The idea of studying abroad first came up during a required IVth form meeting. I almost skipped it—I was hungry and thought I already knew what the remaining years held for me Millbrook. I went only because attendance was taken, but that meeting ended up changing the course of my high school experience—and probably my life. I called my dad right after and told him, “I have the most amazing idea.” Usually that means I’m about to say something absurd. This time, it was: “I’m going to study abroad next year,” and I wanted there to be truth to my words.

 

So, instead of driving down School Road to start my Vth form year, I was standing in the Boston airport with two suitcases, a backpack, and a group of strangers—my new classmates—waiting to fly to Paris. From there, we took a five-hour bus ride to Rennes, the city where I’d spend the next nine months.

 

Very quickly, I realized I knew almost nothing about myself. I spent the first day exhausted, sweating way too much, and speaking more French than I’d ever spoke to that point (not very well, I might add). Once we arrived at the school, we dropped our bags, ate an array of French snacks, and waited to meet our host families. Not long after, I was in my new house, already battling a spider the size of my palm while trying to explain—in broken French—that it was trying to kill me. That moment gave me a preview of just how chaotic things were about to get.

 

A month and a half in, I had to switch host families. It was the right choice, but telling the first family I was leaving was incredibly hard. Two weeks later, I moved in with my new host family, and the moment I realized I was going to be okay was one of the most relieving of my life. I had made the right call. My new host family was completely different—and perfect for me. My French improved, and I started to soak everything in. It was with them—the family that I came to love—that I began to realize how valuable this very different high school experience would be. For me, it has made me more curious and braver, and I realize there are endless opportunities to grow.

 

Since coming home, I’ve noticed both small and big changes in myself. I peel oranges the way my host dad does. I drink tea every night, like my host mom did. More significantly, I don’t get embarrassed anymore—at least not in the same way. After constantly embarrassing myself in a language I barely understood, doing so in one I do understand doesn’t faze me. I just remind myself: at least I know what I’m saying.

 

Returning home was hard. I feel homesick for a place I only lived in for a year and for people I knew for even less. Some friendships have faded, some perspectives have shifted, but that’s because I look at the world differently now—and my future too.

 

Before I left, a teacher told me I was probably the person who needed a year abroad the least, which is exactly why I might appreciate it the most. And she was right. Studying abroad pushed me in ways I never expected. I’m glad I did not let the fear of missing out or the little stuff stop me. I’m glad I leaned into the adventure because my year abroad truly changed me for the better—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.