I have been preparing for exchange for almost a year now, from filling out paperwork, to finding out where I would spend the next year of my life, to learning Swedish. One would think that with all that preparation, I would be overjoyed to say bye to my home and jump on a jet and scoot on over to Europe, but in reality, I was terrified.
The day that I left I had all these questions racing through my head, and with each one, I was even more reluctant to leave. “What if my plane crashes in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and my body is never found? What if my host family hates dogs, or more importantly, me? What if all they eat in Sweden is fermented fish and small potatoes?” Exchange didn't seem as appealing as it had originally.
As my departure date got closer and closer, I got more and more nervous, and then about a day before I left I had a breakthrough. I had been talking to the other exchange students from my district and as we discussed our fears and worries, I realized I was not alone. Thousands of students my age had done this exact same thing and survived. Thousands of students had left their homes, said goodbye to their families, and had an amazing year abroad. Heck, both of my sisters had done exchange and they turned out fine. I realized that I really didn't have anything to be scared of. Sure, I’d be flying to a continent by myself that I had never been to before, but I would have help and support the entire way from friends, family, and my future host family. I was suddenly excited to brave the exhaustingly long flight across the ocean to a new life.
As I took final pictures with my friends at the airport I tried to keep from crying as long as possible. When I cry, I usually end up resembling a small pink walrus with a waterfall coming out of my nose and eyes. Yeah, I know. Not a pretty image. Which is why I saved my sobbing for when I was hugging my family goodbye while standing in line for TSA checking. I made it through security and waved one more time through the emergency exit door window at my mom, dad, brother, best friend, and my dog (whom we snuck in.) Then, treasuring my last steps in Alaska for a year, I boarded the plane. When we were saying goodbye earlier, my family promised that they would wave to me from the giant dirt piles outside the airport and just hope that I would be on the right side of the plane to see it. As we were rolling down the runway I stared out my window. Lo and behold, there they were! Four little figures waving and jumping as if their lives depended on it. That's when the crying really hit me. Then we were wheels up and headed to Seattle.
When I arrived in Seattle, I had a little less than a hour to get to my next gate and board so I was busy trying to figure out where exactly my gate was on the two hour flight from Sitka. When I arrived, I had to go through three of the underground rail systems before I could find my gate and by then they had already started boarding. There was a small hiccup with my visa which was probably the scariest part of my experience so far. They eventually let me on the plane after I started crying while asking my mom what to do over the phone. Just one of the many important lessons that I have learned while on Exchange. When in need, cry. My flight to Amsterdam from Seattle was about ten hours long. I desperately tried to sleep but the nervousness and all of the glorious inflight movie options kept me awake. Once I made it to Amsterdam, it was up to me to figure out how to print out a boarding pass in another language. I wandered the endless halls for what seemed like an eternity of people staring at my in my oversized blazer until I found a machine that looked somewhat promising. I was able to navigate my way through the process of getting my next ticket and when it finally printed, I was horrified to see that my next flight started boarding two minutes earlier. I made it to the gate just in time,but when they checked my ticket they told me that I would not be allowed ome that I would not be able to board the plane because they had overbooked. I was once again an anxious mess and I sat in a corner waiting for someone to come tell me what to do. Thankfully, the same attendant as before came over and told me that a family of three had not shown up and there was room to board. One more flight and I would be home. My new, Swedish home...
The flight to Copenhagen was short and pleasant. I spent the time staring out my window at the miniature windmills and fields. My favorite part was going directly over the bridge/tunnel that connects Denmark and Sweden. We landed and I scurried through the Copenhagen airport towards baggage claim. I found my bags and made my way to the exit. This was it. I would see my host family. Then I saw a paper sign that very clearly said “Olivia Wilcox” with crayon hearts and doodles drawn over it. The woman who was holding it is my host mother Cecilia and next to her is her son, David. I run over and give them both hugs and introduce myself. I've made it.