I have two weeks left from today, and it’s got me thinking of going home. Not necessarily that I want to go home, but that it’s going to be really weird. I’m a different person. I know it already. I’m more social. I go out at night. I’m more confident. My music tastes have expanded. My vocabulary has grown to incorporate Aussie and Kiwi slang. I’ve seen things and done things that no one else at home can even imagine seeing and doing. I’ve grown as a person, and when I get home I know people are going to expect me to be the same person I was when I left, but I’m nowhere near it. And I’m happy I’ve changed, no matter if it may be subtle to other people. I like who I am now. I feel…experienced. I feel worldly. I feel like I matter.

I’ve also realized that there are things I took for granted at home that I realize I miss, like not having to care about money. And I’ve realized that there are things I thought I really cared about that just don’t matter, like a lot of superfluous possessions. I’ve been living out of a backpack for over six weeks — I’m going to be overwhelmed by the amount of possessions I actually own when I get back. It’s going to take some getting used to. I’m going to be bored when I get home — here, everyday has been an orgasm of the eyes.

I don’t think my parents or friends ever understood exactly why I needed to go alone. I could have gone with others — I studied abroad for six weeks in Australia before flying the four hours to New Zealand, and over half of my study abroad group was spending extra time abroad. I got plenty of offers to travel with them, to spend most of my time there getting drunk and partying it up in Auckland. While it may sound like the dream of every college student, it wasn’t my dream. I didn’t want to have to follow anyone else’s agenda in New Zealand.

Whenever I tell anyone in casual conversation that I’ve been to New Zealand, backpacked alone, stayed in hostels, hitched rides with strangers — their eyes get a sort of jealous glaze.

For years I’d wanted to go to New Zealand. I was first introduced to it as Middle Earth, and from that point on, I knew I had to get there as soon as possible. Mountains, lakes, glaciers — a land where humans seemed to have had no impact on the natural wilderness. A place where throwing yourself off a bridge and out of airplanes seems like a perfectly rational thing to do. As an avid outdoors person, an adrenaline junkie and probably the biggest Lord of the Rings fan in the world, here was a place where I could live out my greatest passions. And the bragging rights — those tempted me, too. Whenever I tell anyone in casual conversation that I’ve been to New Zealand, backpacked alone, stayed in hostels, hitched rides with strangers — their eyes get a sort of jealous glaze and it’s tempting for me to tell story after story just to see that expression.

It was more than just New Zealand, however. I’ve traveled all my life, and I felt as if this was the culmination of every place I’ve been so far. I had enough of traveling with family, friends and school groups — here was my chance to see exactly what I was capable of, to explore a world completely unlike that one I’m used to without others hindering me, telling me where to go and what to do. I had enough of that in study abroad. It’s difficult to see what you want to see when there are twelve others who want to do precisely the opposite. I wasn’t going to let that happen in New Zealand. This was too important to me.

At first it was a little lonely. The first night in a hostel by myself I almost cried in the kitchen as I made dinner and thought back to how we all cooked together in Australia. I missed my best friend from study abroad like crazy — I had slept in the same room with her for six weeks, and then she wasn’t there anymore. I had no one to say goodnight to and went to sleep miserable — unwilling and unable to talk to any of my three roommates. I couldn’t get past the fact that my study abroad experience was done and that I was on to something new. I questioned whether I was doing the right thing, going off by myself, and whether I would have any fun at all. It hit me really hard that I was completely alone, cut off from every single person I know.

That lasted one night. Although a lot of it was loneliness, I understand now that I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. My plane to New Zealand was delayed by a couple hours. I didn’t get into Auckland until 3 am, and then had to find a way to the train station to catch a 7 am train to the south end of the north island. I caught a taxi alone for the first time, and was scared out of my mind, as it was dark and my hostel was off the main drag. I then had to somehow find dinner at 9 pm on a Sunday, which, in New Zealand, is no easy feat. Stores tend to close early in the southern hemisphere, and I was in no mood to eat by myself at a restaurant. By the time I cooked my pasta in the hostel kitchen, it was no wonder I almost broke down.