This was a picture taken my second day in Florence, Italy. On the Ponte Vecchio, totally happy and excited—completely whole. It was difficult to leave home—my comfort, my familiar, my life. It was easier once everything brand new was popping up in front of my eyes and I was learning so much, experiencing even more. I wanted to laugh and shout and twirl all at the same time. I was finally here after so many troublesome hours of travel. I was finally in a place of ancestral heritage and I could learn a thing or two about my family. Everything seemed so beautiful and fresh. The first week was restless as the jet lag refused to leave my body and mind. I challenged myself to get out of the apartment and take it all in to comprehend the local life. It was constantly busy—much like my everyday life. I was used to the hustle and bustle of the city life. I liked it—I couldn’t erase the smile from my mouth that first week.

It was about three weeks in the program that I found myself becoming depressed. Homesick was the root of the cause, and we were warned we would get it badly at some point in the semester. I was well-aware of that notion, and I honestly expected it sooner than it happened. I wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and listen to the street below my apartment. I was in something authentic and loud. So, so, so loud. All the locals seem to shout when speaking to one another. Even while on the phone they’re speaking louder that my headphones can volume up. I found it very frustrating and it only made my homesickness worse. All I wanted to do was walk around my home away from home and share it with my mom, my meme, my boyfriend, even my dog if I could. I regret spending so much of my abroad time in my room surrounded by the things I brought from home. It was healthy in a way: I had to force myself out of my shell once more and get out of the funk that had drug me down for quite some time. Something that helped was my trip to Germany with my friends from home…but I’ll get into that next time.

My best friend, aka my roommate, forced me to the Uffizi Museum—which is a place I was originally excited to see. She forced me to a bar the next day. Then she convinced me to take a trip to Switzerland later in the semester. Then she inspired me to do something rebellious, which led her to do something out of her comfort zone as well. We made sure we were getting everything we could out of this experience, and things got a lot better. I enjoy walking the streets again, I love seeing loud Italians talk to each other, I want to explore the nightlife in Florence. While looking back at these moments coming to end of my time here, I am glad that I found a way to get out of my comfort zone (no matter how long it took me to do it).