I distinctly remember sitting in the back of my mom’s car, sulking as we careened home on I-93. If I had described the weekend, one might have commented on how lovely it seemed. Skiing in New Hampshire over the long weekend in January. It was, after all, quite desirable.
Yet, my weekend had been far from enjoyable. I was skiing with my best friend for the first time on our first trip together. We were in our early high school years, where the bonds between certain girl friends can be virtually unbreakable. It should have been, by girl standards, the perfect weekend. Little schoolwork, fresh powder and homemade chocolate chip cookies for the ride.
I think not.
The trouble began with loading the car. The art of jamming an SUV with a standard family’s ski gear, plus one or two pieces, is an art that I have proudly mastered. It’s all about balance. However, the unfortunate result of including all of our ski equipment and the homemade calzone is, inevitably, sacrificed space. It’s not that we had to share seats, but it was definitely cozy. She started whining before we left the state.
This only kicked off what was to be a chain reaction of heavy sighs and rolled eyes, in reactions to situations ranging from sleeping arrangements to trail selections. Thus, I came to a conclusion, followed by an epiphany.
The conclusion was that my best friend and I simply did not travel well together. The epiphany was that we could still be best friends.
And this we did, throughout high school until we went our separate ways.
However, I entered my study abroad experience haunted by my ski trip dilemma. I had obviously traveled with friends since the ski trip, but not at length or beyond the boundaries of the great United States.
Study abroad was another level of travel, particularly with friends. We would be traveling around foreign countries, without typical amenities. High maintenance would not do.
As my first trip abroad loomed to visit one of my best friends in London, I was incredibly excited to see him. But the nervousness lingered. I knew that it could potentially go south.
The first night out went flawlessly. We danced, walked the winding streets of Soho and ended up at the London Eye at 3 a.m. I kept waiting for a moment when I wanted to split off on my own, to anonymously slip into an art gallery or meld into a comfortable chair in a cafe. I was incredibly grateful for the absence of that moment. It simply never came.
The next day went just as seamlessly, with a 10-mile jaunt around a massive city. At some point, I found that traveling with friends was not only manageable, but also ideal.
As with many pursuits abroad, you tend to learn more about yourself than anything else. Forcing yourself to interact with other people is a vital aspect of that lesson. Sure, you may not be able to see that one bookstore you wanted to peruse, but you engaged in interesting conversation, learned something new about a close friend and explored a beautiful foreign city.
Inevitably, I also learned that I am the kind of person who needs quiet time to recharge. Constantly being surrounded by friends is an amazing facet of being abroad, especially at a close-knit school like the University of St. Andrews, but I thrive and relax when I am alone.
I suppose that the clash with my high school friend also stemmed from my own inflexibility. I was expecting certain things from that weekend and she was expecting something else. Abandoning expectations and allowing oneself to go with what is happening in the present moment has made an incredible difference. Now let’s see how spring break goes.
