I’m sitting in DIA and there’s a guy sitting across from me with sunglasses on.

I can’t see his eyes but I feel like he’s staring at me.

I’m worried he’s judging the size of my carry-on.

Do you see how preposterous this is? I’m about to go to Prague. I know how to say hello, which luckily (sometimes) doubles as goodbye but I feel like I am butchering the pronunciation of “Korunas” which I have shoved into my wallet. I have barely researched anything for this trip to such a new place.

I’m about to live abroad for five weeks, and my biggest concern is the size of my luggage. I’m hoping that that’s a good thing…?

But now he has taken his glasses off and I can see that he’s just tired, zoning out. He’s not judging me or my carry-on; he’s just really looking forward to this nine hour flight.

My bag (the one I re-packed this morning) is checked and headed for Prague. I have a totally unnecessary amount of Netflix pre-loaded into my phone. Mom and Dad took the obligatory picture of me standing in the airport holding my passport. “Watch out Prague! Here she comes!”

That’s right, here I come.

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