When I imagined studying abroad in the United States, I thought of the vast campuses, open roads and freedom. What I did not expect was to feel stranded, not emotionally, but physically. Centenary University sits in a charming small town, the kind with clapboard houses, few diners and a quiet that feels like it belongs to another century, but beneath that charm lies a paradox: I came here to broaden my horizons and instead I learned how environmental limitations can close you in.
Back home, I am used to hopping on buses, walking to the shops using my reusable bags with pride and sustainability is part of my daily rhythm. In New Jersey, that rhythm was interrupted as there was no local transport and no regular weekend trains, walking was impractical and biking felt dangerous on the roads built only for cars. Every trip to the supermarket and even to the local coffee shop required a lift from someone with a car. So, calculating the cost of every journey in emissions would hurt one’s head.
In my Environmental History Class, we read Jared Diamond’s Collapse and he writes about societies that failed not because they lacked intelligence but because they did not adapt. They ignored the signs of deforestation and soil erosion until the tipping point arrived. I began to see the connection of the unsustainable lifestyles we built into our towns, our transport systems, our assumptions about mobility; these are not just inconveniences but are early warnings.
There was irony in my situation as I had travelled thousands of miles, crossing the ocean to study sustainability, only to find myself in a place where living sustainably was nearly impossible without a car. It made me think differently about privilege, not just financial, but geographic. What does it mean to ask people to “go green” when their town does not even have a bus stop? There were lessons too, as I visited a local fish hatchery, a surprisingly quiet reminder of ecological balance and conservation. I spent time walking in nature, where side walls ended but fields began. I talked with locals who, like me, were frustrated with the lack of transport options and dreamed of bike paths and solar-powered buses. Slowly, I stopped seeing this placement as a contradiction and began to see it as a case study.
My Study abroad experience did not just teach me about American culture, it taught me about environmental limits, about the connection between infrastructure and choice and about how sustainability is often a matter of design, not desire. I still believe in travel and the power of crossing borders to learn, but I now also believe that we cannot afford to leave sustainability behind when we go. My time in that little town showed me that change does not start with the people; it starts with the systems. If we do not build those systems with the planet in mind, we might find ourselves stranded in more ways than one.
