What a Difference a Year Makes

One year ago today I was packing my things, kissing my Spanish host mom goodbye and leaving the sunny beaches of Cádiz, Spain. I boarded the bus for Madrid and watched the town that had become the center of my life slip away.

The experience still doesn't feel real. It seems like a long dream that I just can't quite shake. I was somewhat asleep during the entire experience. Maybe I slipped into my sub conscience because of the language barrier. I'm not quite sure. But I find it sad that I was strangely mentally absent during one of the most colorful, vibrant chapters of my life.

I almost didn't come back. Oh how I sat in that airport with heavy limbs. In my last week in Madrid I had woken up. I was suddenly overwhelmed by possibility. Now that I was alone, not surrounded by my fellow American peers that disliked me, I suddenly realized that even though they rejected me, I did like myself. I realized that I was adventurous and funny and open-minded and that I should never have kept their negativity from seeing it. And as I stared out the window on the way to the Madrid airport the sky looked so crisp. The air was fresh and warm. And suddenly everything fell into sharp focus. The opportunity I hadn't seized, the opportunity in the air around me. The possibility to do something different and to change myself.

I wish I would have had the courage to say no to the pleas of my parents who were begging me to come home. They adamantly discouraged my decision three days before I came home to spend the summer in Madrid. I desperately wanted to stay. I had made interesting and kind friends at the hostel I was staying in. I wanted to practice my Spanish. I wanted to live in a big European city. I wanted to relax and soak up the culture. I needed more time.

So I turned my back on the dream I had woken up from. I boarded the plane. My shoulders have never felt so heavy. Everything inside of me was telling me to stay. Telling me to just not get on that plane. Spend my savings. Be financially irresponsible. Perfect my Spanish. Have an adventure.

But the flight home was easy and uncomplicated. I returned to my half asleep state. And I returned to my comfortable, predictable life. Working hard and saving money for my future all the while betraying the present.

But now who is to say. What could have been and what would have been. Maybe it worked out for the best. You really never know.

And a month after returning I stumbled into a man that changed my life. Eyes meeting on the dance floor of a tacky club. A drink bought for me by him. Faces close to hear each other over the bass. Innocent conversation. Flirtatious eyes. A phone call two days later and over dinners, concerts, and walks... two strangers fell in love. It's a love that has brought me great joy and fun. Support and laughter. He saw the places I was hurt and was patient and unassuming. It's a love that I welcome and am excited for the possibilities it may bring.

And I may never have met this outstanding man if I had changed my mind and walked out of the Madrid airport. And maybe, if this love fails and hurts me, I will have wish that I had.

But in the end it only makes a person crazy to think about what might have been. I carry with me many happy memories. Carnaval. A midnight walk through Rome. Dinner outside Pechuga's country house. Coffee in the hills of a white Spanish village. Playing darts with some new friends in a neighboring city. Fishing.

I am happy to look back on those times. And tonight I am very at peace.