When I was seventeen, I traveled by myself internationally for the first time, flying to meet my family in Venice, Italy.

I was overwhelmed as soon as I stepped off the plane in another country. I’d never been alone in an airport where I couldn’t read the posted signs. I had a layover in the Paris-Orly airport, and I had to figure out how to get through customs to my next terminal. I had thought I would be able to successfully navigate using the vague English translations displayed under French on the signage, but none of the signs seemed to point to where I needed to go. My questions at the help desk were met with a shrug and, as for asking for assistance from a generous stranger, my knowledge of French is limited to some fun, random vocabulary our family friends taught me when I was a kid (the French word for underwear–sous-vêtement–was not particularly useful for getting me through the airport).

Somehow I managed to maneuver my way to the terminal listed on the towering monitor filled with flights from all over the world. After the rush of nerves I’d felt searching for the terminal, I now just had to wait for my flight. 

I sat by the gate and read a book, feeling more confident in myself for managing to get to the gate all on my own. I was just beginning to relax when everyone around me started to line up to board the plane. Following suit, I packed up my bag and waited in the stationary line. After fifteen minutes, I caught a glimpse of the monitor. Where it had read “Venice” before, now listed a destination that was most certainly not Venice. Was I reading the sign wrong? I was pretty sure this was the terminal that had been listed for my flight. The only way to find out was to do one of the things that scared me most: I had to go ask. 

Tentatively, I mumbled “excuse me” as I pushed through the line to the desk.

“Is this the flight to Venice?” I asked nervously. I had a feeling I knew their answer.

“No,” one of them replied. “That flight changed terminals.” 

Someone at the back of the line raised up a hand. “I’m looking for that flight as well.” A few more people chimed in with, “Me too.” The gate agent looked up the new terminal and informed me that, of course, it was all the way on the other side of the airport. 

“Thank you!” I chirped and rushed past the line. A handful of other people also left the line and began to follow as I made my way through the terminal. I had somehow accidentally designated myself as the leader of this hodgepodge group of middle age travelers, the youngest duckling leading the rest of the paddling. 

I slowed to catch my breath as the gate came into view. The flight was supposed to be boarding, but I didn’t see a line. My anxious feeling creeping back, I had a suspicion that I once again was going to overcome my nerves and ask some questions. I suddenly had to advocate not only for myself but for a whole group of people at least 15 years older than me. Somehow, this made me more confident. I approached the counter once again. 

“Is this the flight to Venice?” I asked.

“No, that flight was here, but it was moved to a different gate.” 

The new gate, of course, was located past the one we had just come from, the farthest from where we were. 

I thanked the gate agent and then, as one group, our collection of lost travelers jogged through what felt like a mile of the Orly airport. Our flight should be taking off in a few minutes, and it took more than ten minutes to get to the other side of the terminal. United in our common goal, we moved as a unit, but I was always slightly in the lead. I found the situation equally stressful and ridiculous, seventeen-year-old me, who struggles to be assertive, and a handful of full-grown adults who were relying on me to get to their flight. If I could do this, I felt like I could travel anywhere.

Luckily, when we finally got to the correct terminal, the flight was still boarding. We had made it.  When we reunited, my parents almost couldn’t believe that I, their shy daughter, had led a group of adults through a French airport. I almost couldn’t either. Travel brings out surprises in all of us, skills we didn’t even know were there.

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~ Keira Cruickshank