I’m currently writing this from my Spanish apartment terrace as the sun shines brightly on my laundry hanging from the drying rack next to me. What a life! It’s a Monday, which I don’t work since I work Tuesday through Friday, so I spend my Mondays like Sundays — doing laundry, organizing my room and sitting out on our spacious brown-tiled terrace when it feels warm enough. Our Feria (fair, an annual tradition in the region) decorations — hot pink boas wrapped around poles, pink and white polka dot paper lanterns and a reversed multi-colored birthday banner — hang still as remnants from last weeks festivities.
I have many days like this. But I’ve also had many days where I collapse on one of the living room couches, usually the bigger one on the right, out of exhaustion. Or there’s the days where I sit and scroll mindlessly on my phone, shoveling popcorn in my mouth. Before I know it, the whole bag is gone. Let’s not forget almost every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday morning when I groggily roll out of bed at 6:30 a.m. and dread my hour commute and long day ahead.
My job is really not that hard. Objectively on paper, it’s easy. I work barely 14 hours a week as an English language assistant in a small town outside of Sevilla, Spain. I have at least a half hour of break time every day, where I usually snack on chips or fruit and do tutoring prep on my laptop. I spend most of my classes with 3,4 and 5 year olds or my 1st graders, where I sing songs, play review games or do the same gym warmup in English every time and then sit on a bench to watch them play games.
“Ankle! Yes, very good! 1, 2, 3…, ok, now the other one!”. Same thing, every time. And half of my schedule is filled with half-hour classes.
So why do I still have days where I feel physically and mentally drained? Why does the thought of doing literally anything after school make me groan and sink further into our couch? Why do I constantly dream of my weekend time?
The short answer: I’m living abroad in a different country. The long answer: It’s complicated.
The thing about living abroad, whether its short-term or long-term, is that it doesn’t matter how amazing your travels are, how incredible your friends are, how much you love your job. The little things will get to you. The medicine you always grab from your go-to store (mine is Target or Harris Teeter probably) when you feel unwell? You don’t have that anymore. The yummy ice-cream lineup or chocolates you grab to treat yourself? You don’t have that either. Wanna talk to family and friends? You have to schedule a time that works for both of you, since now you have a 6 hour time difference.
Even if you’re living with people who speak your native language, you live somewhere where nothing is in that language (or maybe this is not true for you, but it is for me). Every time you go grocery shopping, you spend extra time trying to translate what each thing means and then huff when you realize they don’t have the sauce you can so easily get in your country or the spice you desperately miss. Getting medicine as an American in Europe has been surprisingly difficult, you don’t quite have the words to express that while you have a cough, it’s both dry and wet and you also don’t want something that makes you drowsy. Then you accidentally end up dropping 20 euros at the pharmacy because the cute pharmacist recommended two things instead of one and you just nodded your head and said “sí” because you didn’t really understand why.
The little comforts you used to have are gone. You are constantly in a state of hyper-attention because you need to be. When my friends and I were at a dinner party some months ago, one brought up how we can no longer just eavesdrop on conversations and pick up, either intentionally or unintentionally, bits of what people are saying. It takes extra effort. And it takes even more when you are engaged in conversation in a language you are not fluent in. Our brains are constantly working, absorbing things around us and working to translate everything. It’s exhausting.
It’s difficult. It’s frustrating. It’s draining. And it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Somewhere along the most uncomfortable days when I have to stumble through Spanish because I feel more anxious or when I’ve gotten more sick then I’ve ever gotten in 7 months and have to once again try to explain what I have at the pharmacy, I’ve had a realization. Maybe it’s not groundbreaking for other people. Maybe it’s just eye-opening to me.
But by living in a completely different culture and environment, by pushing myself to my limits and making so many mistakes along the way, I’ve had the most growth I’ve ever had. I’ve been challenged again and again. Because of it, I’ve learned so much about myself.
For example, the way that I travel now — staying in hostels, packing in either just a backpack or with a small carry-on, and on a budget — is not the same as vacationing. I travel to experience, not to relax. So oftentimes, I need at least a week recovery and getting back into routine before I can even think of traveling again.
I also have discovered that I simply did not know how to pack. I would stuff clothes in my suitcase as I thought of them, barely thinking about outfits, and then shove the rest of my toiletries and whatnot in whatever space I could find. But, in my defense, I also rarely traveled via plane in the U.S. Now, I confidently grab my packing cubes and travel size toiletries and fit it all in without issues. Well, at least for the most part.
Not everyone can live abroad. I knew that I could, through all the tough times, but it takes a certain type of person. Upon many discussions with friends, we’ve all come to this realization. Living abroad takes a specific kind of courage and persistence. It’s not for the faint of heart. If you’re thinking, “I just need a change of scenery! Surely, picking up and moving to Europe will solve all my problems! Life will be better!”, think hard. Is it really the environment you are in? Or are you running from something within yourself that not even the scenic beaches of southern France and the slow, easygoing life in Spain can fix? These are the types of questions you should be asking yourself before automatically assuming that moving abroad will help.
I wanted to because I was yearning for traveling and experiencing new cultures. I wanted to be forced to practice my Spanish and meet new people. I wanted to grow as a person. I welcomed all the challenges that came my way (albeit sometimes crying but still) because I knew they were worth beating. I chose a life where I can gain new perspectives. On life, on everything.
So, for those who are big fans of lists and some kind of visual organization, here is a bullet list to sum up what I have learned living abroad:
- You will lose the comforts of home
- The small things will get to you
- Budget well or suffer (this sounds dramatic but truly, nothing worse than realizing you are screwed)
- You fill figure out if you like cooking and/or baking very fast
- You will repeat a lot of outfits. So many.
- Keeping a travel journal is a great idea, but it also just may be tiring to have to record everything, depending on who you are as a person
- Over 1/2 of your phone storage will be from photos and/or videos, prepare accordingly
- You may feel guilty for not constantly doing things, but you should always give yourself rest
- Your brain will always be turned on
- Culture shock is very real
- Prepare to compare everything to your country and constantly see similarities and differences
- Travel does not always mean vacation
- The friendships you make may be fleeting, but they can be as deep and last as long as other friendships
To those who needed the confidence boost to go abroad, I hope I have inspired you. It’s an incredible transformative experience that so many could benefit from. I wish you the best on your journey.
Xoxo
Mads
Eloquently written and honestly spoken <3 I've loved going on this journey with you nonetheless!
So much love for you Mer!