Self-confidence is an interesting concept to me. It never seems to be based on strictly the singular self, but rather is determined as a self in relation to other selves: am I as good as he/she is? Am I as attractive as they are? As smart, witty, charismatic, entertaining, interesting….. Okay, I am, so I deserve to have some self-confidence. I don’t think that is how self-confidence should be, obviously. I just feel like self-confidence has commonly become competitive in that manner and lost much of its worth in the process. I think, however, that I am finally beginning to understand and feel self-confidence as it is meant to be—independent, untouchable, valuable.
I was contemplating self-confidence today while I was thinking about going to Oxford. If I had asked myself four years ago, even one year ago, if I thought I would ever study at Oxford, I would have definitively said no. Now it makes me think of an adrenaline rush, performing at your peak capacity as the occasion demands it—perhaps I stepped up my game in order to get into Oxford but once I arrive, I will flounder. Sink. Disappoint myself.
Once I would have thought that. Still I sometimes am plagued by those sorts of thoughts. But since going to college, I feel like some cliché flower that has suddenly bloomed into self-confidence. Or rather, a flower that realized I had already bloomed and merely needed to appreciate myself for who I am.
I’m still intimidated, yes. I also, however, feel at peace. I am scared to make new friends, to be a lone American girl in Europe, to meet my own expectations academically, to have the courage to actually live the adventure that is waiting for me, if I grasp it and own it. Simultaneously, if I were to be honest, I can say that I have no doubt that I will return to the States happy with the way I lived my study abroad experience. I don’t question that I could possibly look back and think, “Wow. That was boring. Totally not worth it.”
I anticipate thousands of beautiful moments that await me. It’s almost as though I’m at the end of my life, in the last few moments before death, playing that momentous slideshow in my mind of every significant, beautiful experience in my life. But instead of looking back, right now I’m looking forward. How splendid (yes, splendid) is that? I am so blessed. Right now, in this moment, I feel overwhelmingly excited, thrilled, thankful for what awaits me. In the next three weeks (that’s ALL that stands between me and Europe), I know I will panic. I know I will feel like I’m stepping off a lovely precipice—home—to fall into some mysterious abyss—Europe. I realize that I will never feel ready.
Still I await my Visa. I haven’t truly embarked on that painful journey through my wardrobe that concludes with two tiny suitcases. I do not know a single person at Mansfield College, Oxford. I haven’t faced my first tutorial. I haven’t made that first bitter withdrawal from a European ATM where my dollar loses its value to become a pound or a Euro.
But the excellent thing is that I have travelled. I’ve packed up my little life to fly off to DC; I can do the same for England. I know I’ll do fine in my tutorials; I have taken difficult classes before. I'll face some challenges, some hard times. But I will weather them and learn from my trials. How many people possess the opportunities I now have? I get to study British history and read British literature in England. I will travel to places I have read about and dreamt of.
And…I feel like I deserve to go. Perhaps that’s not what I mean to say….I feel like I have worked hard to get to this point and possess the skills, maturity, and attitude to enjoy this experience to the fullest. Even a year or two ago, I'm not sure I would have been ready to go, to do this. But now I am. So the question becomes not am I ready to go to Europe but rather is Europe ready for me?
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