93 days ago, I began the countdown.

It’s hard to believe that I’m down to my last week.

Seven days.

So much has happened in those 93 days. New friendships formed, strengthening of old ones, lots of adventures, some tears in between, but also a whole lot of laughter.

I am not the same person I was 93 days ago. Hell, I’m not the same girl that stepped on that plane in June, leaving an entire life behind, eager to begin a new one.

I am more confident.

I am more patient.

I am stronger.

I am proud of myself. For the first time in a long time.

I am changed.

During the past 166 days, I’ve stood under the Eiffel Tower. I’ve spent a month swimming in the Mediterranean. I’ve dug my toes into French sand. I’ve stayed out until 6am, without a care in the world. I’ve learned to cook. I’ve taken on knitting. I’ve gallivanted around Barcelona without an agenda…or a map. I’ve shared pastries with my sister on the streets of Pamplona…and Madrid. I’ve run until my legs could take me no further. I’ve cried until I had no tears left. I’ve laughed until my stomach hurt.

That can never be taken away from me.

I went into this experience as a lost post-grad, completely avoiding the real world. I’m coming out of this more mature, more sure of myself, with a new perspective on life. I’m leaving here with no regrets, and with a Spanish family who will forever welcome me into their home, no questions asked.

I am ready to go home. To start a new chapter. To close the current one with a smile on my face.

I have a new appreciation for what the “real world” will bring, and I am confident that something great lies ahead.

I guess I’m not so lost anymore.