Any of you who see me on Facebook know that I was less-than-pleased about my return to Spain. I had a great, fantastic, magnificent, perfect (etc.) trip back to the US, and leaving was not something I was looking forward to. At all.
I had a truly terrible Monday, after a truly phenomenal Sunday/birthday. I woke up and was immediately weepy, as I had been off and on for parts of the trip when I thought about going back to Spain. But today (or is it yesterday? I can't keep track of time when I fly), it just didn't stop. I felt really, really sad all day. Totally forgot about errands I wanted to run while I was out running errands. I would sit down and the cat would come up to my lap, and I'd just start sobbing. Pete told me I was being hysterical. And I was. I was a huge baby about leaving our house, driving to the airport, leaving the car in the parking garage, saying goodbye before security. I pretty much cried for 3 hours straight. I cried at the gate. Sobbed in the bathroom. You get the picture. I cried on the plane at the beginning of the flight (we left over an hour late, and taxied on the runway for 45 minutes, so I was just itching to get off the plane). But.
I had four seats to myself, so once the seatbelt sign was off, I took a quick catnap (less than 1 hour) before dinner was served. Then, I ate dinner, and watched the movie. During the movie, I was sitting in the second of my four seats with my legs stretched across the other three. A lady came up and asked if she could sit in the other seat. I told her sure, but made no offer to move. I knew she wanted to stretch out over two seats, and by the looks of this woman, if I gave her two, she'd go for the third. I was not going to be relegated to a single seat, when I purposely chose this aisle yesterday when I checked in because no one else was sitting in it. I know it was totally selfish of me to keep all my seats, and if she had been nice rather than pushy, I would have happily given her two. But I had a bad day. I was dehydrated from crying. I was totally exhausted, and I planned on sleeping. In a totally weird coincidence, as she was trying to make her push for more of my seats we hit the only 10 minutes of turbulence in our flight. After about 3 minutes, she decided she couldn't sleep and went back up to the row she was sharing with her husband (they each already had two seats! So she was definitely pushing for 3 of mine). We had 5 more minutes of bumps, the movie ended, and I stretched out across all four seats. For the first hour or so, I dozed, listening to music and just trying to relax. I first stretched out at around 4:30 and remember looking at my watch at 5:20. The next thing I knew it was 7:15. I woke up feeling pretty good. I had breakfast, and we landed.
Then, I decided to splurge at the airport. Madrid-Barajas, like all airports, has fancy-schmancy lounges you can go to if you are flying first class. But, they also have a VIP lounge that you can pay to access. The lounge has free snacks, drinks (alcoholic and non), tv, newspapers, magazines, and free internet. So, I decided to pay up. I figure I can easily spend the amount it cost to get in on internet access in the terminal and food and drink, plus here, there are actual chairs you can rest in (seating is lacking throughout the terminal). Plus, I had a scheduled 4.5 hour layover (cut to just over 3 hours after our late arrival, going through immigration, transferring terminals, and going through security again). It was totally worth it. As was being selfish with my seats. I am still really sad to have left Chicago, but I'm not as sad to be back in Spain.
The thing is ... and I'm sure more will come on this later as I think about my trip back home ... everyone asked how Spain is. And my stock answer was usually "good ... and hard ..." And everyone assumes that the hard part is being away from Pete (and Sophie). Which is, honestly, the hardest part. But really, my response should be "hard, but good." Because that's what it is. Life in Spain is just immeasurably harder than life in the US. Yes, of course it's getting easier. I have great friends. I speak the language better. I understand what I'm doing more. And I LOVE my job. But it's really hard. It's hard to negotiate simple tasks that take 10 seconds in the US. It's hard to find things that I want to buy. And forget pricing things at different places. If I can find it, I buy it. As I've documented here, grocery shopping is hard, cooking is hard. Life is just harder here. Even if Peter were here, life would still be harder. Harder isn't bad. But going home and being reminded how easy everything is made coming back very, very hard.
I was also reminded how "home" home is. My apartment here is starting to feel more like a home and San Sebastián feels familiar, but it's not home. If home is where the heart is, my home and my heart are in Chicago. Where a warm little kitty snuggles on my lap within ten seconds of sitting down. Where I can hold my husband's hand, see his face, and hear his voice untouched by digital transformation and distance. Here isn't home. Not like that.
I'm trying not to wish away my time here. To enjoy it. To enjoy the challenges, the joys, and the friendships. My challenge for myself between now and November is to try to enjoy this life more. To not think about what I don't have, but to cherish what I do have. And I am working on that. And will continue to work on it.
But it's hard not to count down the days. 36 days until I go to Paris for a week and bring back some American friends to San Sebastián. 65 days until Peter comes to visit for a little over a week. 98 days until I go home again.
No comments:
Post a Comment