Coming to America at 21: My Work and Travel Story
Living between two countries wasn’t something I planned. My first summer in the United States through Work and Travel changed everything. I was 21 years old when I first came to the United States.
It was supposed to be temporary. A Work and Travel summer. Just a few months. Just an experience.
At least that’s what I told myself.
It was the first time I had ever truly left home — not just my city, but my parents, my brother, the rhythm of everything familiar. I was excited in a way that only a 21-year-old can be: fearless, curious, convinced that the world was waiting.
My family was proud.
And quietly devastated.
At the airport, I remember trying not to cry because I didn’t want to make it harder for them. My mother holding it together. My father being strong. My brother pretending it wasn’t a big deal.
I was leaving for adventure.
They were staying behind with absence.
https://j1visa.state.gov/programs/summer-work-travel
Falling in Love with America While Living Between Two Countries: Washington, DC and Chicago
That summer, I lived in Washington, D.C., and later spent time in Chicago.
I fell in love with America in a way I didn’t expect. That’s when I truly began experiencing what it feels like to be living between two countries, balancing excitement abroad with the life I left back home.
Not just with the skyline or the scale of it all — but with the energy. The movement. The ambition. The feeling that if you worked hard enough, you could build something entirely your own.
Everything felt bigger.
The cities. The opportunities. The expectations.
For the first time in my life, I had to do everything alone.
Open bank accounts. Figure out transportation. Handle paperwork. Solve problems without calling home first. Work long hours. Budget carefully. Push through exhaustion.
There was no one to rescue me.
Somewhere between metro maps and late shifts, I grew up.
Returning to Serbia After Living Between Two Countries
When the program ended, I went back to Serbia.
Back to my room. Back to Sunday lunches. Back to the language that doesn’t need translation in your head.
Returning home, I realized that living between two countries had already reshaped me in ways I couldn’t ignore.
Something inside me had stretched.
Home felt smaller — not because it was less, but because I had seen more.
I tried to settle back in. I tried to convince myself it had just been a summer.
But America had stayed with me.
The Decision to Move to the United States Permanently
A few months later, an opportunity came.
Unexpected. Life-changing.
A chance not just to visit again — but to stay. To live. To build a future in the United States.
I didn’t hesitate.
That’s the part people always ask about.
“Were you scared?”
Of course I was.
But I was more afraid of wondering what if for the rest of my life.
So I packed again.
And I left.
Missing Family While Living Between Two Worlds
No one talks enough about this part.
The loneliness.
The birthdays you attend through a screen.
The holidays that don’t feel the same.
The time difference that makes phone calls complicated.
The guilt of choosing your dreams over proximity.
There were nights I cried after hanging up the phone.
There were days I felt invisible.
There were moments when success felt heavy — because the people I loved most weren’t physically there to see it.
Living in America meant independence.
But it also meant distance.
And distance is expensive.
The Pressure to Succeed as an Immigrant
When you move countries, failure feels different.
It’s not just personal.
You feel like you represent your family. Your upbringing. Your sacrifices. The people who believed in you.
I worked hard because I had to.
Not just financially — but emotionally.
I needed to prove that leaving was worth it.
That the airport tears meant something.
That the risk had a return.
And somewhere along the way, ambition became part of my identity.
In America, I am structured. Focused. Building something powerful.
I learned resilience here.
I learned discipline.
I learned how strong I could be.
Living Between Two Countries: Where Is Home?
It’s been nine years.
And if you ask me today where home is, I still don’t have a simple answer.
If I could belong to two worlds at once, I wouldn’t choose one over the other.
I would choose the in-between.
The airport departures board.
The quiet 5 a.m. Uber rides.
The way my suitcase never fully gets unpacked.
On one side of the ocean, I am ambitious. Structured. Building something powerful.
On the other, I am soft. Nostalgic. Someone’s daughter. Someone who speaks faster, laughs louder, feels deeper.
In one version of my life, I chase growth.
In the other, I reconnect with who I was before ambition reshaped me.
And maybe that’s the real privilege —
not deciding where you belong,
but realizing your heart can expand beyond one map.
Yes, it’s inconvenient.
You miss birthdays.
You juggle time zones.
You carry different currencies in your wallet and different versions of yourself in your heart.
But you also gain two homes.
Two streets that feel familiar.
Two languages that shape your thoughts in different ways.
If I could stand with roots in two different directions, I wouldn’t try to blend them together.
I would let both sides shape who I am becoming.
Because maybe I’m not meant to fully unpack.
Maybe I’m meant to keep growing — wherever the journey takes me.
Maybe I’m meant to move.
— Overpacked Goldie
