I’m the kind of person who likes to flip coins on things, from the super mundane like “Heads I’ll get Wendy’s and tails I’ll get Canes for lunch” to the real life-altering choices like “Heads I’ll study abroad for Spring Semester and tails I won’t.”

Maybe it’s cheesy, but I really believe in chance, signs and all that “everything happens for a reason” silly frilly stuff. Truly, I do. God’s plan, as Aubrey Graham would say.

But, to be honest with you, when that coin landed on heads, I prayed I wouldn’t be able to study abroad.

I believe in chance, and I follow signs when they’re given, but man does it suck. I’d never left the country, and I hate not knowing, I hate being afraid, I hate venturing away from my comfort foods, I hate small talk, I hate FOMO and I hate how my heart sinks into my chest when I’m clueless in Arabic class – all things I associated with studying abroad in Morocco. 

So, as I attended my study abroad meetings with the wonderful Associate Director of Global Engagement, Karin Chipman, filled an Amazon wishlist with cute African-climate-safe outfits, and studied for my Arabic placement test, I also actively tried to sabotage any chance of me going. The signs didn’t care about what I wanted, though.

“If I don’t get this scholarship, I won’t go.” I’d tell myself as I submitted an application hours – at one point minutes – before the deadline.

And then I’d get the stupid scholarship.

I asked my poor communications professor, Ryan D’Souza, for a letter of recommendation the night before it was due, fully anticipating a “no” (don’t do that to your professors, by the way).

And then he wrote me a stupid, wonderfully written recommendation letter. 

My only true and valid reason was my grandfather, who, for that past year, hadn’t been in great health. What if, God forbid, something happened and I couldn’t get home in time because I’m across the World? I prayed every night on that, hoping I wouldn’t make it abroad and spend four months with a pit in my stomach.

He died a month before I had to leave. Afterward, I found pins he’d collected from his world travels, cassette tapes from his time in the Navy—where he connected with complete strangers around the world with a charisma I’d do anything to have—and two empty travel notebooks he never got to fill.

And as annoying as it was, if that wasn’t a stupid sign, I wasn’t sure what was.

And now, as I sit here in Morocco with exactly one week left in my program, I’d give anything to do it all again, or at least stay longer.

In my room here in Meknes, Morocco, there is a shelf with little trinkets I’ve collected or been given by the lifelong friends I’ve made here. There’s an open Arabic book with homework I didn’t do, but I now know how to. And there are two of my grandfather’s notebooks, filled with my own stories and thoughts from my time abroad.

I think this article was supposed to be about my experience abroad, the adventures I’ve had and the eye-opening, world-view-shifting things I’ve learned. And trust me, I have two notebooks’ worth of stories to cover that.

But if you’re anything like me, you’ve already seen it all—a million students on TikTok, YouTube, blogs, and more talking about their study abroad experiences. I get it, you get it, we all get it.

I wonder if I had read something about how scared someone was, how much they didn’t want to go, something that truly spoke to my feelings back then, if I would’ve taken it as one of those beautiful, stupid signs. 

So, if you’re looking for a stupid sign to study abroad, this is it.