’t wait. But sometimes doing my best means laying in my bed crying and sleeping all day. It means I’ve had to learn new ways to cope with my anxiety and my depression––journaling has been a huge help. I’ve learned that it’s okay to turn to my new friends for hugs or help cooking dinner when I just can’t muster up the energy to do it myself. I’ve come to accept that sometimes, just getting myself showered and into a new pair of clothes is enough.
I’m trying to accept that my expectations for myself were unattainable, but it’s hard. I wanted the picture-perfect adventure and expected to spend these past four months living in this dream-world I had created for myself but I am learned that living like that is impossible. It was irrational of me to think it would be possible. I easily could have spent more time exploring Australia, and maybe I would have felt more fulfilled or more worldly or more adult and independent and ended up with some cooler pictures for Facebook or Instagram, but life happened: two of my grandparents died while I’ve been here (my grandmother passed away a week ago), my relationship with my boyfriend ended (something that sucks no matter where in the world you are, but isn’t made easier when you’re across the globe without your best friends to hold you and eat snoballs with you while you cry), and then on to top it all off, the stress and anxiety I’ve felt around school and traveling and being away from home has taken a physical toll on my body and made it impossible for me to eat, so I’ve lost ten pounds and now all my clothes are too big on me (such a first-world problem, I know…)
I suppose the message I’m trying to get across is this: going abroad and leaving home is super exciting and takes a lot of strength and bravery. But don’t make the mistake I made and go into it expecting too much. Let yourself live day by day and don’t get too hard on yourself if things come up that cause your adventure to take a turn you didn’t expect. Be thankful for the experiences you do have––love every moment of those crazy adventures and write them down (you’ll be thankful you did later.)
As for the not so great moments, be grateful for them too. Life doesn’t stop just because you’re somewhere else––this is something I’m working on reminding myself every day. The less-than-awesome moments will shape you just as much as the good ones do, and you are capable of handling them no matter where you are. It may take some adjusting, and you may have to venture further out of your comfort zone than you’d like to, but you deserve to take the best care of yourself that you can. If that means skipping a night of partying (that’s probably going to be exactly like every other night of partying) so you can stay in bed and watch Bob’s Burgers and eat a full-size pizza all by yourself, freakin’ do it. Don’t feel guilty for taking care of yourself when you need to. It’s hard, and you can call me a hypocrite for not always following my own advice, but I’m trying my best. That’s all we can do, right?