As my imminent departure stares me in the face I am haunted with a strange sense of duty in regards to my blog. I would assume this is a similar feeling to that of someone asked to write a preface of a novel: they know what they are supposed to say, as well as what is expected, however, putting fresh words into new, romantic phrases that do the novel justice seems a more difficult feat than I would have thought. For me, I know need to say what an incredible, eye-opening, life-changing experience this was, but to simply say those words would not even begin to paint my world here.
These last few weeks leading up to today have been entirely uncomfortable for my head. I have settled so well into life here and love it so much that the thought of leaving seemed impossibly distant, however, when coupled with the intensity with which I miss my family and friends and Bozeman, time became this torturous game that I wanted both to speed up and slow down with equal passion. I was, of course, warned that this would happen, and am here to report that everyone is disgustingly right.
Here is what I have to say. In four months I have learned a new language, eaten new foods and talked to countless beautifully interesting new people, my faith in the power of the Sonicare toothbrush battery, and I've made some incredible friends whom I will never forget. I've taken on Europe alone and used trains, planes, buses, trams, and even my own two feet to take me on adventures. I feel incredibly strong and independent, as well as humbled in my realization of how much I need my family and friends at home. I wonder how long it will take me before I need my friends and family here, too.
Tomorrow I have upwards of nineteen hours of travel to do, and then I will finally be home. Home. There is something ultimately very refreshing about that. So I suppose it's until next time, Europe.
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