This is about eight months late, but after endlessly re-reading through my other posts and nostalgically reliving all the amazing adventures I experienced, I think I am ready to add my final update. It has been literally over eight months since I have blogged in any form, am I am really missing it. I miss taking time to gather my thoughts and feelings during a certain moment in my life and trying to create an accurate image of what I am feeling and seeing and thinking. After returning from France, I experienced a downfall-of-adventure syndrome, a back-to-reality period that just didn't seem to live up to everything I had been experiencing the past semester. I knew in France that this was how I was going to feel. I literally said to myself that future me was going to be missing Nantes and the adventures that I lived out each day once I got back to normal American life. Of course I was excited to return home to see my friends and family, but ever since stepping off the plane in Texas, I have felt this missing piece of my friends and family and life in France. Since it has been a while, I will relive my journey home to express the crazy feelings I was having.
After staying with my friend for a week in Paris, re-wearing the same layers of sweaters and worn out shoes each day, I was certainly ready for a trip home. I literally wore about seven layers of shirts and thermals and sweaters and coats as I headed to the CDG airport because my bags were stuffed at this point and I really could not fit them anywhere else. (I immediately stripped off all my layers when I got to San Antonio because it was January there, not winter.) We took a long train ride to the edge of Paris where the airport is, waited in a long line to get my bags checked (I did not have to pay extra for my ridiculously heavy bags because they were running behind and just wanted to get them out of the way, phew), and finally my friend and I said goodbye as I went to my gate. When I first was waiting in the international part of the airport in Dallas on my flight to France, I remember being very calm but still intimidated by the French speakers around me. I remember that I was not nervous at all and I was surprised at myself for being relaxed. I think I just did not know what to expect at that time, so my emotions were pretty calm. The return ride was completely different. When I got on the plane, I was so filled with emotions (If I was naturally prone to cry, it would have been the perfect moment as I took my seat and realized the reality of the situation). I was incredibly excited. It was like a long-awaited Christmas moment that I had been looking forward to and planning out in my head for so long, and now it was actually happening. The flight felt so long, and I watched as an image of our plane inched across the ocean on the tv screens in the plane. (I ordered my meals in French and the stewardess approached me in French, so that was very satisfying.) We finally landed in Dallas and I immediately felt the difference of being in the States. It was a really weird feeling, partly comforting but also somewhat foreign. The main thing was that everyone was speaking English. (It sounds ridiculous because I was not away that long, but I could not get over everyone speaking my native language. What was once used as a sort of secret language in France was now understood by everyone. I felt like I needed to talk quieter so no one would listen to my conversation.) I took my bags to the international customs aisle, a dog sniffed my suitcase for drugs (it stopped to do a double-sniff, but thankfully I had wiped off all the drug residue with bleach before I left), and I stepped up to an officer ready to inspect my bag. "Do you have anything to declare? Any alcohol?" "Nope." "What were you doing in France?" "I was studying there this past semester, so I'm just returning home." "Alright, go on through." I had officially made it back into the States and successfully smuggled in some bottles of French wine! My excitement was gone though as I boarded the plane from Dallas to San Antonio. This was the weirdest part of the whole return trip for me. I was incredibly nervous about getting off the plane in San Antonio. The flight was maybe 45 minutes, and I felt sick to my stomach with butterflies and I believe I might have even been shaking nervously at one point. I sat for those 45 minutes thinking, "This is it. I will get off this plane and be home and not be in France. When I step off this plane, my adventure is over." Looking back now, it seems a little end-of-the-world-ish to me, but a part of me still feels that way, and that is one reason it took so long to write a final post. I stepped off the plane, was greeted by my mom, dad, and grandma, and things seemed to pick up right where they had left off months before.
That is what the nervous butterflies were fluttering about on the plane. I think many students who study abroad, or even people who just spend time in another environment and experience amazing, life changing things, feel this way when they return home. For me, my semester really was life changing. I gained so much confidence in myself and grew my comfort zone so wide while I was away. I traveled across Europe and conquered so many types of public transportation all on my own. I embraced this independence that proved that I could take chances and make decisions and just exist on my own. I became so much more comfortable speaking French and so proud of reaching this goal. I met people from across the world and built incredible relationships in a few short months. I gained so much perspective on the different yet strangely similar ways of life in other countries. I identified with just being myself and feeling comfortable in the places farthest from my home. Ultimately, I left France changed. It is not a physical change (although maybe I have this new glow to me, or maybe I really am taller) but my whole being knows it. And it is hard to pick back up where everyone else left off when you are not there anymore. I've talked with my friends who also felt this way after coming home from abroad and they agree that it is a dissatisfying feeling. It is a mix between feeling like no one understands how I have changed and feeling like no one ultimately cares. Re-reading my writing it seems very pessimistic, but it is mainly just some internal struggle that can't be blamed on anyone.
As for today, I feel like a hamster who finally got his little fingers to open the door to his cage and who spent all night discovering that there is a whole lot of world outside. Then the next morning, a little five year old boy found him trying to crawl up a bookcase and put him back inside the cage with his hamster friends. We both have returned to normal life, which was enough before, but now we know how much more is out there. Not all the other hamsters understand because they did not get the opportunity to walk along the edge of the sink or explore through the sock drawer, but he knows, and I know, and we both want to get back out there to explore.
After staying with my friend for a week in Paris, re-wearing the same layers of sweaters and worn out shoes each day, I was certainly ready for a trip home. I literally wore about seven layers of shirts and thermals and sweaters and coats as I headed to the CDG airport because my bags were stuffed at this point and I really could not fit them anywhere else. (I immediately stripped off all my layers when I got to San Antonio because it was January there, not winter.) We took a long train ride to the edge of Paris where the airport is, waited in a long line to get my bags checked (I did not have to pay extra for my ridiculously heavy bags because they were running behind and just wanted to get them out of the way, phew), and finally my friend and I said goodbye as I went to my gate. When I first was waiting in the international part of the airport in Dallas on my flight to France, I remember being very calm but still intimidated by the French speakers around me. I remember that I was not nervous at all and I was surprised at myself for being relaxed. I think I just did not know what to expect at that time, so my emotions were pretty calm. The return ride was completely different. When I got on the plane, I was so filled with emotions (If I was naturally prone to cry, it would have been the perfect moment as I took my seat and realized the reality of the situation). I was incredibly excited. It was like a long-awaited Christmas moment that I had been looking forward to and planning out in my head for so long, and now it was actually happening. The flight felt so long, and I watched as an image of our plane inched across the ocean on the tv screens in the plane. (I ordered my meals in French and the stewardess approached me in French, so that was very satisfying.) We finally landed in Dallas and I immediately felt the difference of being in the States. It was a really weird feeling, partly comforting but also somewhat foreign. The main thing was that everyone was speaking English. (It sounds ridiculous because I was not away that long, but I could not get over everyone speaking my native language. What was once used as a sort of secret language in France was now understood by everyone. I felt like I needed to talk quieter so no one would listen to my conversation.) I took my bags to the international customs aisle, a dog sniffed my suitcase for drugs (it stopped to do a double-sniff, but thankfully I had wiped off all the drug residue with bleach before I left), and I stepped up to an officer ready to inspect my bag. "Do you have anything to declare? Any alcohol?" "Nope." "What were you doing in France?" "I was studying there this past semester, so I'm just returning home." "Alright, go on through." I had officially made it back into the States and successfully smuggled in some bottles of French wine! My excitement was gone though as I boarded the plane from Dallas to San Antonio. This was the weirdest part of the whole return trip for me. I was incredibly nervous about getting off the plane in San Antonio. The flight was maybe 45 minutes, and I felt sick to my stomach with butterflies and I believe I might have even been shaking nervously at one point. I sat for those 45 minutes thinking, "This is it. I will get off this plane and be home and not be in France. When I step off this plane, my adventure is over." Looking back now, it seems a little end-of-the-world-ish to me, but a part of me still feels that way, and that is one reason it took so long to write a final post. I stepped off the plane, was greeted by my mom, dad, and grandma, and things seemed to pick up right where they had left off months before.
That is what the nervous butterflies were fluttering about on the plane. I think many students who study abroad, or even people who just spend time in another environment and experience amazing, life changing things, feel this way when they return home. For me, my semester really was life changing. I gained so much confidence in myself and grew my comfort zone so wide while I was away. I traveled across Europe and conquered so many types of public transportation all on my own. I embraced this independence that proved that I could take chances and make decisions and just exist on my own. I became so much more comfortable speaking French and so proud of reaching this goal. I met people from across the world and built incredible relationships in a few short months. I gained so much perspective on the different yet strangely similar ways of life in other countries. I identified with just being myself and feeling comfortable in the places farthest from my home. Ultimately, I left France changed. It is not a physical change (although maybe I have this new glow to me, or maybe I really am taller) but my whole being knows it. And it is hard to pick back up where everyone else left off when you are not there anymore. I've talked with my friends who also felt this way after coming home from abroad and they agree that it is a dissatisfying feeling. It is a mix between feeling like no one understands how I have changed and feeling like no one ultimately cares. Re-reading my writing it seems very pessimistic, but it is mainly just some internal struggle that can't be blamed on anyone.
As for today, I feel like a hamster who finally got his little fingers to open the door to his cage and who spent all night discovering that there is a whole lot of world outside. Then the next morning, a little five year old boy found him trying to crawl up a bookcase and put him back inside the cage with his hamster friends. We both have returned to normal life, which was enough before, but now we know how much more is out there. Not all the other hamsters understand because they did not get the opportunity to walk along the edge of the sink or explore through the sock drawer, but he knows, and I know, and we both want to get back out there to explore.
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