Rachel's Rendezvous Journalism student at the University of Florida. This is a blog I created as a part of the World Nomads Travel Writing Scholarship application process. Should I be selected, I'll be posting from China this summer! Best of luck to all.

I remember the last flight of stairs.
It was summer in London, and though the sun was bright in the city, at the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral, the wind whipped at my hair and lashed at my face.
In that frigid battle zone, I could see skyscrapers jutting out from the horizon.
Parliament rested in the distance, directly across from the winding London Eye. Museums and bridges dotted the outlook, and the River Thames snaked across my plane of sight.
So this is it, I thought.
I closed my eyes quickly and opened them again. This is real. It’s here. The city I’d been so excited to visit for the first time lay beneath me, ready to be explored.
I took a deep breath and held it in, holding onto the moment.
I am Rachel Crosby. I am here. I am alone. I am alive.
There, on that little viewpoint on the cathedral’s dome, I found myself.
***
When I landed at Gatwick International Airport, I was 18 years old.
The day before I was 17. I spent my birthday on a 10-hour flight across the Atlantic with my best friend, Conor, whose parents funded my trip as a generous graduation present.
But they didn’t come with us.
We boarded a train to the city together. We acted ecstatic, euphoric. But looking back, I know we were terrified too.
We sat across from another, our luggage at our sides. Country homes and cobblestone whizzed by on our way into the city.
I closed my eyes. Black graduation gowns, diplomas, family embraces. Fresh out of high school and now I’m on the other side of the world.
Just don’t die, Rachel, I thought to myself. Freedom is fun, but come back alive.
***
The trip was my first without my parents. Aside from the initial fear, it was liberating.
In just two months I would start my career as a college student at the University of Florida, about 3,000 miles from my hometown of Las Vegas, Nev.
This was a test run.
Each day started with a cup of tea. We took photos in red phone booths. We ate bangers and mash. Westminster Abbey, the British museum and the Tate Modern were just a few of our stops. I had a legal pint of Guinness in a dark-wooded British pub.
And on the last day, I finally figured out the Tube.
Each night, we walked through Camden Town together. Street musicians, locals and lovers lined the trip back to the tiny flat we’d rented for the week.
But I’ll never forget that moment on top of the city.
Conor opted to avoid the stairs, but I climbed every single one.
It was the first time I’d ever felt strong on my own – the first day of the rest of my life.