Self-Reflections on Visiting Spain for the First Time

A daunting thought crossed my mind before this trip even began: Do I even still enjoy traveling as much I used to?

I was anxious leading up to this trip. Researching and booking what to do in two different places, packing and questioning whether I brought the right items, spending long days in transit — it all started adding up to make me feel like maybe I was growing older and becoming more comfortable with staying put, staying in my set ways of living day-to-day. Maybe this is good, I thought. I don’t need travel as a crutch to escape. 

People were asking me whether I was excited for the trip and the honest answer in my head was no. I felt like such a privileged fool — who in their right mind wouldn’t be excited for a week and a half in a new country, with warm weather and friends? I thought maybe travel isn’t really fulfilling me anymore. 

Boy, was I wrong. 

I write this as I take the first of two flights home. Earlier today, I happily let airport security take swabs of my DNA. I found myself whistling after the security checkpoint, tapping on the handle of my carry-on suitcase. Although I must’ve looked like a maniac, I must’ve been one of the happiest people in the Barcelona airport.

That’s what travel usually does for me. This trip feels like I’m returning home on a different level of high and I’ve been pondering why.

Any new destination means new surroundings. New sights, smells, sounds. New experiences. New friends, new cultures, new things to learn about the world.

I think my biggest takeaway from this trip is that I spent a lot of time really far outside by comfort zone, sometimes by choice and sometimes by circumstance.

I defended myself from being mugged first thing in the morning. I kept walking the streets alone, learning that the actions of a small few didn’t need to ruin my perception of the many. I danced for hours in Ibiza. I made new friends. I used my non-native French to communicate when English wasn’t an option. I learned to feel secure with my own company in a large crowd. I dined and drank at restaurants and bars alone. I spoke with locals and exchanged jokes with fellow travellers. I chose to go out in the heat even though I easily could’ve stayed indefinitely in the hotel’s cool air conditioning. 

With each of these small events and choices, I believe my self-confidence grew and I doubted myself less. As an over-thinker who tends to weigh every inconsequential choice, I am continually learning that the choice with more uncertainty and fear is often the right one — whether the outcome is positive or not. When I make the safe decision, being left wondering “what-if” is always less fulfilling. 

To summate my rambling thoughts, that’s the magic of travel. You learn about the world, and in turn, you learn more about yourself. People say you gain perspective from traveling — turns out that it’s twofold.