As of yesterday, I can officially say that I’ll be spending my spring semester in London, England. Woah. Ugh. Writing that makes it feel so…official. So real. Am I really going to London or is this a sick joke?
I’ve been working towards this since freshman year. One of the main reasons I chose MU was because of their London internship program. January to April, I’ll be working for an actual news organization in London. I don’t know where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing, but what I can tell you is that I’ve never been more nervous and excited for something in my life.
For some silly reason, I’ve romanticized this foreign city. I imagine it as my be-all and end-all. Without this experience, I won’t ever discover what I truly want in life. Why? I don’t know. I’m probably crazy.
As you can imagine, I’m scared to death. I’ve been abroad before. When I was fifteen, I spent a month in Australia with a group of strangers, so I’m not nervous to be out of my element and in a foreign place. But I am afraid of failure.
What if I get there and can’t perform well at my internship? What if they hate me? What if I discover that journalism isn’t for me? What if I accidentally use a British accent in front of the wrong person and they kick me out of the country?
On top of failure, there are so many other “what ifs” running through my mind right now. Can I really afford to do this? What if I run out of money? What if I fall in love with a member of One Direction and then have to come back to America? What if I decide I never want to leave? What if I hate it and want to leave? What if they don’t have coffee?
So for right now, I could use a few prayers for peace and a friendly reminder that everything will be okay. Even if my trip is sub par and I end up living on bangers and mash once I run out of money. I can’t imagine this trip won’t have some huge impact on me, whether that be my confidence, my journalism skillz, or my life as a whole.
If nothing else, I’ll at least get some badass photos of Big Ben and Platform 9 and 3/4, right?