When I was sixteen, I won a scholarship to study abroad in Germany with the Congress Bundestag Youth Exchange Program. I don’t think I really was a teen adventurer who longed for new experiences; rather, I was simply a very confused sophomore in a state of shock.

In this state of shock, I got on a plane and left my home and all the people I love for a whole year without much protest. Regardless of why I decided to study abroad, the experience changed my entire life. Now, I’m not one to shy away from new experiences or adventures no matter how far away they take me. Ask anyone who knows me, and they would probably say that I have my life somewhat together and can function as independently as is expected of a 20 year old “baby adult.” Knowing all of this, I have to ask myself one question: why am I so upset about going to college?

College has always been on my radar. My grandparents were professors, and my mother was a teacher, so in my house, education has always been the number one priority. I knew that I would go to college. I helped my sister move into her first dorm room, and I wished my brother good luck before many of his college Chemistry tests. I didn’t even freak out too much when I applied to colleges. Now, three days before I load a U-haul and drive 20 hours to Massachusetts, I feel like running in the opposite direction. I’ve been feeling this urge for the past couple of weeks. I’ve watched my friends leave for their perspective colleges, universities, or gap years, and I’ve said some bittersweet goodbyes. It isn’t the goodbyes that are upsetting me though, nor is it the distance. Yesterday I kept wondering to myself why college was so much more daunting than my year in Germany, and I could only come up with one answer. When I flew to Germany, I knew I would come back home, go back to school, and basically continue my life as a regular kid. Going to college feels like the end of an era. Germany was a large chapter in my life’s book, but college starts the second book of the series, and no matter how much I’d love to, I can’t reread the first book with fresh eyes. My first book has ended, and my second has begun.

While I know I will come home for visits and vacations, I’m afraid it may not feel like my home as much as it used to. My sister graduated from college, found a job, rented a house, and adopted some cats, my beautiful nephews. She launched into the real adult world, and I can’t help but realize that I’m doing just that. Our small family unit won’t be the same anymore. We’ll always have each other, but we’ll be spread out across the United States instead of down the hallway. So, while I am extremely excited for college life and all of the classes I’ll get to take, I’m hit with a strange amount of grief. I grieve for a childhood that I don’t get to repeat, and I grieve for a family unit that keeps expanding.

I promise, it isn’t all grief, though. Between the excitement and sorrow, I feel an insane amount of hope. I feel hopeful about my future both in college and afterwards, and I feel hopeful about how much my family will grow together. I’m hopeful about sharing my family’s traditions with new friends that I meet along the way, filling more hearts with the same joy that my parents and siblings have given me. This week, while I stressfully pack and move to my dorm, I remind myself that no matter how far away I go and no matter how much time passes, my family members are and will always be my foundation, my best friends, and my biggest supporters.