After months of hand-wringing, flight purchases, sweater-packing, and worrying about what The Right Thing is, I did it. I jumped in headfirst. I moved across the world. It sounds a little ridiculous in that context -- I moved across the world -- but it's true. Sure, I am fortunate enough to not be here alone. I am supported by an institution that knows me, as well as many friends and family who said that if I wanted to, I should.

So I sucked in my breath, curled my toes, and jumped in. As I waved goodbye to my mom past airport security, before I turned the corner and walked away from the woman who taught me how to walk, how to talk, how to go out and make the world my own, I felt a moment of doubt, the creeping uncertainty over the choice I was making. I'd be gone for months without seeing my family, my close friends, or even the thick rolling mountains of southwestern Virginia. But I walked on.

Soon, it was time for the second leg of my journey, where I would fly across the ocean and say goodbye to the USA for months. As I sat in the leather airport chairs listening to my heart beat, I asked myself again: am I doing the right thing? Is this what I need from myself right now? The paranoia set in and burrowed for the duration of the seven-hour flight, nestled right in the center of my chest. I didn't sleep a second out of the seven hours.

Tired and jet-lagged, carrying a heavy suitcase behind me and hearing a barely-familiar language on all sides, I wondered where I was going, how I ended up here -- me, a 19-year-old college student from Fredericksburg, Virginia, who is afraid of spiders and tripping over stairs -- and if I even deserved to be in the presence of such a great city that represented so much to me. While only in the shadow of Charles DeGaulle airport, the city's reputation still flooded me, shook me down to my core just a little.

It took a little while, a little wine, and some sleep to finally feel like myself again. Once I remembered who I was, how hard I had worked to get here, all the vacations I didn't take and all the hours I worked over the summer just to watch the money transfer into my savings account, I started to feel more comfortable.

It's only two and a half weeks later, but I feel like it's been years. The girl who landed, sleepless and hungry, in CDG is gone and I can't find her; she's been replaced by someone more confident, who tries to make sense of jokes in French, who reads her favorite English books translated into the language because I belong here.

I don't need to explain that to anyone but myself, but I know it's true: Paris is my city, and I belong here.

If whatever you're doing scares you, good. If it makes your hands shake a little bit, good. If you're worried who you'll turn into, good. It means you'll grow and change and become all the stronger for it. Run headfirst. Don't look back. Don't apologize. When life reaches out to you, grab its hands and go. Just do it.