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.
“¿Dónde está la leche, por favor?” 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’t 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?
“¿Qué tipo?” he responded, asking which type.
My mind blanked as I scrambled to answer, conjuring milk-giving mammals. Sheep, goat, yak, … cow!
“Vaca,” 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’t the only time I felt foolish here in Spain. Once, I’d purchased groceries only to realize that I didn’t have anything in which to tote them home. A hawker sold rolling carts, but I didn’t 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’s voice broke as she choked, “I miss Dad. I want to go home!”
Perhaps I didn’t make the right decision uprooting my daughters and moving to Spain for three months. While I dealt with the logistics of the girls’ 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’t meet my billable hours requirements, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life had been a series of lockstep events. University, law school, bar exam, marriage, home, kids. If I didn’t 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.
“Look, Mom! They’re catching insects on the fly!” marveled my older daughter.
Nearby, we discovered the world’s 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 café con leche and the girls’ hot chocolate and cereal, we navigated the warren of alleys on our walk to school.
During medieval times, Seville’s 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.
“¿Señora, sabe usted dónde está El Corte Inglés?” they asked, wondering how to get to a popular department store.
Without hesitating, I said, “Siga adelante por tres cuadras, y a la izquierda.” 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’ed, 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 “Vale, vale.” 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’t 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 jamón ibérico, 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’s 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.
