Five years since one fateful move and I still don’t know whether to thank or curse my mother for the challenging and unconventional start to my teenage years. What I do know is that my peripatetic life began when we moved to Spain and that I’ve been immersed in enough new cultures, languages and viewpoints to make my head spin. The flip side to this lifestyle is that at times, I don’t even know where home is.

I lived quite happily in New York City until age 13 when my mom, a lover of all things Iberian, decided to relocate  my family to a tiny village in Andalucia so I could attend a local public school and learn Spanish. After six months, we moved to Madrid. Resentful that we didn’t return to the U.S. as promised, I convinced my parents to let me study in France and live with a host family. I was 15, it was my critical junior year of high school and many people questioned whether I could handle it, but I trusted that I would figure it out. I learned French by writing history papers and studying Baudelaire, along with a daily dose of gossip, and I loved it.

I then spent my senior year in Connecticut with my grandma and started college doing a study abroad program in London my first year at Florida State University, adding yet another culture to my nomadic existence. At least my classes were in English!

Learning new languages and studying overseas have been defining features of my life, and I suspect it always will be. But I didn’t expect how much these experiences would have formed me and directed my future. As a result of frequent upheaval and parachuting into disorienting situations, I have learned to be flexible and resilient. I think of it like this, and bear with me as this is going to sound a little odd: If I were a camera, I would be equipped with a wide-angle lens, as I can absorb and appreciate a wider landscape than would have been possible had I stayed in my comfy Waldorf school in Brooklyn.

For example, I thought I hated the French and their food seeing as my first host family in France resented cooking, served flavorless dinners and ate in silence. I later lived with another family who ate on handmade plates, started the meal by thanking God and then eagerly dug into delicious food while chattering, yelling and laughing. With the first family, I dreaded supper time. With the second, I looked forward to it. So, are the French solemn or jovial? Is French food unappetizing or yummy? The answer is both; only a wide-angle lens can capture both experiences. 

This unique upbringing has been compelling and maddening. It’s like I’ve peeked through a keyhole and seen a sliver of what’s out there to experience, but I know there is more that is out of view. I’ve reached the second stage of the Dunning-Kruger effect (“conscious ignorance”), yet I’ve found myself at an impasse on what to do next.

All this to say, it’s okay if you don’t have a plan or you don’t want to take the traditional path that you feel expected to adhere to. I tend to intentionally seek out the road less traveled or not traveled at all, I’m not sure why! But my decisions have led me here and I am grateful for it. Be open to new experiences and try to cultivate your own wide-angle view; it will serve you well wherever life takes you. As for me and this next year, Fordham is where I’m widening my lens, and where I’m calling home.