I have a tendency to get lost. During my first or second week of classes as a freshman at Dickinson, I tried to walk from Weiss to my dorm (Longsdorff) around 9 p.m. by myself because I didn’t want to go to the Quarry; it took me about ten minutes to realize I was going the wrong way, which meant it took me about ten more minutes to retrace my steps and another five to find the right way to go. So on my second night here in Málaga, it was not a surprise, but rather something of a disappointment, when I got lost trying to get back to my host family’s apartment by myself because I didn’t want to go out to a bar or club.

Now, what do those two situations have in common? If your answer is that both happened when I tried to go somewhere in a very new place, then you’re technically right, but that’s not the answer I’m going to discuss in this column. That answer would be that both happened when I was by myself and not with a group, even though going with the group was an option.

So here’s the newest example of me choosing not go to with a group and regretting it: All of the Dickinsonians here in Málaga had to attend a poetry reading in the city center. Most of us don’t live in the city center, so we have to take a bus to get there; in fact, half of us get on at the same stop.

However, rather than go to the bus stop and wait for someone else to get there, or rather than text or Facebook message the others to see when people were going, I decided to just hop on the bus and go. I got to the city center, tried to find the street where the poetry reading would be held…and couldn’t. I called one of the other girls to get directions, tried to follow them…and apparently skipped a bunch of steps because I didn’t find the place until the poetry reading had already started.

I could blame something other than myself for getting lost. After all, it was around 8 p.m. and I couldn’t read the street signs printed on the sides of the buildings (not on poles like in the United States). I’d never been to that particular building or even on that particular street. My host mom had given me a rather nasty lecture right before I left the apartment, so I could blame her for upsetting me. Since I wasn’t the only one who got lost, I could blame the program director for picking a bad location. I could also blame the other Dickinsonians for not trying to contact me sooner so I could have been given directions sooner. But I’m not going to do any of that. Well, I won’t blame the other Dickinsonians, program director or new location, at least; I still don’t like the signs being on buildings or my host mom having lectured me. However, I’m mostly to blame: I didn’t look up the location beforehand, call someone sooner or ask someone in the area for help. I tried to be independent, rather than safe.