I went to Spain to find adventure. I realized I already had what I was looking for.
The cool morning air coming off the Guadalquivir River smelled faintly of brine. Jacaranda trees bloomed purple in tiny green lots. I walked with purpose as I headed to the grocery store for the first time in Seville, Spain.
Exasperated after searching each aisle twice, I approached the cashier with the tidy mustache and blue collared shirt.
鈥�驴D贸nde est谩 la leche, por favor?鈥� I asked, inquiring where I could find milk.
Why We Wrote This
What is an interesting life? As our essayist discovered during a transformative sabbatical, an interesting life doesn鈥檛 necessarily mean exciting adventures or travel to far-flung locales. What if, instead, it lies in the lens through which we view our environment, our circumstances?
鈥�驴Qu茅 tipo?鈥� he responded, asking which type.
My mind blanked as I scrambled to answer, conjuring milk-giving mammals. Sheep, goat, yak, ... cow!
鈥�Vaca,鈥� I replied triumphantly.
Eyebrows knitted, he led me to the back where boxes of whole, 1%, nonfat, and chocolate milk were stacked in tight rows, unrefrigerated. I blushed with embarrassment.
It wasn鈥檛 the only time I felt foolish here in Spain. Once, I鈥檇 purchased groceries only to realize that I didn鈥檛 have anything in which to tote them home. A hawker sold rolling carts, but I didn鈥檛 have cash. I walked to an ATM to discover that it was closed for a bank holiday. The ice cream was melting. So was I.
On our third night in Seville, my younger daughter鈥檚 voice broke as she choked, 鈥淚 miss Dad. I want to go home!鈥�
Perhaps I didn鈥檛 make the right decision uprooting my daughters and moving to Spain for three months. While I dealt with the logistics of the girls鈥� schoolwork, I avoided the bigger question: What was behind my desire to do this?
I was burned out after more than a decade of juggling motherhood with a high-octane legal career. Toggling between guilt when I was at work and away from our daughters, and impostor syndrome when I didn鈥檛 meet my billable hours requirements, I couldn鈥檛 shake the feeling that my life had been a series of lockstep events. University, law school, bar exam, marriage, home, kids. If I didn鈥檛 jump track now, I was terrified by a future defined by my suburban routine.
In the back of my mind, a question lingered: Am I living an interesting life?
The capital of the Andalusia region, Seville, drew me in. Oozing charm and Moorish architecture, Seville has a walkable historic center. It also has a language school that offers afternoon meetups and weekend excursions. I scoured the listings for a reasonable rental.
During our first few weeks, we explored our neighborhood in the old Jewish quarter, Barrio Santa Cruz. We watched swallows dive near the Seville Cathedral, aglow in the evening light.
鈥淟ook, Mom! They鈥檙e catching insects on the fly!鈥� marveled my older daughter.
Nearby, we discovered the world鈥檚 best ice cream shop. We took time to decide between dulce de leche, passion fruit, and a cinnamon-ginger-orange flavor. The girls were beginning to settle in.
Our apartment became our new home. Each morning, after my steaming mug of caf茅 con leche and the girls鈥� hot chocolate and cereal, we navigated the warren of alleys on our walk to school.
During medieval times, Seville鈥檚 streets were laid out haphazardly as a defensive strategy against invaders. After a few weeks, sporting my new pink espadrilles, I was no longer confused by the alleys. As we neared school, I grabbed the local newspaper from a paperboy, pretending to read more than I could.
After two months in Seville, I was stopped on the street by an older couple.
鈥�驴Se帽ora, sabe usted d贸nde est谩 El Corte Ingl茅s?鈥� they asked, wondering how to get to a popular department store.
Without hesitating, I said, 鈥�Siga adelante por tres cuadras, y a la izquierda.鈥� Straight ahead for three blocks, and then turn left.
I was mistaken for a local!
I began to enjoy an Andalusian tradition. In the early evening in Seville, when the heat relents, Sevillanos take a paseo, or leisurely stroll. They emerge from their homes and offices, heading to their favorite tapas place for a social hour.
I paseo鈥檈d, too. One evening, as I sipped a cool drink, I watched my daughters play in a nearby park.
Grandmas, ears bent to swap family updates, shepherded toddlers. Neon-vested municipal workers argued with suited businessmen over the latest soccer match. Young lovers punctuated their conversation with 鈥�Vale, vale.鈥� OK, OK.
For the first time in a long while, I felt at peace.
By tuning in to the sensory delights of my new city, I had entered another realm. Time slowed. Could it be that the series of events that make up an ordinary day now enchanted me?
Maybe an interesting life isn鈥檛 an exciting adventure, or a place to which you travel. What if an interesting life is the lens through which you view your environment, your circumstances?
By tasting the slippery saltiness of jam贸n ib茅rico, listening to the clickety-clack of flamenco heels, and inhaling the sweet honey scent of jacaranda blossoms, I learned to step out of my head and into the moment.
Walking home later that night, I saw the summer sky turn peach, and then purple. I stopped to gaze up at the weather vane atop Seville鈥檚 signature landmark, La Giralda, the former minaret of a mosque, now a tower of the cathedral.
In the stillness, it pointed in no particular direction. I smiled. I could live with that.
