2025 was quite the year for many of us, never mind the realities and sociopolitical conditions of the world. I was reminded of this fairly often while abroad. Many folks will be sharing their experiences, accomplishments, and New Year’s Resolutions by the end of tonight, but I want to remind you that just existing, finding time to rest, and appreciating the little things are just as valuable as the monumental. How we navigate the world daily is, after all, the most important to our lived experiences.

With that said, for me, I had some tremendous realizations about the United States, my personal endeavors, and my own growth. Bittersweet, we prepared to say goodbye to a place that felt more like home than most places in my life. On June 6, 2025, after being lovingly greeted in the Spanish tradition of kisses on both cheeks, my children and I settled into seats in the back of the auditorium at La Fundación Ramón Areces in Madrid. We had taken the train from Málaga, the city our hearts had already claimed as home, and arrived with barely enough time to breathe, having settled into our hotel the evening before. We were tired, dragging our feet up the aisle, but we were there, surrounded by many other Fulbrighters in an incredible country we had called home for a while.

I finally met M in person, someone I’d only known through a screen until that moment. She was from San Diego, like me, but after her own Fulbright in Madrid, she had stayed, and I honestly had wondered how she had pulled that off other than having managed to secure a job with the Fulbright commission in Spain, especially since I had been trying to do the same, though not necessarily with the Fulbright, since I had received my letter over a year before.

As other Fulbrighters arrived, it became clear I was the only one who’d brought children. I had emailed my Fulbright advisor weeks earlier, explaining that the only way I could attend was if they came with me. Without missing a beat, and only several minutes later, the response came, “Of course!”

It was very Spanish, and something I appreciated tremendously during my time there. Wandering through parks and other public areas throughout Andalucía, adorned with restaurants and stops, one could find play spaces for children, allowing for families and kids to enjoy time both together and separately. So, to have the same courtesy and cultural practice extended to me in this “professional” setting was a relief, yet not a surprise. I felt my heart full, my soul nourished, to share the experience with my babies.

All of us in that room were scholars from around the United States, convening in Madrid after developing community, making friends, and the vast majority of us were preparing to make our way back to our home cities. As one of the speakers stood in front of the microphone, she began her speech, and then the realities of what we were facing hit us when she said, “You must remember that the United States you are returning to is not the same as it was when you left.” The flutter in my stomach intensified, my heart felt as if it had locked up, choking me, and I felt it in my throat and soul. My hand gripped my son’s shoulder accidentally, tensing mildly, as my daughter looked at me, noticing my jaw tighten.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” she asked. ”Nothing, just sad to be going back to the United States. To be leaving Spain.”She quietly nodded, feeling similarly.

For me, the start of 2025 was monumental. As I’ve shared before, I had never had the opportunity to live abroad or to study elsewhere the way I wanted in my early 20s. Between working full-time while in college, trying to ensure my then-boyfriend and roommates could maintain the apartment, and not wanting to lose the job that had promoted me within the first two months of working, I couldn’t imagine life outside of necessity. Growing up working-class, being a first-generation college student, I had no idea how to achieve the life I so desperately wanted, and definitely didn't know how to ask. And then I went on to have my son at 23, and daughter at 26, having to work and juggle life, getting my master’s and then PhD. The possibility of living anywhere but the United States seemed far out of the question.

So when I applied for a Fulbright award as a U.S. Scholar after completing my PhD, and I received the notice the day before my daughter’s birthday, I was ecstatic. Finally, the work I had pushed through, the sacrifices, long nights of crying and writing, felt like they were paying off. I received a prestigious award, celebrating the work and research I had proposed.

Folks were excited for me, and of course, people mentioned all of the doors this award would open for me (though I find that is debatable, as I am currently applying for jobs). I was buzzing with excitement, ambiguity, confusion, anxiety, and ultimately, pride. I was proud of myself for believing in the possibility of applying for this award, though having been discouraged by people, both personally and professionally, in the past from doing so, I was proud of myself for believing not only in my potential to live abroad, but also to do so with my children. I was proud of myself for the academic work that I planned on engaging in and being able to put this on my CV. So as 2025 started, finishing the process for our visas, searching for a place to call home, juggling flights and packing, I knew it would be an incredible year.

And it was, at least the first six months. One might think having a Fulbright alone would have been enough, and then traveling to, and living in, Spain, of course. But, as I’ve written before in A Letter to the Woman I Was Last Year, I developed community. I got to know people. I was a regular, and people (and cats) recognized me. For me, while I am so incredibly appreciative of the Fulbright opportunity, the Universidad de Málaga, and it is a prestigious award, the beauty in the experience has to do with the connections. It’s learning about la biznaga malagueña that I now have tattooed on my arm, that I absolutely love siesta time, where I would see neighborhood restaurants and their employees sitting outside, waving to me as I walk by, or the bazaar owners next door who would always tell us, “¡Hoy tenemos tu helado de Snickers!” when they had new inventory of Snickers ice cream bars. It was observing the differences in orange Fanta, smelling fresh fish and other foods from the freiduría on the corner near our flat.

And, it was appreciating the Spanish lifestyle when experiencing a historic blackout that affected all of Portugal and Spain. When we lived through this, of course, I was terrified; I had no cell service while living in a country where my family could not get in contact with me. There was no way to charge our phones or get access to knowledge as to what was causing this outage. As I wandered the flat grounds, neighbors would ask me in Spanish if I had service or electricity. My son and I wandered the neighborhood, and people had pulled their cars onto the sidewalk, listening to the radio, voices booming through the speakers. Shops were closed, and people sat outside, talking, enjoying the sun. The little media in the U.S. painted it as if people in the country weren't worried, but there were definitely confused people. However, overall, there was a strong community that helped bring people together. Children played, people were listening to music, and, thankfully, because I had cash on me, we were able to sit outside at a pizza place we loved down the street, eating our favorite dishes with friends who were in town visiting, listening to conversation, and enjoying the night under the stars.

The experiences didn't stop in Spain, though Spain has my heart. The experiences also included Ireland, and the server who spoke with us about colonialism's long reach, the cab driver who asked, gently, if our Mexican family members were safe back in the States (well, actually, said with dark humor, "Oh, I hope they're still there when you get back.) For me, Ireland was about the oral stories told at the National Leprechaun Museum, voices weaving folklore into the present, and the experiences and photos shared at the EPIC Emigration Museum. The beauty was the market employee who asked what we were doing in Ireland, genuinely curious, and who struck up a conversation afterward, recommending Irish-specific foods and drink and the double-decker bus rides from Leixlip, where we stayed, 40 minutes one way to Dublin, 30 the other to Maynooth, windows open to the countryside. And it was Zurich while jumping on the local train without a plan, wandering historic streets with my camera, smiling at strangers, capturing moments I wanted to hold. It absolutely was not endless sights on a tight agenda; my life those six months were just people, conversations, simple foods, walks through neighborhoods we'd never see again. (Side note, if you'd like to see some of my photos over the years, the most recent being from my time abroad, and some of the experiences, you can check them out here: Photo Gallery)

These were the experiences that made it worth it. It wasn’t the award or the work I was doing, though I was enlightened and pivoted my research, but it was the daily community and engagement I had that made the start and middle of my 2025 so memorable and monumental.

As I’ve returned, as I’ve mentioned before, I’ve experienced a wave of depression. Sure, some of it is that a temporary period was over, and I had to return to reality. But much of it is that existing in a life that values productivity and accolades over living and existing, just being with people, is instead what we face at a significant level.

I want to remind folks, and myself, that sometimes existing is enough. Yes, we should be proud of ourselves for the accomplishments we've achieved, the accolades we've acquired. But social media is often curated, so we're going to be inundated with everyone's highlight reels and reminders of the amazing things they’ve created, done, followers they’ve gained, travel spots they discovered, and more. It's easy to compare ourselves to others, to remind ourselves of all the things we haven't accomplished yet, or to be swallowed by the deadlines we missed, the goals we passed up, the weight we didn't lose, the muscle we haven't gained. It's vital we strive for the goals and do the things we want in life, but we must also remember to center living, not just surviving or constantly "achieving."

Social media likely won't show you the confusion of searching for a flat in a city where you don't speak the language fluently, but it'll show you holding your keys with a smile. It won't show the tears shed boarding a plane, unsure of what to expect, or the stress of obtaining the visa, the paperwork, and the waiting. It probably won't show the crying because you can't make friends the same way, not knowing yet that you'll develop a community that will eventually feel more important than anything you thought you needed, and that you’ll eventually need to leave. It's not going to show the struggle of being 6 months away from family you see almost daily, or how the time zone is far more difficult than you thought it would be. It probably won't show somebody lugging suitcases through cobblestone streets, arms aching because you’ve moved your life across the ocean. It may show glimpses of the beautiful sites and sounds through a few tears here and there, but likely not the anguish you go through to get there, and especially not in real time. And it likely won’t show when you need people, and they aren't there, not quite understanding how significant this is for you and how much asking for help is hard for you, but you push through anyway. It won't show the missed time with loved ones and how it’s compounded by significant time differences. But it'll show the "deviations" framed as achievements, and they are, because you’ve pushed through. But remember that the highlight reel isn't the whole story.

So as 2025 ends, I'm trying to find those moments here in San Diego, too. Like taking a spontaneous drive to watch stars in the quiet (and somewhat secret) spot I've known since high school, wandering around the city to find small businesses, or stumbling into a bookstore I've never noticed before. Moments like sitting with my kids and just being, talking about nothing important and everything at once. These moments we experience aren't curated. They're not necessarily Instagram-worthy, but they're living.

So, I’m bringing into 2026 a commitment to little moments, to daily words on a page (aka writing,) conversations, and connections, to refusing the pressure to constantly achieve and instead choosing to live in all the moments, scattered across all of time and place.