I’ve waited 20 years to see other parts of the world outside of the small towns I’ve been so (un)fortunate to reside in. It’s like I was born with this need to be on the move, to just go and see everything. I did it when I was little; I would just hop on my bike or use my own two feet to go explore the trails in the woods near our house or the nearby neighborhoods.
I was always by myself, though. Sometimes my brother would join, but for the most part I liked being in my own company. And when I finally got to leave, to see what I had always dreamed of, I was traveling alongside 26 other students.
That meant there were 26 other people who would be doing pretty much the same things as me. I was beyond thrilled to share this time with some people I was close to and to grow new/stronger bonds with the people I wasn’t, but part of me was also, and I hate to say it, discouraged.
I had my own insecurities about money, travel style, and just overall who I am as a person. I thought I wouldn’t be able to afford all the trips everyone else would be doing. I worried that I’d want to spend my time differently on the trips we did get to take as a group. I didn’t want to be the background person on the trip, falling behind the pack in the great unknown cities.
But that all changes once we all land and find ourselves sprawled across a foreign, centuries-old, sweltering dorm room planning our first weekend trip to London.
That’s when it hits you that for the next six weeks, these are the people you’ll be seeing and spending the majority of your time with. It’s a surreal feeling, knowing it will have an end but dreaming up all the possibilities of what we could do in our limited time.
We had millions of plans, and we knew we wouldn’t get to do them all, but we wanted to, and we wanted to do it together. I loved knowing there were people who wanted to do the same things I did, but at the same time, I was disappointed in the idea of not having any original experiences to tell when we got back.
I tried not to let this upset me too much, to continue to enjoy every step that we planned together. But I couldn’t shake the feeling until I was home, and my family and friends began to bombard me.
They asked questions about how the trip was, what I did, what I saw. They watched as I flipped through thousands of pictures while answering each one. And they were in awe, marveling at the opportunity I had been granted.
It was then that I realized I did have an original experience. Not because I had done something no one else had ever done, but because I had never been the person I was when I did it. The girl in the photos they swiped through was not the same one they knew before.
We’ve become so used to seeing other people’s lives online that it can feel like everything has already been done, documented, and shared. The idea that nothing is original can minimize the significance of the experiences we share with other people. Seeing someone else experience something doesn’t make your experience any less meaningful. Â
A true original experience is one that is the starting point for someone’s own personal values, beliefs, sense of purpose, and guiding principles.
Oxford is my original experience. This trip taught me that I can explore with others and still go solo, that my small-town upbringing is not all there is to life, and that no matter how difficult it seems, you can always go somewhere new and open a new chapter.