Since May 15, 2018, I have had a recurring set of dreams. I wake up plopped in the middle of Edinburgh, Scotland. I look around to see the castle on the hill, so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes. I kneel on the cobblestone roads and touch it, weeping at the feeling. I walk up and down every main street and alley, seeing things that I felt as if I had forgotten existed. All the while sobbing through bittersweet tears. And then I wake up, still sobbing, but in Pennsylvania.

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For those of you who are not aware, I authored a biweekly last spring regarding my experiences during my semester abroad in Scotland (available upon request if there is anyone who is truly interested). I discussed the spark to travel, the cultural transition I experienced upon arrival – socially, geographically, and life stylistically – and the lessons I immediately learned. Now that I am back where I started, I wanted to take time to discuss the aftermath.

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The only thing more difficult than stepping onto the plane that would take me away from everything familiar was dragging myself onto the plane that would take me away from the city that watched me grow. My heart absolutely shattered on the bus ride to the airport, leaving a trail of my pieces along the way.

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Upon landing back stateside, aside from the obvious shock, some longer-term feelings became apparent. Reverse culture shock sounds a little absurd but is an incredible phenomenon. Granted, the culture in Scotland is not all that much different from here, but even still I felt the effects thoroughly.

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          Coming home, it felt as if time here had been frozen and spurred back into action with my arrival. Nothing had changed, news was minimal, and the same routine inescapable. While I had been living the most notable months of my life across the ocean, there was no evidence of change here. The time of my biggest influence almost turned into a tucked away secret that nobody would quite understand.

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          This led to a feeling of isolation. Everybody I had ever known was surrounding me again, but nobody could relate to me. It was impossible to share an abroad story without feeling like my privileges overshadowed the content, a sentiment untrue but understandable. Returning to what should be my most comfortable place, I felt nearly alone.

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          This all sounds awful, and honestly, it was tough for a while. But there were positive bits to find, too. I also realized that traveling is a true passion of mine, one that I want to base the rest of my life around, and I now know just how attainable and easy it can be. If experiencing the world is a priority of yours, treat it as such and it will be plausible. I promise that anyone can do it. Dropping your life, moving away with barely a plan, and tossing yourself into unfamiliarity is terrifying, exhilarating, and above all, rewarding.

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          The dreams I have been having, as painful as they are to wake up from, remind me of the reality that I lived. The astounding beauty of another nation sticks with me, inspiring me to see it in others, and to inspire me to inspire those around me to search for it somewhere too.