We soared through the sky. Thousands of miles in the air, caught between an endless body of water and the heavens, my companions and I were making our way to Spain— the Atlantic Ocean serving as a bridge to a destination filled with unknown wonders. As my friends slept inside the plane, I thought of my brother, who made the same journey 14 years prior.
Miguel’s circumstances were twelvefold, however; he had spent a full year studying in Spain, whereas I would be visiting for a month. Upon his return to the States, he recounted so many of his wondrous experiences in Europe— the things he had seen, the beauty of the continent’s rich architectural history and kind people, and the perilous situation he found himself in when he wound up alone in the first few days in the country.
His enthusiasm and sense of adventure still capture my interest to this day, but they also humble me. Will my innate apprehension cause me to refuse the call-to-adventure? I have always leaned a bit toward the timid side.
Inner thoughts then turned into inner turmoil. Appropriately, the plane was hitting some turbulence.
Since I would be in Spain from May 26 to June 23, I planned to live up to Miguel’s 365-day experience in the span of 30 days. The thoughts of what I would experience fascinated me, especially in light of my brother’s passion for the country’s food, atmosphere and liveliness. Small details, such as Spain’s dialect (the way some people drag out their vowel sounds in Barcelona), are elements of his experience that stay with me even now.
But then I remembered something— my brother, too, had been scared.
A few hours before landing in Europe, the view from the plane window on our way to Valencia, Spain was quite gorgeous. However, my inner thoughts were plagued with fear and doubt.
Months into his trip, a fellow tenant in Madrid would throw glass cups at his door because she was so infatuated with him after he had denied her advances.
These things all seemed so exaggerated, yet they were truths. They existed. My brother was no invulnerable entity that cozied into the culture, much like a Tetris piece would fit into a precise spot. He was the foreigner, and he had to keep up.
And it struck me: the cure for my hesitation could be found exactly where it came from— myself. Somehow, my brother, 15 years my senior, gave me the answers to my problem. Miguel did not come back from Spain and detail this vast number of illustrious anecdotes about his undertakings by letting the anxiety of these negative situations impact his psyche.
He found a way to seize the energy— good or bad— and exert it into something positive. In my journalism experience, I had learned to get out of the shell that has figuratively surrounded my frame and symbolized my shyness for nearly 23 years.
The shell sometimes still gets ahold of me— the same way it was trying to get me on that plane. It reminds me of the time that I was too scared to speak in public and would jitter around awkwardly in my K-12 years. All the embarrassing social interactions I had. The girl I was too shy to talk to. The chances I was too incompetent to take.
This time, it was a reminder of my family back home— the place I was turning away from— that generated the strength inside of me to push the shell back. Miguel had reminded me of the importance of confidence, even if he didn’t know it.
It might have only been a couple of minutes of self-reflection, but the anxiety had now turned to thrill. There was comfort in the idea that the power to dictate my response to adventure was in my hands. In Europe, I could be whoever I wanted. There would always be a chance to start anew.
I was the adventure.
