300 steps later, I’d finally arrived at the top. I began to hate the thick, baggy khakis and was having trouble adjusting to the constant itch of the lanyard around my neck. I hardly noticed the sun beating down on me as I heard the splash of water and children screaming, echoing off the massive white marble cathedral behind them. “We still have 20 minutes before we have to meet up with the others,” noticed another delegate from the trip. The clearly awkward tension sat heavily in the air for a while as we watched each other “It’s so hot. Let’s just sit at the fountain and wait.” My feet felt as if they were being dipped in water chilled to absolute zero as I settled down at the fountain. After spending 30 hours of travel with 33 complete strangers, wearing the same clothes as when I left the morning before, I finally relaxed. No one had a camera out, and the children splashing in the fountain began spraying us with water yelling French phrases I could not understand. Hearing the clicking of camera shutters and the babbling of too many languages to count, I realized I had finally made it to Paris, France.
Upon receiving the People to People letter last summer, I had been in a constant state of excitement, and worry, with the anticipation of my upcoming trip. I knew it would be pricey, but when my parents agreed to help, I assumed that they were taking on the role of sending me to Europe. It’s their job to make this happen for me, right? They’re my parents, here to shelter me through childhood until they push me out into the world, educated by the will of their wallets. But with the trip’s tuition looming over my head and my parents’ own bills staring them in the face, I watched with dismay as my summer savings drained from my bank account as payment deadlines approached. With a full schedule at school and a small part-time job, I knew there had to be something else I could do to fund the trip. Walking around Main Street from door to door, business to business with a stack of letters in my hand, I pled for donations. “Excuse me, my name is Erika, and I was selected to travel abroad with People to People this summer…” I found myself repeating countless times. Some businesses agreed to help, and some declined, but failure was something I had to accept as a part of success.

After the trip, I appreciated not only the memories from my experiences in Europe but also my parent’s inability to help more. The seemingly endless nights staying up talking to the delegates to the hours spent on the bus with nothing to do but share stories made me more comfortable with others. I now find myself eternally grateful for my parents’ inability to pay for my trip in its entirety, forcing me to gain the priceless life experiences I will need to succeed later in life without the shelter of my parents’ wallets.