New Country, Who Dis?

Well, I was going to publish from the blog I’ve had since 2012, but Google for some odd reason isn’t allowing me to sign in to my Blogspot account from Spain despite the fact I purchased a VPN. *Le Sigh*

I had been writing my thoughts up until the move, which I had hoped to publish, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Honestly, it’s for the best. That old blog had a crappy format that I never could quite figure out anyway. It’s been a long time coming for me to start a new blog on something a little more substantial than blogger.com. So here we are folks.

Ok so where to begin here…I moved to Spain. And I’m no longer taking Adderall for my ADHD, so this blog will be fun to follow for those who aren’t neurodivergents like myself. My friend Holly calls them my verbal roadtrips. You just never know where you’ll end up, but I get to the point eventually.

For the past ten years, I have worked as an Interior Designer. The majority of those years in Washington, DC. It was absolutely incredible. I was able to work with some of the most amazing people, both clients and coworkers, and see some amazing homes and spaces. My eye for design is something that comes so naturally to me and I’m really good at it. So why the hell would I leave the career I love so much behind? In a nutshell, capitalism. For the past ten years I have worked weekends and long days with only 2 weeks of PTO. Yep, 2 weeks. And because my job was dependant upon me “selling designs”, at times I felt like a fraud. I don’t like lying to people. But sometimes I would find myself telling folks they needed to spend 10–15k when sometimes they didn’t need to just so I could meet my numbers and earn a decent paycheck. Also I was required to do work we weren’t compensated for, which I had a really hard time accepting. “But that’s the business.” And I accepted it for years, until I couldn’t. It’s important to note I’ve always worked 100% commission. I was talking to another coworker late one evening about how he was spending several hours of his time with clients that had no earning potential, but basically had to do it on behalf of the company without compensation. He said, “it is what it is and there’s nothing you can do about it.” After I got off the phone with him, I just started to spiral. But that’s not where it started.

Trigger Warning: suicide

In 2021, I had a series of health issues, ranging from thyroid problems to cysts in my womb lands. Because of those issues, my focus turned to my health, and not my job. My numbers at work suffered tremendously as I had to go through surgery for the cysts as well as get my thyroid numbers back to normal. Which took months. My anxiety and depression skyrocketed. Thyroid affects the hormones, hormones affect mental stability. And my energy levels were almost non existent. I mentioned this to my supervisor - I needed to take some time off. But we didn’t get sick leave. “You get two weeks of PTO and you can use it as sick leave if you want.” I’ll never forget those words. And if your numbers aren’t good over a few months, your job isn’t safe. See the dilemma? So like I said, I started to spiral. So much so, I became suicidal. The night after I got off the phone with my co-worker, I started writing goodbye notes. Thinking about who I should give Dak to. I apologized to Dak profusely because I couldn’t take care of him. The anxiety was too much and I wanted it to end. It had been going on for months and this phone call was the thing that sent me over the edge. Once I realized nobody could take better care of Dak than I could — I called Teladoc services about getting in touch with my Tele-doc to see if something could be done with my Zoloft medication (which I just started a few days prior) because I was thinking of hurting myself and they quickly put me in touch with someone who was a suicide talker downer (I can’t remember what they’re really called, my apologies). I was more concerned about reaching my doctor to change my prescription than I was about talking me down from the ledge so to speak. That’s me though, hyper independent and used to doing things by myself. I don’t say this as a flex either because hyper indepenence is a trauma response. Anyway, Rebecca talked to me for about 2 hours. Honestly, the thing that kept me from actually hurting myself was the fact that I didn’t trust myself enough to do it correctly. Then I would be a vegetable the rest of my life. Nope. But also talking to this kind human for two hours made me realize that life is worth fighting for and the things I am dealing with can be dealt with. Currently writing this with tears streaming down my face. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. That was a rough period. It’s a big blur now. The details of everything are fuzzy. But I will never forget me pacing the floors of my apartment maniacally crying wanting the pain to stop.

So how did I get to a better place? Therapy. SO MUCH therapy. In the time I’ve been in therapy, I’ve worked on healing my traumas with EMDR. It’s been life changing. I hope to do more of this, as I still am sometimes stuck in fight or flight. I started doing meditation to help me learn how to stop and recognize intrusive thoughts before they manifest into full mania. Learning how to stimulate the vagus nerve which resets the parasympathetic nervous system. Taking cold showers. Changing my diet (sugar and alcohol make the anxiety so much worse so I try to stay away from those as much as possible). Telling myself everyday in the mirror how amazing I am with a ton of positive affirmations. And Zoloft. I’m not fully healed, and I don’t think I ever will be…but I have amazing resources now so when things get bad, I’ll be ok.

Ok so Spain. How did I get here? Well, I knew I wanted to leave America. Here are my list of reasons why, which will come as a shock to nobody.

1. Gun violence. I hate guns. And as someone who grew up in the south, I realize this might piss off some folks, but IDGAF. America is the only developed nation that has gun violence and mass shootings. In the nine years I lived in DC, I was exposed to gun violence; The Navy Yard shooting was less than a mile from where I lived. There was a shooting outside the Washington Nationals stadium within the last year, and when I lived in DC, a stray bullet flew through my apartment window. Thankfully I was not home at the time, but still very scary. Right after any mass shooting, I’d have anxiety going to the movie theater or gym, worrying if someone would walk in and start firing. I recognize not everyone experiences gun violence anxiety, but I did, and I know I’m not the only one. The NRA won’t let congress pass sensible gun laws to keep these guns out of the hands of these mass shooters. So for that reason, I’m out.

2. American food is literally making me sick. The EU has banned over 1,100 chemicals from food and products. Canada has banned over 500. The US? ELEVEN. I’m tired of paying more for things that have less crap in it.

3. Healthcare is way too expensive, and because the food makes us sick, we are just paying customers…thanks, capitalism.

4. American work culture is toxic. I don’t want to live to work anymore. I need a break. Two weeks off each year with no sick pay is asinine. I’m not a machine. The “hustle” is just a way to keep us working our asses off, and for what? A company mug and a $5 giftcard to Starbucks? Please. Give us paid sick leave, a minimum of 4 weeks of PTO, paid maternity and paternity leave, and a good retirement plan. That will go much further and retain good employees rather than a “thanks for all you’re doing and for being a team player!” and the occasional pizza party.

5. I want to live in a place where I don’t have to rely on a car to get where I need to go. I’ve been able to walk everywhere or take the public transportation since I moved to Spain. Dropping some weight in doing so as well. I’m curious to see how my body adjusts to all the walking I’ve been doing.

6. The biggest reason is I’ve always wanted to live abroad. Never had the balls to do it until I realized I’m not getting any younger, and I don’t want to wake up when I’m 80 and regret not doing it. The health problems I experienced last year really put things into perspective for me. If not now, then when?

After living and working in DC, I met so many people from so many different walks of life. People who worshipped differently than me, people who dressed differently than what I was used to, people who loved differently than I did. I realized over the years, I love meeting people who are different. My heart swells just thinking about the amazing people I’ve been blessed to meet over the years; who have taught me so much and helped me grow to not just tolerate our differences, but to embrace and love them as well. Thank god I’ve been blessed with an open mind and an empathetic heart. So I decided I could embrace another culture entirely as well.

So how did I get to Spain? I googled. And googled some more. I think I literally googled how can Americans work in Spain? Then I found a program with the ministry of education of Spain that allows native English speakers to work in the public school system as cultural ambassadors and teaching assistants. It’s really hard for non-EU citizens to find work in Europe as companies must prove they couldn’t find an EU citizen first, plus work visa sponsorships are costly, time consuming, and most companies don’t want to jump through the hoops to do it. So I had to find some other way. This program allows me a visa into the country. But also really allows this part of my journey to a be sabbatical. I’m only working 15 hours a week, 3 days a week. And I receive a tax free stipend for living expenses and free health insurance. Because of all the free time I will have, I plan to learn to speak Spanish fluently as I intend to live in Spain longterm, explore business opportunities whether that be in teaching or going back to my first love of interior design, and finally writing my book. It’s on my vision board — I will be a New York Times bestselling author. Just y’all wait and see.

So I decided to do the damn thing and take a chance. The real estate market was on fire for sellers so I decided to sell my house. The house went on the market on a Friday, and by Sunday it was under contract. The program didn’t start until October, and I sold my house in April. Which left me in between housing until I moved to Spain. I reached out to my friends Natalie and Becca. Dak knows both of them because Natalie has a dog boarding business and I used her services many times. They are also just lovely people and I felt safe asking them if Dak and I could stay with them until we moved to Spain. So I sold most of my furniture except my bed, dresser, TV, and work desk and moved into their basement. I continued to work at my job up until the week before I left for Spain. It was an awesome experience living with them because on any given day, there would be anywhere between 5–12+ dogs at the house. Some days I would take peanut butter and put it on all ten of my fingers, then walk around letting the dogs lick it off. Something about dogs eating peanut butter just makes me so happy. Other days, having 5–12+ dogs at the house, could be a bit overwhelming…especially when trying to sleep or have virtual work meetings. I remember one time I was laying in bed trying to take a nap and I farted really loud. ALL the dogs started barking. Natalie yelled, “what was that!?” I yelled back, “it was just me, I farted.” We both laughed. This happened a lot, opening a door, knocking on something, closing a damn drawer, farting loudly, etc. Random noise = dogs barking. So on days like that when I was tired and wanted to sleep, it became annoying. But I adapted with earplugs and a louder white noise app. The time I lived with them, I was so grateful. They became dear friends, my biggest cheerleaders, and support system through the hard days when I was stressed about one thing or another. They taught me things about myself which helped me further grow into a better person. I’m forever in their debt and I will miss them so much.

You may be wondering how I was able to pull this off by myself without going crazy? Well…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have it all together. I cried every damn day out of sadness for what I was leaving behind but then get super excited because of where I was moving. It was a roller coaster of emotions. The few weeks leading up to the move, I would wake up in almost a panic. Our cortisol levels are at their highest in the morning, so the mornings were the hardest for me. I was so worried about Dak, if the flights and ferry would get us to Palma, if I would get everything done in time, making sure to do everything right. It was a lot of pressure I put on myself. Plus my body was terrified of the change. It was literally fighting it. Anxiety is our body’s way of protecting us when it’s scared of the unknown. So I would get up, walk outside to get fresh air, splash cold water on my face, do deep breathing exercises, and tell myself I’m safe. The night before I was supposed to fly out, I had a breakdown. The week I was leaving, wrenches kept getting thrown into my plans for getting ready to leave. And it pushed back allowing me enough time to pack. The night before I left, my friend Lali was coming over to take me to dinner. She called to tell me she had arrived, but then I saw all the stuff that needed to be packed up and donated. My stuff was everywhere and disorganized because my organization is awful when my stress is at it’s worst. I was incredibly overwhelmed and the stress became too much. I started to hyperventilate, went into a fetal position, and had a full blown panic attack. Natalie and Becca heard me and brought Lali in to help when they saw her sitting outside. Lali took me outside and walked me down the street. She asked me what I needed, I said “I need help. I’m trying to do this by myself, and I am worried I won’t get it done in time, I don’t want to leave Becca and Natalie’s house with all my stuff in it and have them have to do more work because I couldn’t get everything done.” She said, “I will stay and help you.” I just started to cry and breathed a huge sigh of relief. When I moved to DC from Mississippi, I had to do it by myself. Packed my car up with everything I could fit in it and drove up to DC alone. I didn’t have help. This move was no different. After I calmed down, we went out to dinner, came back and she helped me organize and pack my bags while I got the stuff for donations and trash. We finished in two hours. The next morning, the anxiety was gone. I did everything I needed to get done and had plenty of time to just be. Lali came back over that morning, brought me breakfast because she knew I hadn’t been eating, and we loaded the donations in her truck to take to Goodwill for me. She told me how proud she was of me, and I thanked her for everything. I gave her a tearful hug goodbye and off she went. The world needs more Lalis.

My friend Wayne kindly offered to drive Dak and I to Dulles airport, which is like a 45 minute drive. We (he) loaded up my 6 bags, 1 carry on, 1 Dak, and 1 large dog crate. And off we went to the airport. And randomly, my friend Kim and her mother ended up being booked on the same exact flight as me. We figured it out a few weeks beforehand when talking about when we were leaving. I took that as a good omen and I still smile about it now. She was flying to Frankfurt then on to her final destination in Europe for a river boat cruise. We said our tearful goodbye in Frankfurt and off she and her mom went to Luxembourg.

Because of covid, all of the airlines and airports let a lot of staff go. When travel started to pick back up, many of the staff that was let go didn’t come back. Which meant special services like dogs traveling in cargo was no longer an option for all the American airline companies that fly internationally. As well as some airports no longer have the services to transport the animals for layovers. So trying to travel with a dog in cargo internationally was a nightmare. It took me two weeks to find a way to get to Palma. We flew from Dulles to Frankfurt Germany then to Barcelona. We couldn’t fly into Palma airport with a dog in cargo unfortunately. Doing so would have made the journey a hell of a lot easier, but it is what it is. Then once I arrived in Barcelona, I had to find Dak. Barcelona airport isn’t very organized and so I was running around trying to find him. My bags are going round and round on the baggage belt while I’m panicking to find him. I walk all over until I see him all by himself in a random corner. I run over to him and he is panting and crying. I pulled out my fingernail clippers I strategically packed in my purse so I could remove the zip ties placed on the crate door. I let him out and just held him. Then after we both calmed down, I went around asking for a big baggage carrier like the one I used at Dulles because the ones they provided weren’t big enough for all my stuff. They told me I couldn’t use the big carrier. One worker said “you will just have to leave some bags or come back later”. So I tried to load up the crate, bags, and carry on, onto two smaller carriers. I’m one person trying to push/pull two carriers so that didn’t work at all. I became frustrated and started to cry because I didn’t know what to do. No way did I come this far only to leave my stuff in Barcelona. I sat down in the corner with Dak, all my stuff, and just started to take deep breaths so I could calm down. I knew people had done this before, so I had to think of something. Then it hit me — the crate. I realized if I broke down the crate, I could fit the bags inside the crate. YASSS girl! So I broke that bitch down, put everything inside the broken down crate and off we went! We took a taxi to a dog friendly day use hotel close to the airport. We arrived in Barcelona around 11am, and arrived at the day hotel around 2pm. I put my luggage in the locked luggage room, went up to our room and took a two hour nap and then a shower. Because I couldn’t fly into Palma airport with a dog in cargo, we had to take the overnight ferry. A woman by the name of Caroline, who runs a pet transport service out of Mallorca, picked us up from the day hotel. She was transporting two cats and two dogs in an Amazon type van. Not my first time being around a lot of animals. Hearing cats meowing was a nice change from dogs barking. Everything fit perfectly in the van with zero room to spare.

Facebook has been an amazing resource for trying to find advice and help when moving abroad. Caroline came highly recommended by people in the Facebook group for people with pets in Mallorca. She helped me book the day hotel, the ferry, and gave me invaluable travel advice. Caroline picked us up around 9pm and off we went to the ferry which departed at 10pm. She drove right on the ferry, then we got out of the car with our dogs, her kitty cats and overnight bags. My cabin was incredibly small. There were two twin beds on opposite sides of the “room”. Dak slept on one, I on the other. I don’t think I got a full night’s rest, I dozed in and out.

The ferry arrived in Palma around 6am. Still very dark outside. I remember being very grateful to have made it, but a bit sad I couldn’t see the island for the first time because everything was dark. I booked an airbnb room from a man named Manuel. He speaks very little English, I speak very little Spanish. Airbnb app translates our messages to each other, so it’s worked out well. He had amazing reviews from female solo travelers so I felt very safe booking with him. We arrived at Manuel’s place at 6:30am. I was a bit caught off guard as he greeted me without a shirt on, which I later learned in Spain is not unusual because it does get hot here and most places do not have air conditioning, including Manuel’s apartment. He helped me carry my bags in. Caroline stayed by the van with Dak, then helped me with my last bag, gave me a hug, and wished me all the best. Because I’m not used to not having air conditioning, I preemptively asked Manuel for a fan for my bedroom. I went into to my room with Dak, plugged in the fan, laid down in the bed, my head hit the pillow and I passed out. I can’t remember what time I woke up but it was daylight. I looked over and Dak was smiling at me. He crawled over to me and gave me Daky hugs and cuddles. I realized in that moment we were ok. We were safe. I got dressed and took Dak out for the longest walk of his life. I spent the next week exploring the city which we now call home. School started the following Monday.

I was placed in Palma de Mallorca at the inner city high school. If you had told me years ago I would be working in a high school, I would have asked you what drugs you were on and could I have some. But I absolutely love it. I met the teachers on a Monday, they were very warm and welcoming. I spent my first day meeting the teachers and putting together a presentation for my introduction to the students. Valeria, who is my supervisor and head of the program at the school, is an amazing human. She speaks 6 languages and wants to learn a 7th. Her passion for teaching was evident to me on the second day when I was introduced to our students.

Working in a high school is something I never thought I would do in million years, because I hated high school. I was an awkward kid, mostly because I have ADHD sprinkled with high functioning autism (Autism Spectrum Disorder). Neither ADHD or ASD were studied in women because of our hormones and periods, as well as autism presents itself differently in women. Many of the autism traits are often masked as ADHD, OCD, anxiety or depression. In addition to all of that, most people do not know they have autism because their views of what they believe autism to be is what they see it portrayed in in the media such as Rain Man, the shows Atypical, Big Bang Theory, and The Good Doctor. So women struggle because we aren’t taught ways to manage ourselves. Just give us Adderall and call it a day. It took finding a specialist in ADHD and autism to validate everything I’ve been feeling my whole life. There never was anything wrong, the world just isn’t made for people like me. My sensory and over stimulation issues was something I thought was part of my ADHD. For instance, I hate the way towels feel. I’ve adapted to it, but I can’t stand the way they feel. When I’m in a room full of people and someone is talking to me, I am listening to every other conversation in the room. It’s also almost impossible for me to hear what the person is saying to me. If there is yelling or people talking loudly regardless if it’s positive or negative energy, it’s very uncomfortable for me to be in that space, so I just shut down and won’t engage or interact. Never liked loud noises such as fireworks, balloons popping, etc. I don’t like mushrooms or oysters, not because of the taste, but because of the way they feel. My emotions are heightened and I have increased empathy, especially with animals…which is a big deal because I always thought being non-emotional was a requirement of being autistic. It’s why I struggled the last few weeks leading up to my move to Spain, because I was so worried about Dak. He had never flown before and I was so scared for him. Like I said before, I would wake up every morning in almost a panic because again, cortisol levels are the highest in the morning when you first wake up. What a way to start the day! I’m not particularly great at subtext, and I’m often very literal and very direct. But over time, I’ve learned to mask those and just remain quiet for fear of saying the wrong thing. It’s always in the back of my mind — “Did you overshare again?” When I was dating, I remember when I had to ask my friends to text for me because when I would text something they would say “Anna you can’t say that.” So it’s no wonder I have so much anxiety because the last thing I want to do is say or do the wrong thing. When I’m explaining something, it’s hard for me to make eye contact. But then when I am around someone I really like, I make excessive eye contact which almost feels hypnotizing because eye contact can be very stimulating for me. I’ve realized for some people that can make them feel uncomfortable. When someone is talking to me I am studying their facial expressions and body positioning, but when I talk to them, I have to look away to process. I used to struggle with how much eye contact is appropriate, especially with my job. But as time went on, I just did what made me comfortable, and it’s not that big of a deal.

My boss Valeria understands learning disabilities. She modifies her teaching to students who are dyslexic, autistic, ADHD, and Asperger’s. She told me when she first started teaching, there was a kid who had dyslexia so badly that his parents took him out of school and homeschooled him. She was asked to work with him. And because she’s amazing, she was able to find ways to help him because she didn’t know anything about helping someone with dyslexia. That kid ended up being very successful not just in work, but in life as well. He now owns a restaurant and is married with kids. And she wants to take me there to meet him and enjoy his food. By the time she finished telling me his story, we both had tears in our eyes. Later in life, Valeria married. She has two kids. Her husband and her children have dyslexia. And she was able to recognize it very early on with her children, and help them.

Normally I don’t like to share my ADHD and autism with my supervisors, because in the past I’ve been told I need to just to adapt. After she shared that story with me, I opened up to her about my struggles, and she thanked me for telling her. She said she wanted to arrange my schedule so that I had a small break between classes because the kids are a lot of energy and it can be too much stimulation for me. I then thanked her for allowing me to be so open as well as for being an amazing advocate for the kids with learning disabilities. Tears still come to my eyes when I think about this because it will make all the difference in their lives and validate who they are.

Later in the week she asked me if I would be comfortable talking to the other teachers about my struggles as a kid with autism and ADHD so that they could be better teachers to these kids. Immediately I said yes. After I gave my introduction presentation to the students, she also asked if I would be open to talking to the students about my struggles as well, because she knows there are children in the classes that have the same learning disabilities like I do. They need to know there is nothing wrong with them, the world just isn’t made for people like us, and that if I can do it, so can they.

After I gave my presentations, Valeria said the kids really like me, asked when I was coming back, and she told me I did a great job with them. Happy tears :’”)

When I gave the introduction presentation about myself, the kids asked a ton of questions. The teachers I work with are very progressive and believe it’s important to learn about differences, not ban topics that make them uncomfortable, because that is how we grow and evolve. Because of this, there was no topic we couldn’t discuss.

One student asked about police officers in America, so that brought on the discussion of George Floyd. I talked to them about police in America, the 6 months of fear based training they receive, qualified immunity, and the police union. By the end of the discussion, the kid asked, “so how do you know if the cop is a good cop, or a ‘George Floyd’ cop?” My response was, “you don’t.”

Another kid asked about guns in America and asked how could you get one. I said, “ you just have to be 18 and a legal resident.” He was suprised because he knew the legal drinking age in America is 21. “So you can buy a weapon but you can’t buy beer?” The legal drinking age is 18 in Europe. The guns laws in Europe are so strict, and therefore gun violence just doesn’t happen here.

We then started to discuss mass shootings and why they keep happening. I told them about the NRA and congress not passing sensible gun laws. One kid was like “it can be bad here because there are people with knives.” I said yes, that is true. But knives cannot kill 12 people within seconds. Knives can hurt one or two at a time. So then I asked him what kind of drills they have in school. He said fire drills. I said in America, students have fire drills, earthquake drills (depending on the location), tornado drills (location dependent as well), and active shooter drills. I had to explain the active shooter drills. They became very quiet when I told them the number one cause of death in children in America is guns. This is a fact. Google it.

Valeria said she wanted the kids to understand that while it may be dangerous here, there are always worse places to be and it’s important to appreciate how good they have it.

We then moved on to happier discussions; Food, sports, and cultural differences. One interesting cultural difference I discovered was how they do not have a dress code at their school. I told them when I was in 6th grade my reading teacher told me I had to start wearing a bra. I was also reprimanded for my shorts being higher than 4 inches above my knee, as well as my tank top straps were too thin and showed way too much of my shoulder skin. This is problematic on so many levels. It always rubbed me the wrong way. Europeans are much more open and accepting about bodies. Every type of body. They do not sexualize things and feel the need to control what people wear. Unless it’s a Catholic school of course, because “religion”. They still have to wear school uniforms. But I’ve seen the Catholic school uniforms here, and even those skirts are much higher than 4 inches above the knee.

The school teachers are also required to call the students by “their chosen name”, even if the parents want them to be called by their given name. It’s a law. Which I think is amazing, because it allows the students to be validated by their peers, even if they aren’t validated at home.

These kids are absolutely amazing. This school has kids from all over the world. Germany, Ukraine, India, Columbia, Argentina, Peru, Brazil, Nigeria, Ethiopia, Portugal, Poland, England, France, Belgium, and on and on. I know I’m forgetting a few places. I’m incredibly excited to learn more about them and help them in anyway I can. In my introduction presentation, I always would thank them for allowing me to work with them. I am so grateful.

One morning on my walk to school, I saw a few of the students I met earlier in the week. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything because “it’s not cool” to talk to me. They noticed me, ran over, said “Hello Anna!! How are you?? We really like you and are excited to have you in our class!”. This was the first of many interactions with these kids. It made my heart swell up bigly and I tear up because I want them to like me and most importantly I want to do a good job.

Dak came with me to Spain, selfishly on my part, because I thought I would be lonely the first few days, weeks, months, while I’m here. Turns out, I’ve made a lot of friends! There are a ton of meet ups which I’ve been to with the other people in the program, people I’ve met randomly because of Dak, and a Facebook group of women in Mallorca that has fun events as well. My social experiences are almost the same as when I left DC. Turns out, people like me as my authentic self, not some masked version that society told me I should be, autism, ADHD and all. Oh my heart.

Dak has adjusted really well. The Spaniards LOVE him. I’ve had so many random encounters when he’s with me. They say all the time “El es muy guapo! El es muy guapo!” (He is so handsome). One lady who didn’t speak a lick of English, starts talking to me and Dak, then gets down on the ground with him and starts taking selfies with him, like he’s some kind of celebrity. I can’t make this up.

I know because everything is new and exciting, this high I’m on right now will wear off. I’m going to ride it as long as I can. In my heart, I know I am exactly where I’m supposed to be. I feel this so deeply. This is such a rewarding experience and I now “get” why teachers do what they do. My heart and soul led me here, and I’m so unbelievably proud of myself for honoring it.