Ten months ago I was a small town, stress ridden senior. The nearest Wendy’s was an 11 minute drive to the next town over, and Chick-Fil-A and Panera were about two hours out. I had clear blue skies above me, and clean Rocky Mountain air 24/7. The night sky was a blanket of bright stars and blue velvet.

Basically, apart from a few luxuries like Uber and Jack in the Box, I was living on a slice of mountain heaven.

And I wanted more.

I wanted more languages, more cultures, more skin colors, more diversity, more adventure. So I went and got it.

Let me tell you: I romanticized moving out. Not asking permission to go out? Heck yes! Being 100% in control of your meal plan? Sign me up! Freedom and liberty and getting to explore an entire new place? College? I thought I was so ready.

Turns out all moving out means is that you have to clean your own bathroom a lot more often.

It means keeping a two person apartment clean day after day, week after week, and learning some clever uses for baking soda. Clean clothes don’t magically materialize in a neat pile on your bed, and food isn’t ready after a long long day of school. Grocery shopping on a budget is a lot harder than parents make it look. Oh, don’t even get me started on budgeting. If you don’t know how to build a budget, and stick to it, learn now.

I learned that home is more than the place you live in. People make home special. I learned that living away from my parents is harder than I thought it would be, and freedom ain’t what I thought it would be. I learned true sobbing-in-the-middle-of-the-night homesickness. But most importantly, I learned that I’m stronger than I thought I was.

Moving out taught me that I am perfectly capable of stumbling, falling, and picking myself right back up again.