By: Bryn Burroughs
The author on a ferry in Seattle.
I have moved many times since I started college, but this year was different. Instead of moving to a new room in Seattle, I moved 5,523 miles away from home to the Canary Islands in Spain to be an English teaching assistant, essentially packing my life into a 50 pounds checked bag. It was no small feat choosing what to bring with me to Spain. During college, I studied abroad for a semester in Argentina. There I learned that adding an extra laptop charger is way easier than typing essays on your phone for six weeks after discovering that the model you need isn’t available abroad and that having a warm coat is really important even if you think it will be warm most of the time.
While packing for Spain I found myself in a turmoil deeper than deciding which t-shirts to bring. Initially, I started a list of things I wanted my mom to bring if she is able to visit. But I realized what I was craving was not the objects themselves, which would be replaceable with Spanish equivalents, but the comfort of the familiar things. Leaving my family, my relationship, and my culture behind was nerve-wracking. Before I left, my mom cooked me simple foods like oatmeal and rice because my stomach was so full of butterflies. When I should’ve been packing, I kept finding myself doom scrolling on my phone procrastinating the daunting task. Tears were shed, and I had trouble sleeping the nights before I left for Spain, kept awake by the stress of the upcoming changes. It was not a glamorous time. Don’t get me wrong — I was thrilled about the opportunity before me, but the excitement combined with the nerves made it impossible to relax.
I arrived in Spain two weeks before the start of my teaching grant to travel. It was my first time in Europe, and the start of the trip was a whirlwind of fun. I embarked on a walking tour around Madrid, stopping to marvel at Plaza de España and Parque de Retiro and ate my body weight in tapas Argentinian and Columbian friends I’d made in my hostel. I felt like I was living the quintessential young adult-abroad experience.
But the next day, jet-lagged at the train station the emotional turmoil caught up with me. When my original destination was sold out and because I hadn’t anticipated that the train station names wouldn’t match the name of the destination, I began to feel my chest tighten. I opened my phone in hopes that there would be a free wi-fi network, but I wasn’t in luck. I got in line for customer service, but after 45 minutes of waiting and no closer to the front of the line, I realized it was going to take far too long for my number to come up. Additionally, I wasn’t even sure what I would I was planning to ask. The hustle and bustle of the train station which at first felt energizing and exciting were now just adding to my growing panic. I was overtired, hangry, and in unfamiliar territory which, surprise surprise, was not a recipe for success. After a snack, a phone call to my mom, and some deep breaths to reset, I braved the ticket machine for a second time. I ended up booking a train ticket to Cadiz because it was one of the only destinations I recognized on the screen. After arriving, I spent the first three days in a hotel getting back on my feet. I needed time to get my nervous system back online, so my ambitious travel plans took a backseat as I listened to what my body needed. I spent time writing in my journal and getting caught up on sleep to adjust to the time difference. I was on an adventure, which I was coming to understand was different from a vacation.
Throughout my 20s, I have been working on finding a balance between codependent relationships and enjoying the company of myself. The year after college as settled into working full-time, I began to notice that I was using constant socialization as a way to distract myself from uncomfortable thoughts and feelings. As I began working to process the feelings that were coming up instead of pushing them away, I was able to enjoy my alone time more and more. Being alone wasn’t uncomfortable — unresolved feelings were. Spending two weeks traveling solo and enjoying it was the culmination of lots of intentional hard work and coaching from my therapist. It was the perfect transition to living solo in a new country. It gave me the confidence that I needed to seek out the housing situation I knew I wanted and to make intentional choices about how I set up my new life in Spain.
When I arrived in Gran Canaria, I kicked it into high gear. I had a lot to accomplish before the start of my new teaching position: I needed to find housing, open a bank account, and make appointments to get my residency card. As I navigated the first two weeks on the island I felt proud of myself and began to feel more and more assured in my independence. While the transition wasn’t breezy it was gratifying to see how the little skills I had picked up as a young adult added up and fell into place: I knew how to rent an apartment, grocery shop, cook healthy food, use public transit, and manage my time and money. During my semester in Argentina, I learned some skills specific to living abroad like which housing situations would help me improve my language skills, how to get a new SIM card, and how to use a new currency. So in Gran Canaria, I found an apartment with Spaniards, ventured to Ikea on the bus, and sought out ways to continue my hobbies from Seattle in my new home. Building on my existing skill set freed up mental space for new challenges like making phone calls in Spanish and weathering a cyclone with a leaky roof. When all was said and done, I found myself waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I had done it. I realized in the past 5 years I hadn’t taken time to look back and realize how far I’ve come.
Moving to Spain showed me that through seeking therapy and by challenging myself to be outside my comfort zone, I have built the resiliency skills that allowed me to navigate the stress that comes with an international move. When I feel frustrated or sad, I run down my checklist — Am I tired, hungry, or needing social connection? Do I need to breathe, get outside, or write in my journal? — and bounce back quickly. I was a skeptic when I started this process: Mindfulness, journaling, and having a mantra were going to make me feel better? Yeah, right. But throughout these physical and emotional transitions, I’m learning that much like happiness, resiliency is a learned skill that can be built over time, with intentional practice. And the nice thing about a toolkit of skills is that it doesn’t add an ounce of weight to your suitcase.
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