May 24

The second to last day in Madrid (aside from every emotion under the sun) has been absolutely phenomenal. There is only one thing I can truly compare it to. You know when you’re a kid and your block seems HUGE? And when your mom tells you that you’re only able to ride your bike around the circle and that’s okay because the circle is really the ENTIRE UNIVERSE? Or how dangerous you were playing EIGHT houses down in a field WAY beyond your mom’s earshot? Then one day- if you’re lucky enough or have the desire- you can go back to your old neighborhood, instantaneously back in time. The streets not nearly as large are just as beautiful and carefully knit with nostalgia and memories. Of course, a little dissonance between your new understanding of the neighborhood and your understanding as a child, but to be there from a new perspective and to experience the memories all over makes them all the more dear. All the more same. All the more old. All the more cherished. All the more new. All the more yours.

T.S. Eliot, "We shall not cease from exploration; and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."


It is as if I am riding around the neighborhood of my traveling youth. I look at the Plaza Mayor and remember the way my heart just stopped, overwhelmed at the immense amount of history and life packed into such a space. I appreciate it now more than ever, and see all of the things it taught me in a moment when the whole world was new. I strolled through Retiro Park, eyes welling up with tears, a smile ear to ear. My first European park. Benches, statues, ponds, and boats, glass buildings, and rose gardens, your existence is real. My first cobblestone streets that taught me what it was really like to have an ache in my ankle. The Pardo Museum. ‘The’ museum, more than any other museum of the trip, paved way for an opportunity to understand both art and history in a living and real sense. Walking past our old hostel, we stopped outside and stared. I was seeing it for the first time. New eyes, new heart. I remember so vividly opening the window in our room on the third story and seeing French style windows. FRENCH STYLE WINDOWS. Real and true, not in a movie. In MY LIFE. FRENCH STYLE WINDOWS. Kiss me!, French style windows! This is my life! I looked up at the set of windows directly across from our old window and knew it was just a series of beginnings. Instead of closure, I was seeing into and out of this window for the first time as I have every day for the last 6 months.


Today is our last day here in Madrid. I could obviously talk and cry and smile your ear off, but unfortunately, there are not enough hours in the day. I’m taking the bike out for the last and first spin of an old and new journey through the streets of my memories.



Oh, and the wrap up is still coming.. we need some internet with a little more power!