I had to set aside my fear of reaching out, of being the person who didn't quite fit yet, because connection among those around me every day was the only thing I truly had out here. And slowly, it came. More than anything, though, it was the culture itself that changed me. The food, the music, the languages, and the traditions I had never thought about before. I never anticipated how much it would mean to find my place within all of it. But honestly? I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
Despite the 4,840 miles and a seven-hour time difference standing between me and home, the connection never fully broke. The friends I made here in Budapest were largely fellow Americans, which made it easier than I expected. We had a shared cultural language to fall back on. We'd gather around American pop hits, grab burgers every now and then, and spend hours swapping stories about the states we grew up in. There was something comforting about that, especially on the days when Budapest felt furthest from familiar. But my thoughts were always drifting back to Chicago, too. Social media, calls, and late-night messages became my lifelines. I'd post pictures or try to put into words what life felt like here, whether in Budapest or in the other countries I got to visit along the way, hoping the people back home could catch even a small glimpse of it. And on their end, they'd fill me in on everything I was missing. Family gatherings I couldn't make it to, the new restaurant down the street in the neighborhood, or sometimes just the ordinary updates of daily life. Those moments, as simple as they were, reminded me that distance doesn't have to mean disconnection. It just means you have to be a little more intentional about staying close.
