When I arrived in Spain the summer before Senior year, I felt I needed to maintain a certain level of busyness; I was stressed from not feeling enough stress. I pestered myself — I thought I needed to exercise constantly, to shower myself with deadlines, to create some source of pressure. Living there taught me to slow down and eventually I was able to release an unneeded sense of obligation. I saw things as they were — in the present, in front of me.
We walked around town late on a Friday under a brilliant starry sky. It was early in the trip, and everyone was enjoying live music and watching flamenco dancers. I couldn’t help myself; I subconsciously racked my brain for looming deadlines (What was my homework due Monday? When would I have time to write papers or study for tests?) My brain was locked in its Albuquerque Academy gear, unwilling to shift to something more appropriate for cruising.
I had to train my mind and body to not crave a packed schedule. Being in a small town aided in the de-stressing process. In my homestay village, with less of a bustling, city vibe, with weekend concerts under the stars, surrounded by huertas - orchards - and small farms and crumbling, sacred mosques, I slowly reminded myself that my life need not run around deadlines.
We drank cafecitos on cobbled streets. Cheap red umbrellas advertising cerveza provided us shelter. On our plates were massive bricks of toasted white bread drenched in aceite de oliva. There was something so magical about sitting in a plastic chair, enjoying olive oil on toast and coffee, and admiring passersby. In fact, I found myself admiring and studying anything I could - napkins, flowers, clouds. Once I acknowledged the absence of deadlines and the lack of pressure I faced, I finally felt free to let my mind wander. I was able to foster a vested interest in anything I came across.
When I recall my times in Spain, I first conjure specific feelings; my vault of memories is full of sensory experiences. I feel those sensations: the way my skin tingled when I stood on a rooftop to watch a tsunami wave-like cloud roll over the plains, the way my lips curled into a smile after dancing with friends to my host sister’s band as they covered Amy Winehouse. The brightness of the stars that night seemed to penetrate my skin. I soaked it in, standing under that freckled night sky, and rejoiced in the brilliance of appreciating each and every moment.
When I came home I felt reinvigorated and ready to go back to school. My time spent absorbing the minutes in Spain served as a breath of air before plunging back into the routine of the school year. It taught me to let go and forget deadlines - even for a second - in order to feel rested and ready to take on a busier schedule. As I sped through Senior year, I realized how important my long Spanish siesta proved to be. Not only was it a chance to explore a new country and to take a break, but it was also an opportunity to discover a state of mind.
I was trained in Spain to slow down, and I translated that ability to my life back in America. When I felt overwhelmed by finals and the seemingly-perpetual flow of deadlines, I sat down, took a breath, and envisioned myself dancing under the stars, singing along to a chocolaty, Spanish rendition of Amy Winehouse’s Valerie. The best thing about taking these breaks was that I would open my eyes and feel a new drive to complete the task before me. Senior year tumbled and thrashed by, and looking back, I’ve never worked harder or been as inspired to succeed. Maybe the key to my success was because I understood my need for rest. Maybe it was something in the water. Whatever it was, though, I’ve learned that sometimes we all need just need a siesta.
