Tears were rolling down my face. I tasted their salty flavor and used my sleeve to wipe them away. I looked back one more time and watched as they walked out the door. This was it. This was the goodbye I had been dreading for months. It was January 10th and it wouldn’t be until four months later that I would return to this airport, to my home, and to my family. So, instead of crying as I walked by families and solo-travelers going on vacations and trips, I walked through security and focused on finding my gate.
For months leading up to studying abroad, I was terrified. I hate change. Every first day of school I used to have anxiety attacks. I didn’t know what they were at the time but the thought of my day to day changing petrified me. However, that fear and anxiety were well tested when I went off to college. Although only an hour away from home, I adapted to a new environment, new people, and new experiences. As I approached my junior year I felt confident in the ways I handled change now. First days didn’t scare me, new friends didn’t scare me, and neither did new places. Yet, I still felt safe, like I was in my protective bubble surrounded by what is familiar to me. Being scared of change didn’t mean I wasn’t also scared of being too safe, too comfortable, too secure. I wanted something to shake me up a little bit and help me grow as a person. I had adapted to the change I thought was new and scary, and now needed to tackle a new change. One that could lead me to discover something new about myself that I could not discover by staying in my little bubble in Massachusetts.
When I arrived in Spain it was nothing like what I had expected. I had run through every worst case scenario situation in my head, brought a million forms of ID in case anything got lost, and packed every travel accessory necessary for someone traveling for four months(which I thought was a lot until I saw other girls lugging around their whole lives packed into three suitcases). But, as I waited to board my plane, no anxiety. As I got on my plane and sat next to another solo-traveler, no anxiety. And when I got to my apartment and dumped all of my things into a tiny room I would be sharing for the next four months, no anxiety. I was dumbfounded. Confused. How could I possibly be okay? I had produced so much anxiety leading up to this flight and this trip, maybe I had none left in me? I was here and there was no turning back, but I was happy and content.
When we left the Barcelona airport, we were shuttled in different cars to different parts of the city that we would all be staying in. I had been sent, two weeks prior, the address of my apartment, which I looked at at least once a day to continue my spark of excitement that I was trying to hold onto. I had spent hours perusing my street on Google Maps, trying to envision myself living this life. Walking down those streets to get a coffee, or using the metro stop outside of my apartment to travel the city. It was hard to imagine through a computer screen, but once I was there it was magic. The dreams, thoughts, and fears all slowly dissolved as I looked up at my beautiful wooden doors that led to my home for the next four months. It was nothing like I had imagined; it was better.
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I don’t think there was a specific moment that I realized I viewed life differently while I was there. But small moments that I can look back on and recall. Small moments that made me completely rewire my way of thinking and outview on life.
One afternoon, I believe it was the beginning of January, when I first arrived, I left my apartment before class to explore my neighborhood and the city. I happened to be located on Pelai de Carrer, the busiest street in Barcelona, with the most foot and car traffic. While this might have bothered most, I found it fascinating that I got to watch and observe so many different people all at once. Something that encouraged me to explore the city was my Photography in Barcelona class. Both in and out of class we were required to go out into the city and capture pictures based on an ambiguous subject, that left a lot of room for creativity and interpretation.
That afternoon, I was trying to take pictures of people’s hands. I walked down my street, took a right, and headed down Las Ramblas(referred to as the “heart of Barcelona” or as I learned a tourist trap). Although it was filled with I ♡ Barcelona stores and stands selling overpriced trinkets, I loved the energy and I loved the people. This day however, I didn’t notice the tourists or the street performers, I sat down on one of the tiny benches and looked around. I turned and saw an old couple sharing a bench and a croissant while they sipped on their coffees. I saw two old men playing chess, who did not flinch or glance at any of the hundreds of things going on around them. I saw an elderly woman pull her shopping trolley up the street, while two little boys chased after a flock of pigeons and their mother chased after them.
As I sat back and watched them perform their probably daily routine, I was jealous. They were carefree and living. It was almost like they knew something that I didn’t know. That Americans didn’t know. Why was my life so stressful, career-focused, and success-driven? I knew I could be completely content living a life here. Living slowly, living happily, living freely. But at home I was consumed by people around me driven by the need to succeed in school, work, or financially. I didn’t want this. It took me moving into a new environment, surrounded by new people to make me realize how I wanted to live life. It was a Tuesday at 12:30 PM and everyone was out or home for lunch.
A slow, Tuesday morning on Las Ramblas.
Another morning, at the end of January, I was on one of my solo adventures. Whenever I had the free time I would explore as much of the city as I could. Although the four months seemed daunting at the time, now the days were flying by and I was afraid I was gonna wake up one day and it would already be the day I fly home. This day I took the same route I always do. Exit my apartment doors, walk down to the left and head into the neighborhood called El Raval.
El Raval was my special place. When I walked down those streets, I felt that I belonged and that this was my home, even if it was just for a little while. However, this morning I discovered my safe haven in Barcelona for the next four months. Instead of continuing straight on my normal path, I turned right down Carrer E’lisabets(E’lisabets Street). As I walked down this new street, I was immediately drawn to a red sign that read “La Central Lliberia /Bookshop/ Café.” My eyes lit up and before I knew it I turned right and was walking in. The doors automatically slid open and teleported me into my fantasy world. As an English major, of course I love books, but I had found that while I was there I was struggling to find a place where I could escape. And here it was. As I entered I was met by a beautiful cozy store filled with coloring books, bookmarks, postcards, and thousands of wonderfully comforting books and a place to be.
As I had to, I walked around and looked at every item and every book. I loved it all. But my love grew ten times stronger when I discovered the best part of the bookshop; the hidden outdoor cafe. Through a beautifully sculptured archway, you enter into the courtyard surrounded by vine-covered walls hiding you from the city, which is adorned with small round tables, each occupied by locals savoring their coffee. An orange tree stands in one corner, filled with bright, juicy oranges. In the center, a magnificent palm tree sits beside a small fountain, where little fish swim back and forth. It was perfect. My secret place where I could read, drink a coffee, and escape from the bustling city. For weeks I returned to this bookstore. Each time browsing the books like it had been my first time. But I loved being there. I loved people watching, I loved reading my books, and I loved that orange tree.
Me at La Central Lliberia, in front of my orange tree.
As I reflected on these moments, I thought about how they changed me and how all of the other moments collectively helped me grow too.
I found humanity in those around me and comfort in myself.
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Entering college, I thought that I was going to experience this great change. And yes it was a small step outside of my comfort zone, but living in Spain, immersing myself in a new culture and language, and meeting so many new people is what exposed me to a new version of myself. One where I was more confident and more willing to take risks. I found this influenced my newfound purpose in my major and my purpose in life. Through my writing I am now able to talk more freely about my experiences and those around me. I am not afraid to write things I don’t like or don’t find comfortable writing about because I realized it was in those moments that I discovered something about myself. Being an English Major allowed me to take the time to go abroad, but also provided me with this sense of empathy towards all around me. I found that this helped me connect, relate, and understand people and myself.
As I reflect on my four months in Spain, I recognize that the journey was not defined by a single moment, but rather a tapestry of experiences that gradually transformed me. From the initial anxiety of leaving home to the comforting refuge I found in my neighborhood, each small moment—like discovering that hidden café or capturing the essence of life through my photography—contributed to my growth. Spain taught me to appreciate the beauty in change and the richness of slowing down to savor life’s simple pleasures. As I return home, I carry not just memories, but a deeper understanding of myself, a newfound appreciation for the adventures that await beyond my comfort zone, and a greater appreciation for my major and the impact I can make with it.