I think I'll go to Denmark tomorrow

As we hugged for the last time until February in the doorway of my parents' house, one friend purred reassuringly, "You're gonna be great in Denmark. Don't be nervous." We uncoiled our arms. Nervous? I realized that I had been so preoccupied counting out pairs of socks and scheduling goodbye coffee dates this week that I had entirely forgotten to worry about heading solo to Copenhagen. Is that bad, that I haven't been concerned about living alone in a foreign country? Or having to buy all of my own food for the first time? Or flying? Or making my layover? Or looking especially short and un-Scandinavian? Just as I began to importune myself for missing an opportunity to be anxious, a whole slew of irrational concerns rushed reassuringly forth.

My anxiety, however, was shortlived. After my moment of worrying about worrying, I feel, well, pretty at ease. Everything I imagine I may need has been crammed into my suitcase. I've seen nearly every old friend in Newton and caught up with the people I'll miss most at Colby. I had a peaceful and even exciting summer with my parents and siblings. I leave behind little unfinished business here. A lot of new things await me across the Atlantic, but that's the fun of all this, isn't it?

I need to rediscover a spark for everyday learning that has diminished this past year. I studied statistics, organic chemistry, and physics because I have to in order to do what I really want to do one day: become a doctor. But now I get a chance to enjoy the moment, both academically and personally. I'm taking classes in human health and biomedical ethics, among other things, in a hospital setting. I will actually be studying what I think I want to study, right now. Meanwhile, I'll get a glimpse into the workings of universal healthcare. I intend to put to my rest any, "Will I sound stupid if I ask this?" attitude and talk to as many people as possible. I get to explore Copenhagen and travel Europe a little. I can check out concerts, museums, and pubs. I get to order a Carlsberg without even having to wonder if I'll get kicked out of the pub.

So, eighteen hours before I'm scheduled to leave, I feel ready. Excited. Equipped. Nostalgic. Thoughtful. And maybe—if only because all that sounds much too cool to actually be true—a tiny bit nervous.