By the time I got to the terminal that night, I was run down because of exhaustion and dehydration, but mostly nerves. Earlier, at 4am, my alarm buzzed with a tone of urgency, forcing me to leave my plush, princess bed. Like a zombie, I flipped my bathroom lights on, tossed my hair into a ponytail (a hardly-worn hairstyle for the 16-year old Jillian) and threw on bedazzled blue jeans and my boyfriend’s hoodie that’s sleeves swallowed my hands whole. By 4:15am I was out the door with my giant brown and blue rolling duffle dragging behind me.

My mother drove us to the airport that morning. As I sat in the back seat of her Jeep Grand Cherokee with my best friend Maria (who offered to wake up that early on a school day just to say goodbye; how crazy is she?!) I stared down at my phone’s blank screen and my mind dwelled on what the day was going to bring. Excitement pumped through my blood, but simultaneously, my heart raced with fear. I would be away for one whole month. My best friend, boyfriend, family, dog, all of them still in Michigan and I’d be all alone, all the way across the ocean. Whether it was England or my dad and I’s day-long detour in Iceland, my location would change, but time wouldn’t. The duration of my travels would remain, and this trip was going to be the longest I have ever been away from home.

But hey, at least I had my dad there for the first leg of my journey.

I stumbled through the Detroit Airport security that morning: half-asleep, half-awake, but my dad was like the Energizer energy bunny, like he always is, an experienced traveler and someone who is accustomed to waking up before the sun does. Soon enough, the plane had come to the gate, we boarded, and from there it was smooth sailing.

We landed in New York at approximately 7am and waited anxiously by the luggage carousels until my Aunt Tina’s car pulled up. From there we would spend the day in the concrete jungle with her and my three younger cousins. The city was at my fingertips and I could smell the swee–

“Mom, I’m not feeling good,” my 9-year old cousin Will squealed from the backseat.

OK, well, maybe the city would smell sweeter, but as for the car there was nothing sweet about sitting in morning commuter traffic with your little cousin upchucking his breakfast.

Arriving was a relief.

There I was, scampering along the hot city pavement (that I started to dread after a while), wishing I could’ve worn something more weather appropriate instead of jeans and a hoodie. In just less than half a day, we did everything: walked the Brooklyn Bridge, adventured to SoHo, and finally went shopping. Because, of course, you can’t forget to do at least a little bit of shopping in New York City.

Although the day was starting to slowly come to a close, the heat was still unbearable and at this point, I was starting to get tired. Our jaunt in New York came to a close and we became vagabonds once again, wandering to our next destination: Iceland. I quickly hugged my aunt and cousins goodbye as my dad and I jumped into a yellow cab. My mind started to relax at the thought of being able to sit down in an air conditioned mini-van after this never-ending day.

I could only dream for a few short seconds.

Rush-hour traffic was filled with unbearable fumes and back-ups, the driver continuously floored the gas pedal and then slammed the break every two seconds, and because of all this a pesky migraine started to form in my temples.

And that’s when things started going downhill.

That 30 minute drive felt more like a lifetime of misery. But finally, we pulled up the airport and I stumbled out of the car, searching for fresh air to breathe in. Like most airports, it was chaotic. But it would soon be worth it, because early tomorrow morning I’d be waking up above the clouds, overlooking the vastness of a barren island, uncharted by many.

Or would I?

An hour before my flight, I was laying on the airport floor, collapsed and crying. I began to wish that I never decided to take this trip in the first place. It was like someone had grabbed all my confidence and threw it out the window. Everything I was sure of, I was no longer sure of. I physically felt like I could not walk down the runway to board the Iceland Air jet, waiting at the gate.

“If we get to Iceland tomorrow and you decide you don’t want to do this, then we can catch the first plane back tomorrow.” He said, trying to urge me into a state of impartialness. A state of mind that would keep me partially satisfied for the moment.

I sniffled an “Okay” under my breath and grudgingly took the aisle seat next to him. Then my phone rang. I let it ring, and a few minutes before take-off I saw the screen flash again, it read: “Voicemail from Connor”. After listening to my boyfriend’s deep, calming voice over the phone, I took a sleeping pill and drifted into temporary dream mode that took away my worries. As the plane flew high into the clouds, my head made a crash onto the pillow in my dad’s lap.

When I woke up, I was still on the plane. But I looked out the window and all I could see was glaciers, rock, and the shining sun. I was breathless.

Two years later I’ve come to fully understand how that journey of a lifetime impacted me. Because in the moment, you’ll want to cry or you’ll feel as if something is going terribly wrong, but when you buy into those emotions, that’s when you stop living. I was afraid to get on that plane simply because I was making a big decision.

When I was at Woldingham School in England (where I had been for a good two weeks at this point), another American girl was unpacking her things into the vacant room beneath mine in the boarding house. The next day, she disappeared. Later I found out she was already back home in the States.

After that incident, I reflected on myself and knew why I got on that plane and why I stayed. When I first stepped off the train from London and on to the platform of Woldingham station, I was super nervous, yet my smile never faded from my lips. At the beginning of my stay, I was the only American and I was trying to navigate the social settings of a new school, new people, new culture, and new country.

But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because legally drinking wine with my teachers was hands down one of the rarest experience a typical 16-year old American girl could have. So was experiencing the beauty of England and Iceland. And taking that leap off the platform and on to the plane was by far one the most important decision I’ve ever made.