This past June, I went with a group of fellow students from my college on a two-week trip to London, England.

The preparation for the trip was a lengthy process, and one that was stressful and even frustrating at times, but this was something I'd always wanted to do. When my passport had arrived and my books had been ordered, I really let the excitement set in.

There was only one thing I was worried about -- everything.

A small, chronically anxious kid who's really only ever lived in a small town in rural central NY, travelling across the Atlantic ocean to a major city kind of sounds like a recipe for disaster, doesn't it? There were a lot of factors that got me worked up as I formed my expectations for the trip--the flight, public transportation, and my schoolwork being just a few. A couple days before I was supposed to leave, I started to wonder if I'd made a huge mistake. What if I couldn't handle being in such an unfamiliar place, around so many people?

I spent my first day in London completely disoriented, although starting it off on 20 minutes of sleep, sitting backwards on the car ride from Heathrow probably didn't do much to help things. I found everything confusing--the map of the Underground, the money system (so many coins!), even crossing the street (the cyclists stop for NOTHING). By the second or third day I had a better idea of what was going on, but I still stuck close to the group and didn't go anywhere by myself. I started to feel like I was wasting a great opportunity. I was visiting a city I'd always wanted to go to, where there was always something to do, and I was hardly taking advantage of any of it. I was having fun, and learning new things, and going new places, but I still felt like I was limiting myself. I wondered if I'd ever get over it, and I was even feeling nervous about not having any stories to tell when I got back.

The first Saturday we were there was our first day off from class, and we were all permitted to roam around the city as we pleased. I'd originally planned to meet up with a friend and go to London Pride, but they couldn't make it, so I was trying to think of what I should do, instead. In the meantime, I went to a bookstore that was just a short walk away from where I was staying, and as I was paying for my books the cashier asked if I was going to the festival. I told him that I'd wanted to, but plans had changed. He said, "Don't let the fact that you aren't from here stop you, if you really want to go. I'm sure you won't be without family in Soho."

I went back to my room and stared at my map of the Underground for a minute or two. I worked out what stop I would have to get off at to get near the parade, and then I started walking. I was shaking like a leaf, but I decided that if I changed my mind by the time I got to Soho, I would just get right back on the Tube and go back, but I never changed my mind. Once in Soho, I found a group of people who said I could come with them to the parade. One woman I met asked where I was from and what I was doing in London. "You're only 19? And this is your first pride? And you came all by yourself? Gosh, you're brave," she said. Up until that point, I hadn't felt very brave, but hearing her say the words made all the difference. Pride was amazing, and I met some wonderful people, and I'm so glad that I made the decision to go.

I got back to the dorms about six hours later feeling very tired but incredibly relieved. I felt like I'd jumped over a huge hurdle, and I no longer thought I was wasting my trip. Taking such a big step was what I'd needed to do to gain the confidence I wanted to have, and after that, I was able to breathe a little easier. Who knew a small, anxious kid could alleviate his fears by going all in? Certainly not me, but I'm definitely happy it turned out that way.