Adventure

I wrote this post as a part of the 8-Minute Memoir project. Learn more here.

I am about to embark on an adventure. 

I find the term adventure to be appropriate, because it encapsulates a mixture of excitement, stress, and apprehension. No adventure is without its setbacks and scrabbles, but conversely, no adventure is without its triumphs and high points.

In 5 days, I will pack everything I own into a Toyota Corolla and drive it 895 miles to Boston, where I will then unpack all of my belongings into a house that I’ll be sharing with 4 women I’ve never before met. I haven’t been to Boston since I was 3 years old—so it’s basically as though I’ve never been there before—and I don’t know a soul in the entire city.

In 12 days, I will attend my first class as a graduate student at Emerson College, which is neatly situated in the heart of downtown Boston. It’s a small school—a fraction of the size of BYU, where I completed my undergrad—but in many ways, it looms far more daunting and overwhelming than BYU did when I first began my education there. The smaller student count could mean that it’ll be easier to find my niche (especially as I’ll be surrounded by other publishing-minded individuals with whom I’m bound to have something in common), but it could also equate to my having an even more difficult time making friends than I normally do. Fewer people total equals fewer people who won’t be put off by my awkward small talk and socially anxious ways.

The course work, ironically, is what I’m least nervous about. Yes, it’ll be difficult and demanding, but it’s what I want to do. At the risk of sounding trite, it’s what I feel deep in my gut that I’m meant to do. Honing and refining my skills as an editor and an aspiring publishing professional feels so right, so comfortable. Ask me in a few weeks if I still feel the same way, and I’m not sure the answer. But for now I’m content and confident.

What weighs on my mind is the challenge of acclimating to a city significantly (and I mean significantly) larger than any place I’ve lived before. I’m concerned about navigating public transportation, learning what areas of town are safe for a single woman to be at night (or by day), and feeling lost and insignificant surrounded by so many people. I’m nervous about finding the best routes from point A to point B, about deciding which grocery store/hair salon/drugstore/auto shop to give my business, about paying city prices that are hiked up from the cost of living in Provo.

For a while I was concerned that my nerves and anxiety about all the changes coming my way and all the things I’ll have to learn and relearn meant that I’m not ready, that I’m not up to the challenge. But now I’m of the opinion that NOT being aware of and concerned about the adaptations I’ll have to make is the greater sign of not being ready. Yes, I’m nervous, and I have fears about the transition period, but at least I’m aware that these next few weeks (or months) aren’t going to be without their challenges. It’s going to be difficult and strange and likely overwhelming.

But it’s also going to be exciting and beautiful and eye-opening. I will be presented with opportunities to grow and stretch and learn that hitherto have not been accessible to me. I’m going to have experiences—good and bad—along the way that will shape who I am and mold my future.

I am about to embark on an adventure, and it’s going to be good.