What follows is a portion of a rather half-assed journal of my summer trip through Europe.
Copenhagen. Sunday. 8 p.m.
When my parents dropped me off at college, it was less with a poof and more with a thud. I was terrified. Terrified by strangers, by the prospect of college basketball practice, by the student “helpers” at orientation who had said that we should expect to study two hours for every one hour in class. My anxiety was so great that I couldn’t sleep the night before my parents left, and that morning could only choke down one slice of bacon at the Perkins that would become a second home.
I write the preceding from a coffee house in Copenhagen, a few hours after my family left me in a hostel before their return to America and before my two-week, four-stop solo trip through Europe. I’m excited about this trip, which comes after a ten-day jaunt through Sweden and Denmark that was inspired by a hunt for one branch of my family tree. (The pale branch. Or rather, the most pale branch.)
Despite my excitement, worry lurks. Even though I know there’s nothing to be afraid of – and everything to be excited about – I still feel a little like I did as a college freshman. After ten days with my mother and three brothers, I’m alone again, and feeling it.
As I walked to this coffee house, I caught a fleeting glimpse of myself in a shop window. The man I saw was tall and confident-looking and appeared to know where he was headed. He didn’t look lonely, confused, or scared. Who was this man, I thought. Not me, surely.
This difference – between how I look on the outside and how I feel on the inside – is where I find solace. Because if I can look one way and feel another, so can everyone.
We tend to think that other people are different than we are – that they have things figured out while we are lost in the nether. But the truth is that we’re all more alike than we are different. If my semi-beard and mostly-composed façade hide a frightened college freshman, imagine what’s going on inside that guy. Or that one. Or that one over there.
We’re all scared teenagers, on the inside.
And with that, I’ll finish this tea I’ve been drinking and return to my room at the Generator Hostel, where maybe something strange will happen, where maybe a pair of gorgeous Czech girls will appear, or where maybe some super-cool Italian guy will materialize, and where maybe I’ll pretend that I’m not completely intimidated by any of it.
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