Adieu

This was not an easy year. 

I know that, in October, I wrote a previous post that was supposed to be the first of a two-part installment to give this little love-child blog of mine a fitting end. I'm pretty sure I can count, so I know that this final post is two months in the making. However, law school ain't nobody's joke, baybeh (in my developing New Orleans accent) and I really just didn't know what to say.

Do I wax nostalgic about what an epic and life-changing experience I had? Do I discuss how much I miss my students? Do I lament on how I question my decision to return stateside just to be semi-hazed by law professors?

In the end, because of an article I read that made me think, I decided to be brutally honest.

Therefore, this was not an easy year.

Epic, life-changing, beautiful, almost magical at times? Absolutely.

Easy? Never.

I don't call being thrust into a country that doesn't speak my language easy, regardless of how much or for how many years I'd studied that language. Books can't develop an ear or an accent.

Easy is not clashing with your supervisor and two of the teachers with whom you work (one of whom was the head of the English department and the other married to a native English speaker and who had lived in the States for years) from pretty much Day 1 until you went to the Fulbright Commission in tears begging for a new placement. Easy certainly isn't having to go back to your school each day and work through those struggles like the professional you're still trying to become.

It's not the constant throat problems that manifested themselves because there wasn't enough humidity in the air; or the seemingly endless winter that your poor Southern soul wasn't sure you'd survive; or the passport and wallet pick pocket incidences (separate occasions, because we couldn't just do it all in one fell swoop).

Easy is not emergency trips home (complete with last minute flights and temporary passports) to bury loved ones who left this Earth far too soon. It's not the conflict of faith that accompanies that unexpected loss; and it's certainly not trying to pull yourself out of a funk and cling to your faith because everything just piled up and that unbelievable loss, coupled with everything else that just was not easy, was almost too much to bear.

So, easy my Fulbright year was not . . . but I'd do it all again (sans the loss).

I'd get thrown back in to beautiful, complicated Spain and re-develop my ear to understand that slightly slurred European Spanish that utilizes the tongue far more that Latin Spanish. I'm pretty sure I'll never forget the vosotros form again because of that year.

I'd clash with the supervisor and teachers again. Even if I went to the Fulbright Commission (because I believe that if I'm at a standstill as to what to do, I should go to a higher authority), I'd do my best to grow a vagina and keep the tears at bay. I learned far more about professionalism, my strengths and weaknesses, than any collegiate class or seminar ever taught me.

I suppose the throat problems wouldn't go away if I did it all again, but that and the cold weather certainly taught me how to rally, which is a very diverse talent to possess (it works on everything from studying for law school exams to partying until the sun comes up), so I'd learn that lesson once more.

I'd be more careful with my bags and far more aware of my surroundings and, even though the sticky fingers out there can have my euro-less wallet, I'd hopefully cling to my beloved first ever passport with the Moroccan entry and exit stamps. Or, if I just couldn't hang on to it, I'd at least discover it was missing a few days before my scheduled trip to Barcelona so I could have time to get an emergency one from the Embassy.

I'd pray that God spared my family and me the loss, but if He didn't, I suppose I'd go through the motions again and muddle through somehow.

I'd do it all again just to obsess once more over El
Templo de Debod. 

I'd go through all those less-than-positive experiences again because, for every one of those, there was a day that was too beautiful to describe. For every crappy second, there was an hour of pure bliss. For every issue I had with some of the powers-that-be at my job, there were ten beautiful experiences with my students. For each negative encounter I had with Spaniards, there was an opportunity to meet and bond with one.

So . . . yeah. This wasn't an easy year. Hell, this wasn't an easy post, as evidenced by the delay in posting this. But I'd do it all again.

I didn't mean to wait until New Year's Eve to post this, but I also didn't want to go into 2014 with this one part of my Fulbright experience still not completely closed. Therefore, since I chose to wait until Day 365 of 2013 to do this, I may as well add a few words of reflection about the year. 2013 was not easy. I lived, laughed, loved, ate, cried, and exercised. I'm blessed to have had the experiences I did and humbled by the lessons God taught me. I'm especially glad to know that I'm far stronger than I thought I was. 2013 was good, bad, beautiful, and ugly to me, but I appreciate it all. I'll carry the lessons learned with me into 2014 and do my best to make this incoming year even more meaningful than its predecessor.

Thanks for flying with me, y'all, and cheers to
a beautiful 2014!

Thank you all for reading and traveling with me over the last year. I tried to give as honest an opinion as possible in everything I wrote and I hope you all felt as though a little piece of you was with me. This blog has become such a point of reflection for me and will likely become a treasured memory as time distances Spain and me. I doubt that I'll post on here anytime in the near future and am not quite sure when or if I'll
write another blog, but time has a way of changing things, so we'll see.

Blessings to you and yours in the coming year.

Mil gracias por leer mi blog. Ha sido placer.

Ari.