One of the first times I remember thinking, consciously, This Is Who I Am was while walking alone through busy, cobble-stoned European streets. I was freshly 21, had broken a heart and been broken-hearted, knew I was still finding myself, and had dreams that were both bigger and smaller than I knew how to handle.
Before those solo strolls during the summer I studied abroad, I could have painted a fairly detailed picture of the Laura I was trying to become. It included coffee shops and journals, rainy days and strong lipstick. But the first time - and then each subsequent time - I walked with purpose through the old streets, a bookbag over my shoulder, I was overcome with the unpredictable notion that I was exactly where I was supposed to be, always.