I still remember the exact moment I got the notification. It was an overcast February afternoon, and I had just ducked into Maloney Hall to avoid the heavy raindrops starting to fall. While I waited for the elevator, I instinctively checked my phone, and the long-anticipated email from the Office of Global Education popped into my inbox. Study abroad placements had just been released—and I was going to London.
I’m not sure precisely why or when my fascination with London was born, but the city has always held a place in the back of my mind.
When I was 11, my dad came home from a business trip in London, his suitcase full of Cadbury chocolates and touristy treasures for my brothers and me to unwrap. One of these mementos, a small Union Jack coin purse, became my go-to show-and-tell item. I even vowed to my classmates that one day, I would move to the city I thought was straight out of a fairytale.
In middle school, amid a strange obsession with perfecting different accents, I declared that the second day in our rotating schedule would be known as “British B-Day.” My best friend from home will attest to the fact that under my influence, my entire algebra class dedicated one day a week to speaking exclusively in British accents.
And then, of course, the inevitable Harry Potter phase consumed most of my elementary school years. Reading those books dozens of times over was enough to convince me that I needed to make the journey to King’s Cross Station.
London has clearly been a dream of mine since childhood. It was a place I saw in storybooks and movies, dotted with grand palaces and cherry red double-decker buses. Hollywood’s version convinced me that it was the pinnacle of perfection, at least in the eyes of my younger self.
Standing in Maloney Hall on that dull February day, I was overcome with excitement, knowing I would finally get to live out the life 11-year-old Makayla had always dreamed of.
Flash forward to early January. With an inbox full of flight reminders and a bedroom floor covered in neatly folded piles of clothing, my life became a flurry of rushed packing and teary goodbyes with childhood friends. After two and a half years at BC, the “packing my life into a suitcase” routine had become familiar. But there was something different about this departure.
An entire ocean, not just an hour-long drive, was about to separate me from home. A growing sense of anxiety quickly overshadowed the excitement of my childhood dreams.
Was I making a mistake by leaving behind the comfortable life I’d built for myself at BC? Or would this rapidly approaching change and inevitable uncertainty be the push I needed to grow?
The day of my flight finally arrived and, despite the hollow pit in my stomach, I thought of the little girl who woke up at the crack of dawn to watch the royal wedding. The girl who, in third grade, defiantly spelled color with a “u” wedged between the “o” and “r” because it was what Hermione Granger would have done. What would she think if I backed out now, confining myself to the same bubble where my entire life had taken place?
I finally made my way through the airport, quieting my nagging anxiety. I felt ready to embrace the new relationships and unpredictable adventures that London was about to throw at me.
I’ve only been in London for about two weeks, but the city has already brought out a side of myself I didn’t know existed.
I was once terrified to ride the Newton bus alone, but now I can navigate the Tube whenever I feel like exploring a new borough of the city. The newness of this experience has fostered a sense of independence I never needed in Boston, a place I know like the back of my hand and where I’ve always lived within 30 miles.
As a chronic over-packer and over-planner, I never imagined I’d wind up at a hostel in Sweden with friends I’d only known for a few weeks (more on these adventures to come). While it wasn’t the most glamorous experience, I witnessed just how quickly friendships can form under even the strangest of circumstances.
London is a city brimming with personality—it’s always evolving, with something new around every corner, and full of life even on the gloomiest days. Sure, it doesn’t have the same sense of comfortable familiarity as Boston, but throwing myself into unfamiliar situations has proven to be the best way to uncover new aspects of myself.
Everything here is entirely new, and for once, I’m not scared of change. My decision to make the leap across the pond is one I wouldn’t trade for the world. Maybe I sound like one of those overdramatic abroad enthusiasts who claim that the experience “changed them,” but I’m not ashamed to admit that this experience is already changing me for the better.
Sometimes, putting an ocean’s worth of distance between you and the life you’ve always known is exactly what you need to grow. After all, growth is about making your younger self proud.
Leave a Reply