Well, more like three months and two weeks but STILL. That’s a quarter of the year. A whole big massive chunk of 2017 that I’ll be spending in America.
And I’m kind of having a mare about it.
Very late last year, when the temperature had me going ‘hey, cool, my hands are now blue inside the house as well’ I decided that it would be a pretty good idea to arrange some guaranteed and consistent vitamin D for my summer 2017.
(Okay so it was a whole lot less blase than that, I’m not that cool.)
I’d started my Camp America application back at the beginning of September, filled out a few of the sections, and then completely chickened out. I wanted to focus on my career, find an internship that related to my career path (whatever the fuck that is???), and get serious about my last year of university. A mixture of working in retail, a shitty love life, and the realisation that this next summer was probably going to be the last time I could afford to spend such a large amount of time not focusing on my career, all lead me back to that application form.
I won’t go into detail about the whole Camp America process right now, but I’ll be making some more posts about it all after I’m back in the country.
So, fast forward 6 months from my very first interview to present day. It’s currently 13 days until I fly and I am absolutely bricking it. I’m not excited at all. I keep seeing people on twitter counting down to their own flight dates, with an overabundance of exclamation marks and grinning emojis. Each tweet makes me feel more sick.
I can’t understand what’s happened in my mind. In January, when I got placed at a recruitment fair, I couldn’t have been more elated. I’d been placed at one of my top camps, all of my hard work had paid off, I wasn’t going to have to spend my summer working in retail or in the same place I’d spent my whole life. How effing lucky am I?! And yet, now, four months on, every time I think about my summer I’m filled with dread.
I know once I’m out there I’m absolutely going to love it. I’m going to meet the most amazing people, have the most amazing experiences, finally not look like a Casper impersonator. It’s just right now I’m at home, with all the people I love, and the thought of spending nearly four months apart is absolutely terrifying.
I’ve done the whole living away from home thing for uni, and so I know I’ll be fine. It’s just like going to uni in September and coming back for Christmas, and when I lived away from home I never got homesick. That is, until I’d pop home for a weekend. I don’t know whether this is just me, but I would always get the most terrible home sickness at home. At uni I’d be fine, I’d be busy enjoying everything with my friends, but once I’d get home I’d be faced with everything I was leaving behind, and I’d be miserable the whole ride back.
I guess you could say that when I’m in America I shouldn’t feel home sick because I won’t have the chance to travel back home until I’m actually coming back. I think that just makes it so much worse though. If it was two months, I think I’d be fine. Four fucking months though.
It’s a long time.
It’s a big chunk of the year and (I’m trying to write this in the least dramatic way possible but I’ve given up because I absolutely am a drama queen) I feel like I’m putting my life on hold a bit. I applied for Camp America because I felt like my life was mundane, I’d go to work, I’d go to uni. Repeat. Now I feel like my life’s picking up speed, I’ve been seeing guys, going out with friends more, actually making headway with my career aspirations. I feel like I’m going to have these four months and come back to nothing, and nobody, waiting for me. What did I just say about being dramatic?
I’m going to stop that tangent there before I start really going for it – oh poor me, getting to spend my summer in America! All I’m really trying to say is that this is a big, massive journey I’m about to have and I’m just a bit scared to take that first step.