QUE SERA, SERA
Not Just Another New Year
The idea of living abroad has been a recurring theme over the past five years, less from the political landscape many people seem to assume but is more from a longing that has been present even when the idea was a dream. Moving away from one's hometown is a considerable step, generally seen as youthful exuberance, but with ready remark if the youth were to come slouching back to a familiar threshold. Moving away from one's home state is like venturing into another world. Each part of the union that claims national unity also asserts individual liberty and an idiosyncratic way of life. To grasp the magnitude of leaving one's home country is to consider leaving everything one has ever known and venturing into a new world fraught with unpredictability.
Living in another country was a dream even before I understood the significance of such an idea. I still vividly remember the blue poster with an imposing photo of the Eiffel Tower in a cheap metal frame, showcasing all of its 36x24 glory, hanging on my bedroom wall. I dreamed of going to Paris, like many young girls, but for a honey-skinned brunette, both petite and ‘athletic’ in build, the idea of walking along the Champs-Élysées in a smart dress and heels seemed like a fairy tale. Even into high school, I never knew about programs like studying abroad for a semester or what equates to a gap year, to allow time to discover one's purpose. What was available to women as I graduated at the beginning of the new millennium was still relatively thin. I soon learned that if I wanted to pursue something outside social norms, I would be expected to have a logical reason. Simply wanting to go, just because, did not seem sufficient.
Instead of traveling the world, I did the next best thing. I moved two thousand miles from the Pacific Northwest to the suburbs of Chicago, a place with a history I knew little about and could not have fathomed the impact of the polar vortex. Even so, I left my hometown with a job, but little else in terms of plan or purpose. It was enough to make the extraordinary leap and begin life anew. But then I experienced my first winter, and as I walked the short distance from the parking lot to my apartment building, feeling my face go numb, I knew the Midwest could never be my permanent home. Thankfully, a couple of years later, I met a man who liked the idea of having a palm tree in his front yard, and after we married, we set out for the temperate climate of southern California.
A second move across the country had the benefit of nostalgia and the knowledge that uprooting one's life at first can be a trial but also comes with new and beneficial circumstances. My husband and I settled into San Diego, as if accepting a warm embrace from a friend. So many of our goals have been accomplished in our move to The Finest City. Living near the Mexican border has led to many opportunities to serve and travel. We began shifting the generational cycle away from speaking only English to prioritizing the hard work of learning a second language. We can exercise regularly, eat healthy food, and be involved in our community. We have been fortunate to own a house that has suited us for many years and to benefit financially from hard work and dependability. And yet something still feels as if it is missing. How can I still be wondering if more is possible?
When my husband and I traveled to Spain with our kids three years ago, something clicked. Another piece of the puzzle discovered, a musical note added to a melody, a problem solved. Although we love our home and cherish our family, there seemed to be an answer in a foreign country that could not be found in the States, and I cannot help but wonder if Spain is the answer.
It is daunting to think of surviving in a second language, knowing there would be numerous mistakes and misunderstandings. Even so, how much could my linguistic abilities improve if I were forced to speak a language I am still only learning? There is a great quote from David Grayson’s Adventures in Solitude that captures the sentiment:
“I have heard people tell of ‘acquiring a language,’ it cannot be done: a language must be lived.”
This must be true, for although I live in a state with plenty of Spanish speakers, it is a challenge to find people to speak Spanish with. Many who have immigrated here are eager to learn English, and American culture carries an unspoken directive that people who set foot on this soil should speak English. As such, I have only been able to progress as far as my energy allows, which is not very much, when it comes to learning Spanish. The language needs to be lived, not studied or sporadically thrown about.
Besides a desire to ‘live the language,’ there was a magnetism that pulled me toward the land that I hardly ever experienced before. It was like I belonged in Spain. The last time I felt that pull was when my husband and I were looking at our current house. I was 36 weeks pregnant with my second child, wandering around the empty house with rain pitter-pattering on the roof, when I saw a young man down the hall and thought of my son in his adolescence. My son was only three years old at the time. It felt like a vision, a possible future occurrence. In other words, it felt like a sign that we were supposed to be there. Lately, the feeling has been that our time and season are coming to a close, and then the question, where to go?
One obvious, seemingly simplistic answer is to buy another house in San Diego. But even that change would mean leaving the community, schools, churches, and property that we are used to. Another option is to be brave and spend a year abroad. What was a dream became an idea, and may even become a reality. So many questions arise from this possible leap of faith, but one exciting and terrifying question stands above all the rest: what happens if we want to stay and do not want return? The idea seems more ludicrous and far-fetched than the thought of a year abroad. And yet, the question keeps resurfacing.
I don’t know what will happen. All I know is that a season of life is coming to a close and a new chapter is about to begin. Will that mean staying where we are, moving to a different house, or immigrating to a new country? The answer is, nobody knows. Although there is anxiety in the not knowing, there is also relief. Instead of calculations or lists, I need only to live out the best version of my life, pursuing my goals and remaining open to all possibilities.
This year will be a time of discovery and, hopefully, of answers. The summer months will be spent abroad, “living” in cities like Málaga and Madrid to see what day-to-day life would be like. This time of intentionality will determine whether there will be changes in work, school, neighborhood, and community, or whether we will stay where we are. So this new year, instead of fretting about the future or staring bleakly into the unknown, I am going to tell myself, que será, será—whatever will be, shall be.
