A few years ago, I had this idea in my head that I was going to save up enough money to pay for a trip to Europe in October of 2016, with my mom.

But, boy, was I wrong.

At the time, I had saved up half of what was needed to pay for airfare, and had budgeted out the rest of what I needed. I had spent months and months and months planning for this trip. From the restaurants we were going to eat at, to the hotels we were going to stay at. The whole trip was planned out. I had told everybody and their great uncles that I was finally going to be able to go to Paris. I didn't have the slightest doubt in my mind that I wouldn't get to go.

But then it was getting closer and closer to the new year, and nobody else seemed as excited as me. Once the summer of 2016 rolled around, the plans had changed. I wasn't going to be able to pay for that trip anymore. I, unfortunately, was too naïve to want to believe this. Everything I had worked so hard for, had dreamed about, had saved up for, made plans for, and put my life on hold for, was gone.

The pins in my Pinterest board didn't matter.

Reading articles about how traveling was important didn't matter.

Checking flights to find the best deal didn't matter.

Once October came around, I still hadn't booked a flight, and the aesthetically pleasing photos of Paris and Barcelona stopped showing up on "things you might like' on Pinterest.

I knew my love for traveling was partially gone. I knew it was mostly my fault, because I had let a trip that was completely possible, slip through my grasp. What hurts the most about the situation was that nobody realized how it had affected me, or how I had mentally blocked out any future trips I'd take in college or any time after.

That was my fault for not telling anyone. But then again, telling someone wouldn't of put me on a plane to Paris.