Good to Me

Well, my last day in Barcelona has arrived. As ever, quicker than I would've expected. Funny, I was walking down the street the other night, remembering the first night I got here, walking along the same street, thinking damn a whole month is an insanely long time.
It passes whether you're ready for it to, or not.

Fortunately, I'm well aware of that. I try in trips, as in life, not to miss anything. I don't mean tourist attractions, though I must say I've somehow ticked off a lot of them here. A lot of free museum days if you're around long enough, and it's a city with a lot of beautiful things to offer. So it's a no-brainer. But I don't mean that.

I mean stories. Experiences. Random encounters and conversations. The stuff that makes your life worth remembering at the end of the day. Museums and parks and churches are great, but at the end of your life, I don't know how many of them you'll remember. Of all the places I've been to so far, I always remember the random conversations, the phone calls to someone far away that you love, the weird alleys. The smiles exchanged with someone in the street acknowledging that this moment really isn't half bad.

I've had plenty of those.

I'm not particularly looking forward to home. I mean I am to the place itself, but not to the city and not particularly to a lot of the people. The beauty of solo travel is that it resets you. It means others see you as you are in this moment, without baggage, without your backstory. To them, you're not the neighbor who plays loud music or Joe's ex or whatever the fuck. You're not defined by anything that happened to you before this exact moment.

My therapist taught me that, a woman as in love with the voyage as I am, and I will forever be thankful for that lesson.

It's a great trick, this being away. It lets you make new memories, discover new things about yourself. It lets you admit some things that maybe you'd never admit to yourself back home because they'd challenge your status quo too much.

So I'm going back with some new ideas. Half a book. A bucketful of new experiences. Probably a hangover. A longing to return to a place I can't return to (because it won't be the same, no matter how many times you come back to a place, it never is).

I'm happy with that. Barcelona's been good to me, and much as I'm sad to leave it, I'm more thankful it turned out alright. All the while I've been here, I've been filled with this sense of awe and deep gratitude.

A friend I met out here texted me the other day to ask how I was, and I replied "well, I still feel so damn lucky to be here". We don't normally say shit like that. We don't wanna sound uncultured or poor or too country bumpkin. But it was true. I didn't mean the money or the absurd legal atrocities committed against us in the past few years, even. It was a general sense of acknowledgment. That I get to be on this Earth right now and be part of something really beautiful.

And that's the definition of tremendously fucking lucky.

Well, bye (almost), Barcelona. One more sleep, though sleep seems a waste, then I'm shipping out. Until next time.