I was 19 years old when the plane landed in the high Andes mountains of Colombia. I didn’t know it at the time, but my life would never be the same.
I had been given an opportunity to live and study in Bogotá. I had grown up in the Midwest and traveled with my family around the U.S. on summer vacations. I loved those trips, but I always yearned to explore a bigger world. Now I had a passport, and it was being stamped at a small airport in a place I had only seen on a globe.