I'm sure I can speak for everyone when I say that expectations almost always exceed reality. We all have that one exception; maybe an "unreal" concert; maybe that magical moment at a school dance we'll never forget; but more often than not, we are left disappointed.
I feel like there is this underlying sense of guilt or shame associated with dashed hopes, an almost embarrassed awareness that something you looked forward to was just simply not good.
That's how I felt when I first moved to France for the year to complete my last year of school.
Traveling internationally was a dream straight from the mind of a young girl. That dream never diminished, but neither did the child-like naivete that accompanied it. Ten-year-old me was not thinking about Visa applications and international housing costs, younger me was thinking about faeries in Europe and the princes I might meet abroad.
Let me tell you something, twenty-three-year-old me with chronic anxiety and a need for control was absolutely not ready for the realities of moving and living abroad… at first, at least.
To say I experienced a shock would be an understatement. Everything was different here and unlike in my fantasies, I didn't seamlessly adapt to it. The French mannerisms and southern American behaviors did not quite mix. My smiles were met with frowns or sneers, my very limited French was scoffed at and ignored, and my very sanity was slipping after a non-stop twenty-four-hour travel period.
It wasn't much better when I finally made it to my accommodation because my landlady cheerfully told me I owed her $600 in cash when I walked through the door.
The first week was a nightmare. I couldn't get my bearings and I felt like an intruder. Everything was unfamiliar—food, people, places, hell, even the cats seemed different. It was all I could do to continue to leave the house and explore, though eventually I stopped that, too.
I feel like its easy, when everything around you is uncomfortable, to shrink into the skin you've always had and become small enough to cope.
Now, I know what you're probably wanting to ask: "Well, Finn, are you still unhappy? Did you dig yourself out of your rut? Will you be upset until you come home?"
Short answer: it got better.
Long answer: I had to learn to completely flip my perspective to appreciate what was around me. I've found that looking at things through a native lens can grant you a limited picture. I switched the frames I was using to peer into my surroundings, and everything became colorful again.
It's still a battle sometimes. There are good and bad days, but sometimes the bad days feel extra isolating when you're over 3,500 miles from home. On the flip side, there are ways to capitalize on the good days, to make them stretch between weeks. Happiness becomes more of a default setting than a fleeting experience.
This is what I want my blog to be about. I want to break down the barriers between what I expected and what I experience. I want to dive into discomfort and meet the me who surfaces. I want to document all of my adventures—the good and the bad.
Stick with me if you want to keep apprised of my travels and tips.
Jusqu'à la prochaine fois,
Finn