As a study abroad veteran and a somewhat rational being, I have spent a good amount of my time here in Paris trying to learn from the mistakes I made during my previous study abroad experience. I regretted spending so much time with Americans last time, so I’ve told myself to avoid them (to the degree that it is feasible). I was upset that my Arabic was not as good as I had expected it to be at the end of last fall, so I’m working diligently on my French here. I spent too much time working in Jordan and not enough time “experiencing” it, so I expect myself to go out more in Paris than I normally do in New York or Amman.

One of the best things I could have done for myself on this trip, though, was something that I did not even intend to do. I came totally unprepared. I barely got my visa application in on time; I only brought one, awfully tattered pair of shoes with me that fell apart the second week; my suitcase was too small; I left behind my winter coat; and I hadn’t spoken French since May. I thought that the reason behind all of these foolish actions was a subconscious arrogance that viewed studying in the Middle East as a “real” experience and anywhere in Europe as nothing more than a joke. As it turns out, though, these physical manifestations of total unpreparedness were just that—manifestations. Their root, and the tool that, however surprisingly, played to my advantage, was a speculation-starved mentality that managed to remove all expectations from my mind. I realize now that I, sitting on the tarmac at JFK in September and wallowing in a bounty of non-conjecture, had not thought once about what the next four months would hold. In fact, I was so involved in trying to finish a summer reading book of embarrassingly poor quality that the flight time seemed (thankfully) negligible.

Amidst this dearth of anticipation, my first free days in the city did not mean visiting the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Panthéon, or Sacré-Coeur, nor did it involve much coffee, cigarettes, croissants, frogs’ legs, haute couture, or escargot. One day, I found myself walking from my apartment in the loathsomely hip, Williamsburg-esque Bastille neighborhood toward the banlieues (suburbs) in search of a fabric market that I had read about on a flyer, but I never actually saw it because I got completely lost in transit. Another day, I spent two hours talking about asylum and citizenship with a young Kurdish man who worked in a kebab shop, had not seen his family in 12 years, and spent two months in a French prison. That was the day in which I had planned, and thus failed, to visit the famous cemetery Père Lachaise. These are the first accounts in a report on my personal exploration and not that of a romantic novel author.

If I had to eat a delicious, buttery baked good for every student I have met whose plans before coming to Paris involved picking up smoking, running around while decked out in Chanel and Longchamp bags (my attempt at being gender neutral, as Parisian men carry them too), dancing in only the classiest of techno clubs and acquiring French lovers, I would likely be the same size I am now, because I do visit a lot of bakeries. If I had a Euro for every person I know who has failed to achieve those rigid and somewhat unrealistic goals, I would have much more money with which to purchase the aforementioned delicious, buttery baked goods. I have seen so many students, myself included, fail to live up to their preconceived notions of what study abroad is supposed to be and then beat themselves up about it. Recognizing and then avoiding expectations, however, can lead to a more open attitude towards the possibility of learning from any kind of experience, not just those that are expected.

One of my closest friends here, for instance, is not someone whom I met in class, in a café, through my abroad program, or even on the street. I met him on the Internet. Though such a meeting was not anything I had ever imagined before coming here, when we sit for hours talking about immigration, student life, French culture, feminism, relationships, and Arabic, I can no longer imagine a time not knowing him. Despite the fact that meeting someone on the Internet and becoming very close friends is not the most idyllic of narratives, my time here would have been much less enjoyable and genuine without having met him.

My father always told me to have “high hopes and low expectations,” though he is not usually the type to mimic Brad Pitt’s character from Tree of Life and give awkwardly touching fatherly advice. Following his direction, in my experience, has meant opening myself up, both intellectually and emotionally, to even the most surprisingly new experiences and allowing them to color and enrich my entire time abroad, in spite of the fact that I never envisioned them. I am, of course, not encouraging students to be completely oblivious to their surroundings and expect themselves to float down the “study abroad” river without exerting any effort. Perhaps, though, students might explore and learn from what they find instead of just planning and learning what they already know.