The Chisel in the USA

By Kelsie Stelting

As the class valedictorian, the oldest of four children, the daughter of a tractor mechanic and a sporadically employed waitress (who had me at seventeen), the long-time girlfriend of a boy who lived two hours away, and the victim of bullying from the principal’s daughter, I went to college with little financial support from family, no friends except for my boyfriend, and a mile high chip on my shoulder.

Six months into college, my boyfriend and I got married, and we were on a quest to prove everyone wrong about young couples (and, of course, a quest to live happily ever after). So we set out to do what only the most well-off and successful college students are able to do: study abroad. We met with our college’s study abroad advisor and asked about the cheapest option to study abroad in Europe. He directed us towards a university in Prague, Czech Republic, and we busied ourselves applying to the university, filling out visa forms, and pleading for scholarships from every possible source. We had been in college for a year and a half before we finally boarded a plane to Prague, ready to start what we were told would be the greatest adventure of our lives.

I still had a 4.0 GPA, no friends except for my husband, and that ever-present chip on my shoulder. When we arrived to the university housing in Prague, I sat down on the thin, stained mattress and bawled. It was cheap to study in the Czech Republic for a reason. Adjusting to our new living conditions was difficult, and adapting to the Czech way of life was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. In high school told, people me that college would be the best time of my life—that I would make lifelong friends and that there would be boundless opportunities for my future. I don’t think I believed that until I had been living in the Czech Republic for almost a month. On my first day of class, I had the great fortune of sitting next to a wild-haired German girl with the kindest heart. No one usually talked to me before classes at my college, but she said hello and struggled to make a connection with me through the language barrier.

In my second class, I met a savvy and blunt girl from Latvia. We clicked immediately. In my third class, I met a quiet girl from “eh-Spain” who shared my addiction to coffee. In my fourth class, a Spanish boy with a love of Minions and a young man from Slovakia. There were two pubs within walking distance of campus and a metro line that could take me anywhere in Prague my heart desired. Within two weeks, I never had to sit by myself in the cafeteria, even if my husband couldn’t eat with me. Within three weeks, I’d been on countless misadventures in the city. Within four weeks, I realized I had gained what I’d so desperately longed for in high school: friendships.

My chip was slowly being chiseled away; one midday coffee, one awkwardly ordered dinner, one weekend outing, one Czech beer, and one late night dance club at a time. When Susan said hello, she wasn’t just extending a friendly greeting; she was picking up the chisel. Removing my chip showed me that I could make a friend, that a young married couple can have the time of their lives in college, and that someone from my socioeconomic background can partake in globe-trotting adventures. But most importantly, I learned that even though my family wasn’t rich, even though I was married young, even though I’d been bullied, I was worth saying hello to.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Gratitude Travel Writing competition and tell your story.