10 Years Ago, I Left The United States Without a Plan, Much Money, Or a Visa
Here’s how I made it work
When I first arrived in Barcelona in the early spring of 2010, I positioned myself as a chaser and someone with the stones to see the world. But that was a lie.
The decision was a Hail Mary. After being financially wiped out by my ex-business partner's dad in Central America 18 months earlier, and responding by choosing to turn my life into the lyrics of a bad country song, I needed to do something — anything — to try to smile again without having to fake it.
Barcelona was never intended to be the destination. Just a stop. Thailand maybe. Or Vietnam. The only plan I had was to figure out a way to ground out enough cash to keep moving forward until I found a place I didn’t want to leave. It just so happened I found whatever it was I didn’t know I was looking for here in Catalunya.
Maybe it’s because the streets are named after artists instead of kings of industry or politicians.
Or maybe it’s because three months after arriving I had lost the 60 pounds I gained during my year and a half long bender by doing nothing except living like the locals.
Or maybe it’s simply because I thought it was beautiful and it made me want to finally breathe again.
