On biting off more than I can chew and finding it delicious.

Or; An ode to how I became this person.

I have a fabulous email sitting in my inbox from one of my oldest friends which says simply how brave she thinks I am.
When asked to describe myself, brave is not the word I would put first. Or second. Or thirty-seventh. I have a fond memory of a time when upon discovering me waiting in a restaurant because I didn't know whose name the reservation was under, a friend gave me a telling off for not simply asking at the desk. As a rule, I never spoke out at parties and the boys I had crushes on never knew. In fact, they were more likely to think that I didn't even want to be friends with them. Same goes for just wanting to be friends with people. Some people who I admire from afar, I keep at a distance. Intimidated. Not brave. Most of my treasured friendships have sprung from being the one who listened- and blossomed into friendships where I never shut up.

But this is not about the Niki who is quiet. Because moving to a country where you know no one is not quiet. Having to speak a whole new language (even when you speak it quietly), is not quiet. It is LOUD.

This is not something I would have ever done on my own. I mean, literally, I am on my own. But without all the people in my life. In the last few years, the people that I know have become these amazing examples of brilliance. People who will be activists, journalists, doctors and old friends (even if they are new now). I have always admired bravery. in its various forms. I have always said that I have had the easiest life and never had to be brave because nothing was tough. The same is not true for these people. In the face of losing things- boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, new friends, old friends, their health, their dreams- I have seen people fall in love (on purpose), strive for equality, strive for friendship, grow confident, grow older and younger at heart, grow kinder, grow wiser, show their beliefs, show their hearts, get amazing jobs, get amazing lives and start to ask for  MORE MORE MORE.

It makes me want to travel the world and appreciate that I can. It makes me want to get my dream job. It makes me want to gather up my friends and tell them that I admire them. Which I am not brave enough to do. So they can read about it in my blog instead.

I expect France to be hard. Living without my family is already a little difficult. But I expected to hate it. I expected to grow from it and learn, but I did not expect to love it. Or like it that much. I believed stereotypes that said that the French were mean , the teachers would not like me, the students would be rude and I would spend every day homesick. I expected France to get the better of me.
It is hard.
But I did not expect to love the challenge. I did not expect to be brave.

So every time I board a train and have those few moments where I am convinced I am going the wrong way-
I look forward to the adventure.