Imagine walking into a foreign place, greeted not with embraces or kind words, but instead with a command to get out. When I arrived in Rome’s Fiumicino airport in January, the first Italian word I learned was “uscita,” meaning exit. Isn’t it strange that the first word one learns at the beginning of a journey is a word that means “to leave”? I had just arrived in Rome and the signs were already demanding that I go. This happened again and again. I learned “uscita” in Italy, “sortie” in France, “salida” in Spain and “vychod” in the Czech Republic.

The idea struck me that one must enter a new place while keeping in mind that it will not be long until it is time to leave again. When I arrived in Rome at the beginning of the semester, I thought that the months would crawl until I returned home to my friends and family. Instead, the semester was over before I knew it. My time abroad flew by in a blur of ancient ruins, flaky pastries, noisy airports and languages that I did not understand.

I quickly learned survival tactics on the streets of Rome, lest I be crushed beneath the stiletto boots of frightening Italian women.

If you want to keep your self-esteem intact, do not smile at people on the street. They never smile back.

Stand at the bar of a café rather than sitting; it’s cheaper.

And don’t forget that paying _20 means you are actually spending roughly $32 or else you will be kissing your life savings goodbye very quickly.

Try to use the language you do know. Locals love when you try to speak their language, even if you slaughter it.

The most important thing I learned was that you have to be comfortable looking like a moron on a daily basis. Early in the semester, I went to say goodbye to a sweet, older Italian man with the traditional double-cheek kiss. I ended up moving my head to the wrong side first and because he went the correct way, we met in the middle—and I kissed him on the mouth. He might have been more embarrassed than I was.

That was only the beginning of the humiliation to come. But this semester was supposed to be about going beyond my comfort zone.

I would not have been able to learn all that I did without making a fool of myself.

Tiny nuns continually corrected me at my service site, showing me how to wash and hang clothes more efficiently.

A man in Spain laughed at me when I pointed helplessly to my future dinner behind the glass in a bakery.

Ticket collectors glared when I flashed them my ticket . to the wrong destination.

Even though it feels like I arrived in Rome just yesterday, I fit a lot of life into this short span of a semester.

I’m glad I did not listen to the intimidating “uscita” signs and immediately vacate the premises on that first day in Rome at the airport.

Instead, I befriended the exit signs and let them lead me out into a new and different world from the one I knew.

Now, as I return to the United States, the first word I see will be the familiar, red exit sign in O’Hare airport. It will remind me that I have left behind my adventurous lifestyle for the flat Midwestern plains.

But I will embrace those four letters as they lead me, the worldly, yet humbled young woman, back home.

Mary Beddome is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences, studying in Rome, Italy.