Have you ever felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff?
Have you ever been in the clouds?
That is me right now — literally and figuratively.
On a plane back from a trip with my senior, who flew across half of the world for us to travel together. Yet, I am feeling utterly lost.
As a student on exchange in Europe, I thought I must have lucked out. With my borderline GPA, strategic planning, and careful ranking of choices, I finally got what I wanted — my dream exchange destination. I'd always imagined this would be my breakthrough: a chance to travel the world, gain freedom, and broaden my horizons.
Yet I have never felt lonelier.
I hear stories of people travelling in groups, of friendships formed effortlessly, of others excelling while I drift. I failed to secure a credit-bearing internship for my next semester. I could blame the time difference, my negligence, or a lack of effort — but the truth is simpler: maybe I'm just not skilled enough.
I've spent weeks worrying about what comes next, worrying so much that I can't even enjoy what's right in front of me. How ironic — to travel across the world only to feel lost inside myself.
Before I came, seniors told me stories of their exchanges — endless laughter, large travel groups, unforgettable friendships. That was what I envisioned too. Not this: sitting on a plane alone, half my exchange gone, and wondering if I made a mistake.
Maybe Europe just isn't for me. Maybe I should have stayed in my comfort zone.
I tried. And tried again. I met people, tagged along for dinners — but nothing lasted beyond a night. People come and go. I remain a spectator, quietly watching others find their circles while I struggle to find mine.
It scares me.
Back home, my days were always filled — friends, family, studying, activities, work. I was always doing something. Always with someone.
Now, I have all this freedom — the very thing I wanted — and I don't know what to do with it.
I remember staring into Adriatic sea one night, the waters dark and filled with unknown, the wind howling and swallowing the sound of the waves. I just sat there, breathing, trying to convince myself I was part of it all. Until I saw a light — a ship in the distance. Not afraid of the dark waters. Not afraid of the raging tides. It just sailed forward, as it should.
I worry about internships, about my future, about my skills, my finances, my family, my friends, graduation, everything. My mind doesn't rest, even when my body is miles above the earth.
Money? Love? I've yearned for both, and caught neither. Or maybe I have — in the quiet support of my family, in the patience of my friends back home. Maybe I yearn too much. I'm only in my twenties. Why not just let go? Maybe holding on too tightly has made me lose sight of what's in front of me.
How can I be worrying about what's next when there's beauty all around me — cities I once dreamed of, skies that burn pink and orange? This exchange was what I wanted.
Maybe this is the moment to stop chasing and start living.
It's true — I didn't make as many friends as I hoped. I have no one to make plans with. But so what? I am one button away from booking my next getaway. I can travel to the places I want, on my own terms.
Do I really need to care about the eyes of others?
Travelling alone — that's a privilege. Living day by day — that's a blessing.
There is no plan B.
It's time to let go of all my worries, to stop measuring my worth against what I don't have, and to simply be here — in this fleeting moment between sky and earth.
Maybe "going all in" isn't about grand gestures or fearlessness. Maybe it's about staying — even when it's uncomfortable. Showing up for yourself when no one else can.
To love myself, so that I can love the world more.
When the plane lands, I'll take the first train to somewhere new. Maybe Edinburgh, maybe nowhere in particular. Maybe I'll just wander, get lost on purpose. Because maybe that's what it means to go all in — not to know, but to keep moving anyway.