On our first morning in Spain, my husband opened our hotel window to a courtyard filled with the sounds of silverware gently clinking against plates, quiet, relaxed chatter, and a musician playing guitar below.
No sirens. No horns. No one was rushing. People were sitting down to actually drink a coffee. It was the first time I wondered if everything we’d been doing in New York was wrong.
We’d left Brooklyn because of a realization: you can live in one of the largest cities in the world and still only know one way to move through it.
And it was breaking us.
I had been in New York City for 15 years
After 15 years in New York, I’d been completely rewired. I’d optimized my entire life for NYC’s inconveniences: refreshing camp registration at midnight, schlepping strollers up subway stairs, paying to park four blocks away rather than circling for 20 minutes, rushing to wait in line, overcommitting to everything because there’s always another class, another event, another opportunity. The scarcity, the urgency that never turns off, it comes with me everywhere.
I enrolled the kids (Violet, 5, Beckett, 2) in Boundless Life, a world schooling program for families, thinking they’d learn the most. New cultures, Spanish practice, expanded horizons, all the things you tell yourself when you’re packing up your life into suitcases and your house for renters.
But here’s what I didn’t expect: when New Yorkers operating on high-cortisol hustle culture meet Spain’s unhurried way of life, everyone gets schooled.
We moved to Spain for 3 months
We moved into our apartment for the next three months through peaceful marble streets. My goal: full immersion. Treat this town like home, not a tourist stop.
Dinner the first night was at 9:30 p.m. As I sat to take my first bite, the kids were ready to run. The hostess looked at me and said, “I’ll watch them.” That offer stopped me in my tracks.
The first three weeks were an exercise in unlearning. I kept trying to create routines, maximize the day, and schedule our way to success. Spain had other plans.
I called a local Pilates studio to ask if they offered 6:30 a.m. classes. I’m pretty sure she laughed. Kids play at playgrounds until 9 p.m. Families have long dinners where no one rushes. Asking for a to-go coffee felt like a sin. When I’d show up late, they’d say “no te preocupes” (no worries) and actually mean it. I was probably never late, just running on Spanish time.
I started making connections
In one of the most unsuspecting places, I had one of the best lessons. Maria José, the local butcher. She only spoke Spanish, and I was intimidated every time I walked in. She was a bit gruff in the beginning, but I kept going back. And slowly, something shifted. She started sharing her recipes — not written down, just verbal instructions in Spanish. No measurements, no Pinterest, just “a little of this and a little bit of that.” When we ran into each other on the street, she lit up.
Like at home, I could have chosen the easier path: pre-packaged meat at the supermarket, in and out in five minutes. Instead, I chose the one that required more effort, more vulnerability, more time. And I found something better: a real connection. Not transactional, but rather intentional.
My kids became friends
My kids didn’t miss 99% of their toys. We live a life of being over-notified, operating in many realities at once. It’s harder than ever to be where your two feet are. I was learning that life is meant to be lived, not rushed through.
The Spanish siesta saved my sanity because it forced me to stop. Our long dinners taught us more about connection than any scheduled activity ever did. Spontaneous beach hangs replaced our color-coded calendar. The most fulfilling days were the ones with no plan at all.
My kids stopped being just siblings. They became best friends. Being brave became our family theme. I watched Violet walk Beckett to his classroom every morning. She cried empathetic tears when he dropped his ice-cream cone. Beckett started asking for her the moment he woke up. We spent more time together in Spain than we ever did in our daily lives in NYC.
I’d been living life like a script — every day already written before it happened. Rinse and repeat. No room for the micro moments, the messy emotions, the beautiful interruptions that make life actually feel alive.
My kids didn’t want to go back to New York
When our three-month program ended, neither of my kids wanted to go. “I wish we could live here for four months,” Violet told me.
Coming home was reverse culture shock. I came back with a lower tolerance for so much.
We don’t have it all figured out, but Spain rewired all of us.
Now we do family dinners every night, no phones, no rushing. Looser weekends with room to breathe. A mental practice of asking: do we actually want this, or does it just feel like a should? Putting less focus on keeping up and more focus on what a bold, beautiful life looks like for us.
Unlearning the hustle means making room. Less stuff, fewer schedules, less performing. More of the connections and moments we were always too busy to notice.
We’re already planning our next trip. And, maybe something more permanent. Because once you’ve felt a life where everyone is thriving, it’s hard to unfeel it.
Sometimes you have to leave home to figure out what you want home to feel like.
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