Abroad Independence

What do you think is the most important lesson you’re going to take away from your experience abroad?

Though maybe a little cliche, these are the types of questions my mother uses to engage with me. I’ve always held a deep appreciation for the way in which these questions require me to pause and reflect for a moment before answering. She inquired about the above question recently during one of our weekly phone calls. 

From a young age, I recall my little sister, Bella, having acquired the label as the “independent one” between the three of us siblings. While my younger brother and I constantly needed a playmate or attention from our parents, Bella always appeared content skipping off and exploring the world—from our backyard to riding horseback across uncharted fields in rural New Hampshire—on her own. I struggled to comprehend how she could feel so comfortable in her alone-ness. And while my numerous best friends at various stages of my life floated in and out of our house, Bella never ceased feeling overjoyed to be her own best friend. I realize now that as I have entered early adulthood, I have inadvertently surrounded myself with people who hold this same quality. 

I observed, slightly in awe, as my first-year roommate and best friend, Eleanor, navigated the adjustment to college with ease despite how much time she seemed to spend by herself. She embraced this the same way she embraces her curly brown hair—letting it fall around her and haphazardly pulling it back should it bother her—with confidence. I notice how delighted my girlfriend is after spending time alone on a walk, reading her book, or simply just thinking. It’s a power I feel admiration towards, her ability to enjoy the time she spends with herself. I’m drawn to the independence these people exude, the way they seem to be just like Bella: comfortable being their own best friends. 

Studying abroad, I’ve discovered, requires this level of independence. And whether you step off the plane into Kastrup airport with this independence from the beginning, or unearth it along the way, you will have absolutely acquired it by the end of month four, as you take the metro back to the airport one last time, beginning your journey “home.” (Home feels relative here as Copenhagen now holds a piece of me, but that’s a blog post for another time.) It sounds scary for this to be a must, but it’s integral.

This independence felt forced upon me at first. No longer was I shielded by my small liberal arts campus where someone I knew was always sprawled out in the library or eating dinner at the dining hall. Instead, I had no choice but to lean into the discomfort I felt in my solitude. Slowly, I felt myself enjoying the solo-train ride into school, practicing Duolingo (with not much success to my dismay) or flipping through pages of my newest library book. In the beginning, I looked around frequently as if I was expecting someone I knew to magically appear on the seat in front of me. The newness and loneliness was unsettling to me. How was I supposed to be constantly surrounded by my friends if they all lived forty-five minutes away from me, scattered in all directions? 

But now, as the mid-November gray quickly encapsulates Copenhagen and the days tick by faster and faster, I find myself seeking out these moments of solace. I enjoy the spaces I’ve discovered by myself—the reading nook on the second floor of the Main Library or the walk through Østerbro where the looming Embassy buildings with their respective flags blowing in the wind satisfies the Political Science major in me. I’ve come to enjoy navigating these spaces by myself, embracing the newfound independence I feel, just as Eleanor has taught me to embrace my curly hair.

So, Mother, as cheesy as it sounds, I think I have an answer for your question. I’ve learned how to be my own best friend, just as Bella, Eleanor, and Abby seem to have done years ago. Undoubtedly, and despite having been blind to the potential of learning this lesson, finding comfort in being my own best friend feels right, as if I’ve added a necessary piece to the puzzle of my identity. 

With love from Cope,
Sadie