Lauren Tindal, Bocconi Exchance, Fall 2012
The piles of sweaters and socks on my floor are stuffed into two large, looming suitcases, and my flight confirmation email calmly states (1 day until departure), in between confirmation codes and takeoff times. Even so, my trip abroad to Milan, Italy, isn’t entirely real to me yet. I’ve never been outside of the United States, and I just really don’t know what to expect. At the moment, my visions of Italy are limited to colored Vespas, the Lizzie McGuire Movie, and the always handy and totally informative Google image search.
In all honesty, I’ve been in a state of flux. I oscillate between being thrillingly nervous, exhilarated simply by the anticipation, and terrifyingly nervous, panicked about the existential unknown. Sometimes I excitedly picture myself walking around some European landscape á la Midnight in Paris, but other times I anxiously imagine the horror of navigating the Milanese airport in the company of my aforementioned bags, knowing zero Italian words. Most of the time, though, I can’t even really conceptualize what it will be like to be there. Will I be dazzled and delighted? How long will it take for me to settle in? Will I be lonely? Most importantly, why the heck are my only visualizations of the next four months from a Disney Channel show gone movie?
But in the end, this slew of essential questions doesn’t really matter. I’ve spent a decent amount of time packing my bags, but the really important moment is when I get to unpack them, somewhere completely new. Despite my existential (and realistic) fears, I’m pretty sure some pizza, awkwardness, confusion, laughter, trains, and new people await me across the Atlantic, not necessarily in that order. Italy, and all of my life surrounding it aren’t really a real thing to me yet, but they will be soon. Because Friday, when I crash on my bed in pure exhaustion, I won’t have to wonder anymore; the answers will be outside my door, when I wake up.