If you had asked me 3 years ago, fresh off my first long-term international experience in Indonesia, what my life's calling was, I would have said it was travel. I made up my mind back then to pursue a Fulbright ETA grant after I finished my undergrad, and I'm happy to announce that I have officially accepted a grant to do just that.
But as I reflect on the last 4 years and look forward to the next, I can't help but feel anxious, depressed, and worried about what's to come. Don't get me wrong--I was floored to receive an offer from Fulbright and am 110% confident I made the right decision. But living abroad has lost it's fairy tale-like flavor for me.
I'm not longer naive enough to think it'll be a year of vacations. I know I'll probably have just as many bad days as good days. I know I'll fall in love with the culture only to end up hating it and longing for home a few months later. I know I'll having cravings for chicken noodle soup and medium-well burgers at 2am. I know I'll miss communicating with other fluent English speakers. I know I'll be lonely. And I know there will be lots of change.
In the back of my head, I keep asking myself why I'm not more excited. This is what I've wanted for years. So why do I find myself dreading it just as much as I am looking forward to it? I tell myself that it's only 9 months. Anyone can do anything for 9 months, I repeat to myself over and over. That's only 3 months longer than I was in China. "You'll like it," I promise myself.
