Whether I like it or not, I'll be graduating university in a few months. 71 days to be exact. I have this sickening feeling that real life is about to hit me full force. And over the past few weeks, a single question has settled into the back of my mind, festering and musing: Do I just want to stay put for a while? Am I tired of traveling?
And so my identity crisis has begun. For the last four years, I've built my reputation as the resident globetrotter--the fearless girl who's going to seek out and experience every corner of the world. I mean, my only definitive life goal is to step foot on all 7 continents before I turn 30 years old (5/7s of the way there!). I've taken every collegiate opportunity to travel, immerse myself in other cultures, learn languages, obtain globally-focused internships, and pad my resume and transcript with as many "worldly" things as I can.
Six months ago, my plan was set: I would spend 1-2 years working and backpacking abroad, go to graduate school for IR, and then nab a globally-conscious job.
But now I'm sitting in my apartment in College Park, MD, and I feel oddly complacent. My life is comfortable here. There a sort of rhythm and predictability about it. I don't have to worry about learning foreign languages, or making cross-cultural faux pas, or managing an ever-shrinking bank account. Life is easy. I have no complaints. I can see myself staying here, getting a well-paying job, and becoming a full-fledged young American. There's just one question: will I end up hating myself for this?
crossing the Sahara during my 2016 trip to Morocco
