Conquering a Fear of Letting Go by Running Away
The alarm bells rang two years ago when I was hospitalized with a terrible case of eczema that took almost 6-months to treat. Six months later, I was in the Cornell emergency room with a digestive tract infection, terrified at the prospect of going into surgery.
My body rebelled and told me I needed a break long before my mind caught up. The Euro-immigrant in me told me that I needed a change, but the New Yorker told me that I'm a sissy. In the end, the immigrant won.
On the 17th of June, without having accomplished anything particularly noteworthy – aside from writing a few commercials switching jobs, and apartments – I packed my bags and left for a year-long European/South American sabbatical.
Living on 1,000 Euro a month, I decided I was going to stay in Barcelona for almost 3-months. Test the limit of the Schengen Visa for Americans and see how far I could stretch my funds. Everything has been calculated and included in that cost – a cheap Airbnb or a hostel stay, wine, Spanish cheese, Jamon, and baguettes.
In my mind, I pictured this as a break during which I could ponder the meaning of life and write in charming little cafes. Having moved to New York, I know that life rarely works out that way, but, I don’t really care.