I studied overseas way back when I was in college. I gleefully filled a suitcase, hopped on a plane and spent a semester in London, making time to tour the U.K and the rest of the continent. When I got home, my dad told me that he had his passport and the currencies of several European countries (yes, it was well before the euro) close at hand in case disaster struck while I was away.
I remember wondering why he felt the need to do that.
Now I know.
My daughter spent the spring 2015 semester studying in London. And all the worrying I didn’t do when I was abroad was visited upon me with a vengeance.
Don’t misunderstand: I wanted her to go. My experience was life-changing and I wanted that for her. I wanted her to develop a love of travel, to appreciate more fully what it means both to be an American and a citizen of the world. I envisioned her becoming even more independent (she was already a pretty independent kid), learning to be comfortable negotiating foreign countries and cultures and taking full advantage of being a (fairly) well-funded student on the adventure of a lifetime.
But I didn’t anticipate the anxiety of knowing she was 5,452 miles away for five months, in a time zone eight hours ahead of ours, with a cellphone that worked most of the time but not all.
And that’s when she wasn’t traveling.
I’ve always encouraged my daughter to step outside her comfort zone. To challenge herself, grab an opportunity, not let uncertainty get in her way. Then, while she was doing exactly what I hoped, I worried.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I watch all the really creepy TV crime shows: “The Following,” “Hannibal,” “Criminal Minds.” They offer endless fodder for my overactive imagination, as my husband (who watches HGTV and “The Voice”) frequently reminds me.
Did I think she was safe? And smart? And cautious? You bet. My head knew she was an accomplished, capable 20-year-old who usually lives at UC Berkeley and had spent the previous summer interning in Northern California. But my heart held on to the 5-year-old who started each day with a joyously innocent grin and ended it with a ferocious hug. And if she had needed me while she was across the pond, I would have been too far away.
I’m her mom; worry is part of the job.
So I fought back by mentally thumbing through all the reassurances I could come up with:
The program: The UC Education Abroad Program sends kids all over the world. London seemed pretty innocuous when students were studying in Jordan and Cape Town. There was UCEAP staff in London. They didn’t keep track of the kids, but if there were a problem, someone was close at hand.
The phone: Viber, the app we used to communicate, was a godsend. And it’s free. I texted with my daughter daily, and we talked almost as often. Whether it was a short “good morning” note, an excited review of a great play (she’s a theater major) or a lengthy video discussion, I didn’t feel so far away after we touched base. I knew she was safe and having a wonderful time because I heard it in her voice and saw it in the selfies she sent.
The deal: When she took a small trip outside of London, my husband and I got a basic plan and the names of those with whom she was visiting and/or traveling. For her spring break trip, we got a full itinerary of dates, flights, trains, friends and addresses. She texted when she left London and arrived someplace new. She did this so we could share in the adventure and, well, because she knows me. She made the decisions and the plans. We got the relevant info.
The visit: I joined her in London for a couple of weeks. We took the train to Stratford-upon-Avon and visited the Bard and Leavesden to revel in all things Harry Potter. We flew to Rome for pasta and St. Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican. We explored London’s outdoor markets, ate in pubs and soaked up theater. We walked until our legs ached, marveled at Big Ben and the Victoria & Albert, ate digestives and laughed at our pitiful efforts to repeat British phrases with authentic accents. I met her friends, putting personalities to the faces in the pictures she had posted. I left feeling grateful to have shared the experience and comforted that she is a confident but cautious traveler.
When I got home, I still worried. But not every day, and not as much. I was (almost) as anxious to hear about her next adventure as I was to have one of those ferocious hugs. She flew safely back to Orange County in May, and that hug and the accompanying relief I felt were worth every minute of the wait.
We celebrated her 21st birthday, then she promptly left for a summer internship in St. Louis.
At least, now, we’re in the same country.
