SPANISH LESSONS
IT HAS BEEN six months of anticipation, alternating between excitement and dread, but when I receive my Spin the Globe assignment, I’m ecstatic: MADRID. “Maybe you’ll see Ferdinand!” says my six-year-old, referring to the pacifist bull from Munro Leaf’s famous picture book, the one who likes to “sit just quietly and smell the flowers.”
Within minutes I’m flooded with recommendations from my friends on Facebook: This museum, that market, best churros con chocolate at this café! Don’t miss the Goyas, the pulpo (octopus), the Iberian pork, and go find Tío Pepe…. I ride this tidal wave of enthusiasm, but part of me soon wonders if I would’ve been better off just winging it. Spontaneity is romantic, fun, adventurous—at least, that’s what I recall. But it has been 18 years since I last traveled alone in a foreign country. Things have changed.
Back in 2001, I was single, a graphic designer, a late-night creature who played drums in various jazz and pop bands. Thanks to a two-month solo trip to Costa Rica, I was also in the grip of a burgeoning salsa dancing addiction, and between gigging, dancing, and my valiant efforts to take part in Boston’s dating scene, I was out three, four, five nights a week.
Today, I’m a writer, married, with two small children. I do none of those things that once filled my days and nights. By 9 p.m. I’m often tired. Now that they’re older, I could experience Boston’s culture and nightlife again, but I find I mostly don’t feel like it. This is not something I disclose with regret or even wistfulness. Though sometimes I do wonder: How many parts of your identity can you lose before you lose yourself?
