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I fall in love with reckless abandon. When I was 14 years old, I knew for a fact that I had found the boy I was destined to be with for life. On warm summer nights, I can still hear his McCartney-inspired accent singing in my ear in the backseat of my older brother’s rusty-blue Civic: “When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now, will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greeting, bottle of wine? Will you still need me? …When I'm sixty-four…And if you say the word, I could stay with you….”

Two years later, I realized that facts change. At 16 years old, I knew I was too young to settle with one person. Somehow, I let go of the boy that I had thought I couldn’t live without. After the glow and resulting heartbreak of first love had begun to fade, I realized an important fact: doing something that scares you opens up doors that you may have never known existed. Armed with this information, the most recent time I recklessly lost my senses, I was able to channel my feelings into planning an experience that will last for four months, yet impact my life forever. I have planned to leave everything I am familiar with and cross an ocean to study abroad in a country that I have never even visited.

When my friend Pat sent me an e-mail featuring a happy little animated man, reminiscent of a cross between Gumby and one of those pink gumdrops from Candy Land, I knew it was meant to be, all over again. If you couldn’t tell already, Mr. Nice, as he is appropriately named, is not your average guy. With a click of the mouse over his fuchsia body, Mr. Nice bursts out with his articulate, heavily accented speech, “Elloh! Ahm Mistah Nice. As you cahn see, ay dun’t have any ahms or hands. But it doesn’t stop meh from dahncin, now dohs it?” With another click, he’s off ...and dancing: a cute little jig that complements his chubby torso, and clearly demonstrates that his bodily impairment truly does not deter him from expressing his joy. Yes, I’m aware that I was, most likely, one of the few people (maybe the sole person) that found this enchanting. But entertainment was not Pat’s reason for sending Mr. Nice to my computer screen. Pat was impressed with his speech, especially his strong British accent. Pat was there on the monumental night that I succumbed to the greater passion that Mr. Nice has come to represent: studying abroad in England.

I’ve always liked the saying, “Do something everyday that scares you.” But putting it to use was completely different. When I was younger, I imagined that I’d be perfectly content living in an apartment alone, with the exception of my dog, eating nothing but nutritious macaroni and cheese and doing nothing but writing novels and watching daytime TV. Now I’m glad that I can laugh at my naiveté. I need to experience new things. I want to travel. I'd gotten a taste of it with family trips up and down the east coast, the Florida Keys, the western United States, Jamaica and Ireland. But Europe, as a whole, has always held a different kind of appeal. Somewhere along the way, I fell hopelessly, everlastingly in love with it. Europe is romance. Outdoor cafes. History. Accents. Shakespeare's home. Starry Night. I had to go. It was that head-over-heels, can’t eat, can’t sleep, infatuation that I was so familiar with. But this time, it was here to stay. Maybe a part of the mystery it has has to do with my family's strong ties with our European roots. Even though I'm of the fifth generation of immigrants, stories and folklore surrounding my family's history are as engraved in me as if I had actually met these relatives myself. I know the stories by heart, and according to country.

Poland -- My maternal great-great grandfather, at 17 years old, had been recruited into the Russian army against his will (where Russians treated Poles very badly). He and my great-great grandmother, only 16 years old, carried out an escape plan. They eloped and ran away to America in the middle of the night (making him AWOL from the Russian army, meaning, if caught, he could have been shot for treason). They left the rest of their families, who had helped them escape, behind and later saved enough money to send for some of them.

Ireland -- My Irish roots came to be planted in America completely by accident. My paternal great-great grandfather, after a long night of drinking with his buddies in his native Kilkenny, Ireland, got on a boat by mistake and ended up (with some luck of the Irish) in America. Maybe he was sick of the Guinness but he remained and raised a family where the boat left him—in the United States.

England -- My English side pales in comparison. My great-great grandmother decided to leave her homeland and depart for America. When she arrived, she met the now sobered Irishman and, despite the strong opposition of their families, they were soon married. These stories happened so long ago, yet I have a strong connection to these relatives, whose lives seem so exotic beginning at such an early age. But perhaps the catalyst, which led to buying a plane ticket to England, has more to do with my Irish side than anything else.

It was a normal Friday night at The College of New Jersey. I was hanging around in a dorm room on campus, indulging in some light drinking, aided by two of my favorite college sports: foosball and beer pong. The close quarters and abundance of cheap beer seemed to be taking effect. As my game got worse and worse, my senses became slightly more impaired. At some point, I turned to my friend Lauren and we broached the subject we had often fantasized about: studying a semester abroad. Somehow the over-analytical part of my mind had always stopped me from going through with this plan. I had so many practical questions: Could I survive in another country? Wouldn't I be lonely? Would I fall behind in my major classes? Could I afford to go? But that night, surrounded by my best friends, euphoria saturated the air and anything seemed possible. Lauren, who had already made up her mind to travel abroad with another friend, Becky, suddenly asked impulsively, "Why don't you come with us to England...next semester?" At that point, I saw no limitations. Like the freshness and decisiveness of first love, I felt that nothing could stop me. I made some kind of joyful affirmative answer and, in that second, I made a decision which is impressive for a woman who is so indecisive (she changed her major three times during her freshmen year in college).

The next morning, as my body was recovering from the past night's activities, the reality of the night’s decision began to set in. We had so much to plan. Lauren, Becky and I raced around campus to get information, fill out forms and get physicals. We were on our way, but a part of me was terrified. So I did what any independent, assertive, 20-year-old would do. I called Mom.

"This is the opportunity of a lifetime," she told me. Rather than clinging to me, she was pushing me to move forward. I gained confidence about the decision. While researching and gathering information about the trip I ran into nothing but over-enthusiasm from those who had experiences abroad. April Croman, a junior English major at TCNJ who spent a semester in England, said, “It’s wonderful. It’s been the best thing I have ever done and I strongly recommend going for it.”

Now that my application is in, it seems like very little time and effort has passed since that night and the present. But that’s not the case. I’ve spoken with countless study abroad coordinators, directors and students, all of whom have alleviated my previous questions and fears. According to Lorraine Fleck, director of international programs at Hollins University, “The greatest rewards students reap from study abroad are a tremendous sense of accomplishment, independence and self-confidence, experience in solving problems in unfamiliar environments where the rules may be unclear, a new appreciation of another culture, a new, more realistic, perspective on the U.S., our way of life, and our role in the world. These changes permeate every aspect of the student's life. It is a cliché, but absolutely true that studying abroad is a “life changing experience.”

But I still had doubts about leaving my family and friends behind. When I asked Ruben Garcia, a Spanish exchange student studying at TCNJ how he dealt with missing his loved ones, he seemed puzzled. “Missing them? There’s no time to miss them. Every night there’s something new to do and see.” Olga Pomerantz, who completed a master’s program at the London School of Economics and spent a term studying abroad in Barcelona, had the same view. “You barely have time to think about anything other than all the new things around you. Living abroad makes you view yourself and your home in a different light. You learn about places and ways of life that you never knew existed.”

At this point, the excitement is practically overwhelming. I’m in love with the possibilities that lay before me. My Mayflower departs in only a few short months. I'm not headed for a promised land, but for a promising adventure. The trip will not be as perilous as that of my ancestors. It will not be as spontaneous as the Irish one, not as dramatic as the Polish one, and certainly not as well-financed as the English one. It may not even live up to my romantic expectations. But it will be mine. My life to live and my story to tell. And if at some point it gets to be too much for me and I let the old fears creep in or I take myself too seriously, I know in the back of my mind I’ll think of Mr. Nice’s voice, reassuring me that anything is possible.

When I’m 64 who knows where I’ll be. But for sure, there’s the strong possibility that I’ll be (whether its on a plane, destination-bound, or in a rocking chair, holding the hand of the man I love) whispering in someone’s ear, maybe with the forced tinge of a British accent, the story of my own exotic life and how I never stopped dancing the whole way.