“I want to go there someday.”

That was my refrain as I watched House Hunters International or Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations or … Pick your poison.

I had a running list of places I wanted to visit and not much of a plan to follow through on.

Part of the problem was finances—or a lack thereof. The other problem was being deep in the throes of raising small children, and the desire to drag them across the country or halfway around the world was not high on my list of priorities.

Once upon a time, I worked at a place where the motto was, “You won’t see the inside of a restaurant unless you’re working there.” It referred to getting out of debt, and while Will and I had long left debt behind, that attitude stuck. Until my mom died, I wasn’t able to escape that mentality, locked inside my own prison of dreams passing me by.

I was a dreamer—someone who knew how to imagine something big but not able to execute because of my own hangups around spending money and allowing myself to enjoy life.

Subscribe now

I recognize this same trait in others who tell me they want to move abroad.

There’s a lot of planning, questioning, and dreaming, but there is a distinct lack of execution.

Picking up an entire life, selling most of what you own, and moving yourself, a spouse, kids, and/or pets to a new country is daunting at best and terrifying at worst.

A self-induced anxiety-producing maelstrom of project management, decision-making, and panic.

My mom’s death forced me to see that “someday” isn’t a real point in time.

First there’s grief. Then comes the aftermath. Unrealized dreams, unfulfilled retirement aspirations, lost time. The entire last quarter of a life planned and lost.

Two and a half years after my mom died, my "someday” moment landed as I learned about a school shooting in Nashville, just 30 minutes away from my own home. I finally shook off the haze of my grief, looked at my kids, and recognized that I wasn’t giving them the childhood or the travel I’d always wanted to.

The common theme I see among people who make the move abroad isn’t that they’re braver, smarter, or have more money. It’s that they realize none of us knows when our “somedays” might run out.

I receive messages regularly from people who are “thinking about” moving abroad. They see what Will and I did, recognize it’s possible, and start dreaming.

I get excited for them, sending messages of encouragement, tips, and keeping my inbox open.

Then I never hear from them again.

If you don't want to be one of those people, I'd love to talk. I offer one-on-one calls for people seriously considering a move abroad—no judgment, no pressure—just someone who's done it. Book a call here.

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

More life abroad essays like this one:

Las Fallas dates back centuries, and no matter what else is going on in the world, Fallas persists.

The scent of gunpowder blended with sugary churros and hot chocolate permeates the air. Children throw firecrackers to the ground, giggling with delight when they pop.

Last year was our first Fallas. In our second year, somehow, we’ve made our peace with the noise and have mostly slept through the live music drifting into our apartment from the street below. (Let’s not even get into the mortar-style fireworks exploding all around us.)

This past weekend, we rounded up the kids and went on a scavenger hunt for monuments near the city center. We were dazzled by them last year, but this year? The monuments were even more elaborate, and the political messages were clear, with Trump dominating much of the imagery.

This is probably our final year remaining in Valencia while the city burns—at least for now. Peace with the noise only goes so far. With an elderly dog, kids, and the general 40-something desire for a good night’s sleep, unless you’re part of it, even most Spanish people will tell you to leave. (My neighbors did and advised us to do the same.) The party stretches well into the wee hours of the morning, with live concerts beginning at midnight, fireworks exploding, and drunken partiers shout-singing off-key.

It takes months and millions of euros to build these monuments, only to watch them burn—symbolic of renewal.

I took the photos below with my iPhone on a gray and gloomy Saturday (using Lightroom to highlight their artistry), but you can see how much effort goes into their creation and why the Valencians are so proud of their city’s tradition.

Feliz Fallas!

Subscribe now

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

Read more of our family’s adventures in Spain with these pieces:

You’re going to make mistakes.

It’s inevitable when you move to a new country, and honestly? Some things you just have to learn from experience. But I do believe some mistakes can be avoided just by doing some minor prep work beforehand.

I recently ran across another Business Insider article from a mom who moved her family to Madrid, and she shared some of the things she would’ve changed if she had it to do over today. One tip—keeping a translated medical profile on your phone—hadn't crossed my mind. I'd already learned the rest the hard way.

Community

Rebecca, the author, writes that she felt lonely her first few months in Spain. She deprioritized her social life in favor of getting everything else done.

Girl, I’ve been there.

The truth is, making friends abroad can be hard. You have to really put yourself out there, and some of us are just worse at it than others. (Ahem, yours truly is one of them.) The saying, “Fake it ‘til you make it,” comes to mind, and there are lots of ways to meet people if you’re willing to put in the work.

I still don’t have a lot of friends here, but I have started to create a network. There are people in my WhatsApp list I could text or call in an emergency, and I have even more acquaintances.

The work is uncomfortable. Do it anyway. You'll find your people.

Schools

Enrolling your kids in an international school in Spain means it will take longer for them to learn Spanish. In the article, Rebecca mentions that she didn’t realize her kids would be learning alongside native Spanish speakers.

Full disclosure: My kids go to an international school. When enrolling them, I was told the school is about 60% Spanish, and the other 40% consists of other nationalities. My kids are enrolled in Spanish as an additional language (SAL) classes. Elementary kids have that class every day (if they aren’t native speakers), and middle school has an SAL class twice a week.

I was well aware the majority of kids at the school would be native Spanish speakers. My experience has been that most international schools here are populated by Spanish kids whose parents want them to learn English. A couple of my neighbors (both Spanish) have children in international schools for that very reason.

If your expectation is that your kids will be learning alongside other native English speakers all day while they learn Spanish, recalibrate.

Subscribe now

Document Translation

Rebecca experienced a serious medical emergency not long after her move to Spain. A translated medical profile on your phone that includes a complete medical history is the kind of thing you don't think about until you're standing in a Spanish emergency room trying to explain it in a language you barely speak.

While we did bring our medical records with us to Spain, I did not make the extra effort to translate them. And while I’ve become aware of medical translation services through Facebook and WhatsApp groups, I’ve never used one. Instead, I’ve mostly relied on my doctors to speak at least some English—a huge mistake on my part.

I’ve been lucky thus far, but it's time to fix that.

Driving

Driving in Spain is a whole thing. The process is long and expensive. I wrote about it here, and in case you’re wondering, I still don’t have a license. (I’m actually a little terrified to drive here.)

For the first six months of living in Spain, you can get by with an International Driving Permit, which you can easily get at any AAA office or online. And pro tip: Even if you decide not to get a driver’s license in Spain (which I do not recommend), the IDP is a document you’ll still want to have on hand for travel within Europe if you need to rent a car.

Do yourself a favor and get the IDP before you leave the U.S. It’s $20 and takes about 20 minutes in person. You’ll thank me later.

U.S. Phone Numbers

This is a topic I researched extensively before we moved to Spain. Some people online recommended Google Voice. Others recommended Tello. Google Voice is appealing because it’s a one-time fee and, with any luck, it’ll work forever. Tello is an ongoing monthly fee, but it can be nominal, depending upon your particular phone needs. (I spend about $6/month for me and a little more for my husband.)

Completely cutting ties with a U.S. phone number is appealing. After all, who really wants to maintain two phone numbers? But as a 40-something adult with lifelong ties to the U.S., it is a must—mostly because of finances.

My recommendation is always Tello. It’s a real phone number at a super low cost, and it works off WiFi. Tello won’t cut you off for living abroad, and you will always receive 2FA texts because it isn’t a VoIP.

Rebecca made mistakes. I made mistakes. You will too. You’re juggling a lot of moving pieces, especially if you have kids, pets, or both. After spending a year and a half in Spain, I’m still making mistakes and learning from them every day. The goal was never to get it perfect. It was to get here and figure the rest out as you go.

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

Getting settled in a new country takes time. Here are a few of my past pieces to help you get started:

The past couple of weeks have been crazy busy, and things aren’t going to get much slower until school is out in late June.

And I had a realization.

My son will be in eighth grade next year.

What?!

My sweet boy was off to kindergarten just a moment ago, and now, here we sit at the precipice of the last year of middle school, prepping for high school.

And my youngest? She’s starting middle school and going into sixth grade.

Time waits for no one, which means the window for traveling and doing activities with our kids is shortening fast.

When we moved to Spain in 2024, one of the carrots we used to get the kids (kind of) on board was a promise to visit Disneyland Paris. But we haven’t made it yet, and not too long ago, my son asked me, “Mom, when are we going to go to Disney?”

It hit me that we’re coming up on two years in Europe, and we’ve really only traveled in Spain, which has been wonderful, and there are so many more places I want to see here.

But.

I want to show the kids the world. It’s a big reason we moved here, and as that time starts to slip through my fingers, I recognized that it’s time to do some of these trips we promised our kids when we moved.

So when my son asked when we were going to Disney, I had a moment of panic. I looked at Will and said, “I’m about to go into ‘f**k it’ mode.” He asked what I meant. “The kids are asking when we’re going to do Disney. Do you realize we only have about four-and-a-half more years before our oldest turns 18? Time is running out.”

And then I got a little weepy, sat down, and booked the flights to Paris.

Later, I booked the hotel, and we are well on our way to a Disneyland Paris adventure this summer.

There’s another trip I’ve always wanted to take, and luckily for me, the rest of the family is on board, although my daughter has her own agenda with this one because it involves horses. (Of course it does.)

As an adult, I’ve long wanted to visit Finnish Lapland, particularly at Christmastime, but I couldn’t figure out how to afford it. I thought that once we were based in Spain, it might be more affordable, but lemme tell ya: Lapland at Christmas isn’t cheap no matter where you happen to be traveling from.

I don’t discuss it much here, but I’ve been playing the credit card points and miles game for years. I picked up the hobby after we took the kids to Disney World in Orlando and realized there had to be a cheaper way to travel with a family. Since then, we’ve taken multiple vacations funded partially by points. And in Mallorca, we stayed at a hotel we wouldn’t have been able to afford (or justify) without using points.

So about a week ago, I started searching Google Flights, taking stock of flight costs, activity options, and what we could expect to pay for lodging.

Flying to Rovaniemi, Finland from Valencia is kind of like flying from Nashville to Seattle—not a short flight, but not quite as long as flying across the Atlantic from the East Coast. And I don’t think there is such a thing as a “cheap” flight during the Christmas season.

Cash was not an option.

Looking at the points cost, though, it started to come together as a possibility. Eventually, I found tickets that worked for our school break, and I booked them, paying a total of about $345 for the taxes and fees and 104,000 Avios.

If you've been curious about the points game, the Chase Sapphire cards are where most people (including me) start. Here’s my referral link if you want to get started.

My bucket list trip is starting to take shape, and while there is still a lot of research to do, I cannot wait to tell the kids. (It’s a surprise for now!)

Living in Europe certainly has its advantages, and the proximity of places like Finnish Lapland is a big one.

Subscribe now

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

Latest posts:

A couple of weeks ago, I ran across a Facebook group post from a parent who expressed anxiety about how growing up as third culture kids might impact their children long-term.

Where will they go to university? What kinds of jobs will be available to them as non-EU permanent residents? Is it better to go to university in the U.S. for job prospects?

I’ve been circling these same questions lately, especially as my oldest inches closer to high school.

And then a few days ago, I saw a post from a Facebook friend whose son moved to Spain as a preteen, went to post-secondary school in Ireland, and is now returning to the U.S. for a great job as a young adult.

One is a fear. The other is a reality.

As I watch parents a few years ahead of me launch their children, I’m realizing that no matter where mine finish growing up, I have little control over what their lives will look like in a few years. After all, if my mom had had her way, I would’ve lived down the street from her in my Kentucky hometown.

Instead, as most kids do, I carved my own path, finally landing two hours away in the suburbs of Nashville.

During the early days of our move to Spain, our son—the oldest, and the one with the strongest memories of life in the U.S.—spoke often about returning as soon as he graduated high school. He wanted to go back to his friends, familiar foods, and the scenery he’d grown up with.

Over time, he stopped talking about it as much. Conversations have turned to university options and where he might complete his education.

To my surprise, he’s beginning to consider Europe instead of the U.S.

This is the shift I’d been waiting for, because the selfish part of me—the part most like my mom—wants him to choose Europe, if not Spain.

Because I don’t want to move back to the U.S. If my son chooses Europe, I get two things:

1. My son is close enough to visit often.

2. Our decision to relocate our family abroad becomes the “right” decision.

Will and I wanted to expand our own world, and as parents, we wanted to expand our kids’ world, too. But like any parents, we want to be near our kids as they start their adult lives, find spouses or partners, and maybe someday have children of their own. We want to be part of their lives.

And if we don’t plan to move back to the States and our kids do move back, that dream sort of … falls apart.

It’s the same thing my mom had to accept when I chose to live in Middle Tennessee instead of near my Kentucky hometown, but instead of an interstate, we’re dealing with an ocean. The kicker here, though, is that it was Will and I who showed them what was possible—that moving half a world away is not only doable but often fun.

We might have set ourselves up for our own grief and heartbreak somewhere down the line.

Will and I showed our kids the world, offered them the ability to navigate a new country, new language, and a new school all at once. We showed them how to leave a whole life behind in favor of starting a new one.

If our son returns to the U.S. to begin adulthood, what does it say about us as parents? That Spain was merely our adventure and not his? That he never felt the connection we wanted him to feel to this new country or, more broadly, Europe? That the safety and reduced anxiety we chased for our family was for naught?

I’ve always wanted to raise well-rounded kids who feel “worldly,” but if my son returns to the U.S., I’ll always wonder if we accomplished that goal.

Now, as we enter the teen years, we’ll have to come to terms with what we’ve taught them may be what leads them to live lives far away from ours.

Subscribe now

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

More on raising third culture kids:

The first time I walked into a Spanish doctor’s office was intimidating—like walking into the first day of school in a new state.

Although I’d done a lot of reading and research about the private Spanish healthcare system, I had no idea how it worked in practice.

One of the best ways to soothe your fears is by knowing what happens when you walk in the door. That’s what I’m here for.

Booking an Appointment

From apps to WhatsApp, there are multiple ways to book an appointment with a private physician. If the doctor is at a hospital, it’s often as easy as booking through the hospital app. Occasionally, you’ll need to call, and large hospital systems will frequently offer customer service in English.

Standalone practices typically use website contact forms, email, phone calls, or WhatsApp as first-contact options. Personally, I prefer the WhatsApp method. I can send any relevant test results, information, or translate messages directly within the app.

So, how soon can you get an appointment?

In my experience, I can get an appointment anywhere from the same day to a few weeks out. There’s always the option to make the appointment as far out as you’d like (follow-ups, for instance), but if you need to be seen? You can see someone relatively quickly.

What to Bring

Bring the essentials you’d take to any doctor’s appointment.

• Identification (passport or TIE card)

• Insurance card (if you’re using private insurance)

• Test results, medical records, or imaging related to the issue you’re being seen for

• Any referrals required by insurance (Note: I’ve never needed a referral to see a doctor, but I have needed a referral for a particular test.)

Walking In

The provider’s office—or clinic, in a hospital setting—looks basically like every other medical office you’ve ever been into. You’ll see a reception desk, waiting areas, and—if you’re in a hospital setting—a kiosk where you can check in for your visit.

In the outpatient clinic, you’ll step up to the kiosk, type in your NIE or passport number, and receive a ticket with a number. In the waiting area, you’ll see a monitor filled with numbers. This is where you’ll look for your number, and you’ll hear it called as well. You’ll go to the reception desk, present your identification and insurance (if applicable), be offered another ticket with a number, and be sent to the appropriate waiting area.

A private clinic’s process is slightly different. There’s no kiosk, but there will be a reception desk. You’ll offer your identification and insurance card, and reception may give you some forms to fill out while you wait.

Being Called Back

At an outpatient clinic, listen for your number to be called or watch for it on the monitor. The monitor will tell you what room number to go to. Doctors are usually working with a nurse, who will call your name if they aren’t sure you heard or saw your number called. If no nurse is present, you can go directly to the room.

The exam room is small, with enough space for a doctor, nurse, and patient (plus perhaps one patient companion) to comfortably work together. You’ll see an exam table covered with clean paper, medical tools, chairs, and all the typical accoutrements you’d expect.

I’ve never had vitals taken at any standard doctor’s visit. You can request the doctor take them, but in my experience, it isn’t protocol unless they suspect the vitals would help make a diagnosis. (You can check your blood pressure at almost any farmacia.)

During the Visit

Every doctor’s visit I’ve had in Spain begins at the doctor’s desk in a room or section adjacent to the exam room. The doctor will consult their computer for any notes or records pertaining to your visit, and they’ll ask you what you’re there to see them for.

Don’t expect a lot of small talk, and unless you’ve specifically sought out a physician who speaks English, expect most—if not all—of the interaction to be in Spanish. (This is where Google Translate can come in handy if your grasp on the language is tenuous.)

The provider will pay attention to you—not their screen. And when you’re finished with intake, you’ll be invited to the exam table if needed. (Sometimes, it’s just a conversation at the desk if it’s a follow-up appointment.)

Most of the visit will be “strictly business,” especially if your provider isn’t a fluent English speaker and you need English. It can take time for the doctor to get to know you. Over time, as your relationship forms, you’ll probably notice that conversations become warmer and more personal and less, “Let’s get this done.”

Tests, Imaging, and Labs

If your physician orders any kind of testing, you’ll receive a prescription, either written or as an order in the hospital’s computer system. If you have private insurance, you can take it to any lab where your insurance is accepted.

In my experience, labs are typically scheduled separately, while some imaging like ultrasounds may be done the same day if there’s availability.

Visiting an outpatient clinic at a hospital can make any tests you need easy to obtain. They’re often in the same building or just down the street. And if you’ve opted for a private clinic, most testing you’ll need can be obtained at a hospital.

For labs, you’ll typically take your order to the lab during walk-in hours and check in at the kiosk or desk with your ID and insurance. Other testing or imaging typically requires an appointment, which you can schedule for a later date. The physician will likely want a follow-up appointment with you once testing is complete to review the results, which you can schedule before you leave the clinic.

Prescriptions

Receiving a prescription from your provider is pretty easy-peasy. They’ll hand you a printout with a stamp or handwritten prescription from a prescription pad, which you can take to your preferred farmacia to be filled. You can pay with cash or card. Prescription coverage varies by insurance policy. Our policy does not cover prescription medications, but in general, they’re more affordable than those in the U.S.

If your medication isn’t in stock at your farmacia, you can check others, but chances are good your pharmacist can have that prescription to you later that same day or no later than the next morning.

You’ll pay for your meds when you pick them up. Prices tend to be similar no matter which farmacia you use.

Note: If you use an online provider, they can email your prescription with a QR code, which your pharmacist will scan when you order it and again when you pick it up.

Checkout

When you leave your appointment, if you have insurance with no co-pay, you’re done. You can walk directly out the door without stopping by the reception desk. If you’re paying out of pocket, you’ll be asked for payment before you leave, and if you have a co-pay, you’ll be asked to pay that. Your doctor may provide instructions for you to follow at home, and those will be printed out or emailed to you. You’ll also receive an invoice for your visit.

I’ve never received a surprise bill later. Our insurance plan has no co-pay. Every visit to a doctor, lab, test, or treatment within that system has been covered in full.

Final Thoughts

The Spanish system felt a bit cold to me at first. It was efficient and thorough, but it felt brisk. Over time, as I’ve grown more accustomed to how healthcare operates here, I’ve come to see that the efficiency is part of the design.

Like anywhere, familiarity changes the tone. I’ve found the same to be true of doctors’ offices. When I first began showing up as a patient, the staff barely cracked a smile at me. Now they offer warm smiles, ask how I’m doing, and even indulge the small talk I appreciate when I’m nervous. (It distracts me. What can I say?)

If you’re walking into your first medical appointment in Spain, I hope this makes it feel just a little less unknown.

Subscribe now

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

New here? These pieces will help orient you:

A few days ago, I read a post on Threads from someone who, five months after moving to Spain, was realizing it isn’t for everyone. He got various responses, from “I have no regrets“ to “I completely understand what you’re saying.”

But he tried. Even if he decides to leave and return home, he tried.

This man will never experience that wonder or regret.

That said, this lifestyle isn’t for everyone, and I’ll be the first one to point it out.

I recently ran across a Business Insider article by Sydney Baker, a woman who spent five years abroad in Canada and Europe and ultimately decided it was time to return to the U.S. In her words:

Sydney isn’t wrong. The perpetual visa hurdles can be exhausting. And in her case, because of the lack of job opportunities for non-EU residents, she was reliant on low-paying language assistant positions. And let’s be real: when you’re an educated professional who once had a good-paying, white-collar job, accepting a much lower salary to maintain your visa while leaving you little money for “fun” can be exhausting.

And then there’s this quote:

The bureaucracy is never-ending when you’re living abroad. In fact, I have an entire section of my site dedicated to it. And when we moved in 2024, I took a photo of the ridiculously full accordion folder we brought with us to Washington, D.C., to apply for our visas.

There are two ways to handle it.

1. You can hire someone to handle it, but you’ll still be legally responsible for gathering items like birth certificates, marriage certificates, pet health certificates, etc.

2. Grit your teeth and dive in.

For Sydney, the cognitive load eventually became too much, compounded by job challenges and building a community abroad. She also rightfully pointed out that what influencers tout on social media is often incredibly deceptive.

The above quote sums it all up succinctly. On social media, there’s been some pushback against the “life abroad is a fairytale” narrative. I’m seeing it on Instagram, Facebook, YouTube … anywhere you find a collection of people who live their lives abroad.

Frankly, I’m thrilled to see it.

While life abroad is a lot of fun, it is also a lot of effort through laughter, tears, and all the emotions in between. It can be lonely, terrifying, and enraging.

Do I still get a little thrill when walking down a centuries-old street in Valencia? Absolutely. Sometimes, I forget I live here and am not on vacation. And then I go home to a notification from the Spanish government, and it’s back to reality.

For now, this is where we still choose to be—despite the constant friction and occasional uncertainty.

📚 What I’m reading right now: The Housemaid by Freida McFadden. I’ve only read one other book by McFadden, but I remember flying through the pages. In an effort to end my reading funk, I’m trying another one. So far, so good.

Subscribe now

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

More daily life in Spain:

Lately, I’ve been considering how my family has evolved since moving to Valencia a year and a half ago. There are the more obvious ways, and then there are the more subtle changes.

Take me, for example.

In my suburban Nashville home, I lived in a bit of a bubble. My days were spent getting up, taking the kids to school, going home to work a bit, and then, in the early afternoon, I went back to school to pick them up. Maybe we’d swing by Kroger for a grocery pickup on the way home, or one of the neighbors’ kids would come by to play (and eat all the snacks!). But my days revolved around the neighborhood: walks, kids’ friends, my friends. Everyone I knew basically had the same life: work, home, neighborhood. Some had kids, and some didn’t, but mostly, our lives revolved around our homes.

In other words, I didn’t reach very far outside of my comfort zone.

Then there’s our kids. Always picky eaters, I’ve watched them slowly expand their palates, trying dishes they wouldn’t have touched before we left the U.S. Their school lunches are fresh, and while they still won’t eat certain things, they’ve learned to try, which is something my husband and I couldn’t get them to do in Tennessee.

Maybe that would’ve eventually come with time and growth, like most kids. Or maybe they would’ve remained a bit picky because their favorite foods were always within reach.

They’re both learning Castellano (Spanish) and Valenciano at school, and neither of them would’ve ever been exposed to Valenciano in Tennessee. Instead, at best, they’d begin learning a foreign language in high school, most likely limited to Spanish and French. My son is already learning French in addition to Castellano and Valenciano. My daughter will choose between French and German next year when she enters middle school.

Never much of a language nerd, Will has picked up some Spanish, often surprising me with what he understands or knows. When we first arrived, he decided to learn to order our coffee at the café without my help, and he did. In the beginning, every morning, he’d go across the street, order our coffees (café con leche), and return triumphantly with drinks in hand.

With time, while Will still doesn’t speak the language as well as the kids or me, he can get around on his own and understands more than he speaks.

When I cooked up this crazy plan to move, I thought it would be an adventure. I didn’t realize how much it would shift my perspective on so many other aspects of life.

I can’t think of a single time I looked around my neighborhood and felt the need—or, sadly, the desire—to reach out to the immigrants who’d settled in, far from the familiar and likely often feeling both lonely and overwhelmed. I was too caught up in my own “stuff.” I’d see them taking walks around the neighborhood, taking in the sunshine and fresh air, wonder about their stories, and then … go about my day.

Now, as I sit in the shoes of those same immigrants, far from “home,” I understand them better. Learning a new language, putting their children in schools where they don’t understand the system, eating unfamiliar foods, and perpetually feeling like a fish out of water can really wear you down.

Earlier this year, a woman I met at my daughter’s horseback-riding lessons offered us a ride home—and she continues to extend the offer every week we see her. It costs her nothing but kindness since she lives quite close to our building, and yet it felt like someone was reaching out—offering a warm hug and solidarity.

This woman doesn’t speak much English, and I have a long way to go with my Spanish, but we make it work. She was willing to reach across the language barrier, despite the discomfort, and offer something I likely would not have offered.

Her kindness has not gone unnoticed.

When this woman’s offer first occurred, Will asked me, “Would you have done that for someone?”

The uncomfortable answer was, “No, probably not.”

But now? After feeling the warmth of someone reaching out and pulling me a little more inside the fold?

I would. Because everyone deserves to feel a sense of belonging, even if it’s just temporary.

Subscribe now

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

Like what you’re reading? There’s more where that came from.

That’s when I stumbled upon Frenadol, which is often described online as Spain’s version of DayQuil, NyQuil, or Theraflu.

If you talk to Americans living abroad, the common refrain when a winter cold strikes is that they miss NyQuil.

Me, too.

It’s a cure-all, managing fever, congestion, aches, pains, and sleep all in one glorious liquid (or tablet, but I prefer the liquid).

But if you come to Spain expecting to find something like NyQuil, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.

Instead, think of your pharmacist as the healthcare professional they are. You offer your symptoms; they offer potential solutions.

Upgrade

As I pointed out in “Sick in Spain,” your local grocery store doesn’t carry over-the-counter meds. That job is reserved for the pharmacy. In fact, you can’t buy Frenadol on Amazon.es. It has to be purchased through a pharmacy.

Most medications sold in Spain aren’t an all-in-one like you commonly find in the U.S. This is where that Spanish you’ve been practicing comes into play, and it’s time to get thee to thy farmacia on the corner.

Once there, explain your symptoms to the pharmacist (whip out Google Translate if needed), and the pharmacist will make some recommendations based on what’s giving you trouble.

Pharmacists in Spain are highly educated, trained healthcare professionals. They can act as a sort of triage, letting you know when it’s time to go to the doctor or if they can offer something over-the-counter to put you on the mend. They’re on practically every corner in every community, with that bright green cross above the doors acting as a welcome mat.

And let’s be real: The better your pharmacist knows you, the better they can help you.

My pharmacist knows I speak some Spanish, but I’m far from fluent, and she is incredibly patient when I need to break out Google Translate or switch to Spanglish. (She speaks some English.) But it took time for that relationship to form, and now, I can walk in, describe what’s going on with me, and she will offer some personalized solutions.

Pharmacies don’t always have the medication you need in stock, just like in the U.S., but the system is efficient. If a prescription isn’t in stock, the pharmacist can order it, and it will either appear later that same day or the next morning.

It’s intimidating—walking into a pharmacy in a new country, maybe not speaking the language, and not knowing how the system works. However, your local farmacia wants to help. Genuinely. Ask questions. Come prepared with a symptom list in Spanish if needed. Then watch as a little magic happens.

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

For more on healthcare in Spain:

Lots of books and shows explore this idea. A novel I read a few years ago, The Midnight Library by Matt Haig, is one I still think about. Every book on the shelf opens a door to an alternate life, offering a window into countless potential futures for the protagonist.

Then there’s Friends, a show everyone knows and my go-to comfort watch.

In Season 6, episodes 15 and 16 are called “The One That Could Have Been, Parts 1 & 2.” Phoebe is a stockbroker, Rachel married Barry, Ross and Carol are still married, Joey is still on Days of Our Lives, Chandler is a writer, and Monica struggles with her weight in adulthood.

All of these were potential futures—but not where they actually ended up.

It’s comedy gold, but there’s also a quiet lesson underneath the surface.

Ultimately, all the paths you could choose would likely lead to a similar outcome in life because, no matter what path you choose, you are still you.

When I think about my own path, living abroad was always in the cards. I couldn’t do it as a kid, study abroad was too expensive, and then I had a job, a family, and a whole life built in the Nashville suburbs.

Retirement, then?

In 2023, something shifted, and life offered a fork in the road. One fork led to a life abroad in retirement, full of travel and fun but with potentially questionable health. The other fork was a life abroad now, but it would mean deep sacrifices like selling nearly all of my family’s belongings, leaving the house we’d worked so hard for behind, and building a life in a new language and country.

Either path would’ve worked. Ultimately, they arrived at a similar place, just at different points in life.

Without waxing too philosophical, we’re all on the path we’re meant to be on, but one decision can change the trajectory entirely.

Upgrade

I’d love to know: was there a fork in the road for you that still sticks with you?

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

Related:

This school year, my kids are in 7th and 5th grades. No longer “little kids,” they’re beginning to shoulder bigger responsibilities at school.

But they’re also gaining some newfound freedom here in Spain.

In our Tennessee schools, it was pretty typical to take one or two field trips a year. Parents always had to sign the permission slip to go, and there was nearly always a cost—often nominal.

And they were usually to local places. Think Nashville’s Adventure Science Center or Cheekwood. Educational and cultural activities were tied closely to what they were learning in the classroom.

Our first year at our international school in Spain was a learning experience in all kinds of ways.

I remember the first time I opened an email from a teacher, reminding parents that “next week, we’ll take a trip to X, so be sure your student wears their school uniform, comfortable shoes, and pack a small snack. Lunch will be provided.”

I read it again. Surely I was missing something.

No mention of cost. Nothing to sign. That couldn’t be right.

Okay, maybe more information would come later.

Spoiler alert: It did not.

Then the next field trip notice came. Same pattern: notification, what to bring, and then the trip happens.

After that, I asked a teacher if this was typical for field trips at the school because my American-trained brain just could not fathom how an off-campus excursion could happen without permission.

It turns out this is just how things are done here. Unless it’s an overnight trip (more on that shortly)—at least at our school—day trips will happen with some instructions and not much else.

As an American mom, I'm hardwired to want control. I want all the details of a field trip and, when possible, I want to chaperone it. And I want to be asked if my kid can go, even when the answer is always “yes.”

But that isn’t how things work in Spain, and my desire for control, knowledge, and even participation will not be indulged.

Instead of control, what I received in emails before field trips was a list of behavioral expectations and the dates of the trips. My job as a parent is to ensure my kids know how to behave while they represent their school, and everything else is left up to the school and the kids.

For my husband, me, and our kids, it was a learning curve that set us up brilliantly for what came next.

Early in 2025, I received an email from the school about an end-of-year trip—an overnight trip—for our son, who was in 6th grade at the time.

And it’s actually the only time permission or money was requested.

This excursion would be two days and three nights, about two hours away, north of Valencia, and on the Mediterranean coast.

While many kids start going to overnight camps in the U.S. around this age, my son never had. Internally, this was a big deal to me, but I also knew it was a growth and social opportunity for my son. Honestly? Maybe for me, too.

So, after a conversation with my husband, I said yes.

The overnight itself was pretty anticlimactic. My son had a great time, bonded with his friends, and returned home feeling a little more grown-up than when he left.

And me?

I hated not knowing what my son was doing or having any contact with him (no phones!). But I also recognized that this was the first step of many toward young adulthood, and as much as I miss my kindergartner, he’s been replaced by a young man I’m incredibly proud of.

At the end of this school year, both kids have an opportunity to go on overnight trips. My 5th grader is so excited and hasn’t stopped talking about how much fun she’s going to have.

The control freak in me still doesn’t want to let go. But I’m learning. Spain is teaching me, poco a poco.

Subscribe now

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

Read more on raising kids in Spain:

As a child of the 1980s and ‘90s, a “sick day” looked something like this:

See that little can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle in the corner?

That’s what I’ve been craving.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to get your hands on that particular version of chicken noodle soup in Spain unless you’re either willing to import it at great cost or attempt to make your own. And the second option? It isn’t even on the table when I’m sick and don’t feel like babysitting my own pot of soup.

More than the flavor, it’s the sense of “home” I’m missing.

My mom making me a bowl of soup. Turning the TV on to a mindless show. No other cares in the world except for getting back to school and feeling better.

That world no longer exists, but that taste of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle? It brings all those warm, cozy feelings rushing back.

Subscribe now

I posted these thoughts on Threads, and the responses were mixed—everything from “Learn to make your own soup,” to “I understand what you’re saying completely,” to “Cooking your own is so much better for you.”

Only one of those responses really understood what I was getting at.

The nostalgia I’m feeling is twofold. It’s a reminder that I no longer have my mom to take care of me, and that I can never go back to a time in which I had no responsibilities.

I wasn’t looking for a “fix.” Mostly, I wanted to share that yes, it is difficult to live abroad, 4,000+ miles from home, and without some of the creature comforts I took for granted in the U.S.

But a part of me also wanted to share that being a responsible adult out in the world doesn’t mean you ever stop missing your mom.

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

More on navigating life far from “home”:

The first time it really dawned on me that life in Spain would be different was when we toured our apartment, and our agent showed us the building's rooftop. “If you’d like,” she said, pointing to the clotheslines, "you can hang your laundry here.”

Going into this move, I knew clothes dryers weren’t used nearly as often in Europe as they are in the U.S. They also don’t work the same way as U.S. dryers, so they can be more inconvenient than hanging laundry.

Knowing it and living it are two very different things.

Hauling laundry up and down a couple of flights of stairs and hanging it in the Valencian heat in the dead of summer is … an experience.

How I do laundry is just one example of the way I had to adjust my everyday systems. The prep for moving abroad is exhausting, but that’s just the beginning of the mental gymnastics.

In the U.S., there were certain routines I never swayed from.

Grocery shopping? My favorites were saved in my Kroger online cart, and with a few clicks and some additions, I could have my grocery order completed and ready to go.

Need new OTC meds for winter illnesses? Pop into Walmart or Target (or add it to the grocery cart), and back to my normal day.

I didn’t need to think about what to do. I just did it.

The moment my family arrived in Valencia to begin our new lives, the daily autopilot setting I’d relied on for so long crumbled.

One of the hardest parts of moving to Spain was not knowing enough of the language before I got here. Google Translate was my constant companion, and if that wasn’t working well, I switched to DeepL.

Cooking meals often took twice as long. I couldn’t yet decipher the Spanish instructions, and shopping for ingredients was just as bad.

I hadn’t hung laundry on a line since I was a kid growing up in rural Kentucky, so that also took forever as I relearned the muscle memory.

Both are simple activities, but my cognitive bandwidth was already at capacity as I managed government procedures, settled into a new apartment, and helped my kids navigate a new school.

My conclusion was that this wasn’t Spain’s fault. Instead, as an adult moving to a new country for the first time, I no longer had the default system I’d grown up watching at my disposal.

I was “adulting” in a country where adulting looked quite a bit different than in the U.S.

Perhaps it was out of sheer necessity, but at some point, I decided to stop trying to adapt myself and instead began changing the systems I used to move through the day.

Once I stopped trying to power through and focused on simplifying, a few small changes made a noticeable difference.

Subscribe now

Read more

You can’t hit the ground running in a new country if you don’t have some clue where to start.

Speaking from a U.S. perspective, there were certain apps I couldn’t live without in daily life. Think: Google Maps, Spotify, Libby … Then there were the less-used but still useful ones, like store apps and streaming services.

Whether we like it or not, there’s an app for that.

It can be overwhelming, especially when you can’t differentiate between what you need and what’s just nice to have.

Before we get into the weeds, first things first: If you’re using a U.S.-based Apple App Store or Google Play account, to access Spanish apps, you’ll either need to change your account location or create a Spain-based account. Some apps are not available worldwide, meaning they’re only available in their country of origin.

Personally, I used a secondary email address I already had to create a Spain-based account in the App Store. I log in and out of both accounts as needed.

Subscribe now

The Non-Negotiables

For a country that loves its old-school paperwork procedures, Spain is surprisingly forward-thinking on the technology-meets-bureaucracy front.

• DEHú. Official immigration communications are sent through DEHú. Although you’ll still receive emails to your email of record, this is where you’ll find messages if something goes missing.

• AppValencia. This is the city of Valencia’s app. Enter your city name and find the app, if it exists. You’ll find important local information in this app, including weather alerts, community events, and service updates.

• Cita Previa. Using your digital certificate, Cita Previa allows you to request and manage immigration appointments.

• Certificado Digital. Once you’ve obtained your digital certificate, it lives inside this app on your phone, acting as official identification that lets you access websites and other official apps.

• Cl@ve. Cl@ve works hand-in-hand with Certificado Digital. Think of Certificado Digital as the keys to the car, and Cl@ve as the car.

• Public healthcare app for your region. In Spain, each region names its public healthcare app something different, so you’ll need to find out what yours is called. In Valencia, it’s GVA+Salut.

Don’t think of this as a comprehensive list. Rather, it’s a list to get you started as you learn what other apps you’ll need as you navigate a new life in Spain.

Daily Essentials

These apps make day-to-day life simpler. You don’t need them, per se, but you’ll find life a bit easier if you use them.

• Your health insurance app. We have private health insurance, and all of the big companies offer apps. Download it and get familiar with it. You’ll use it more than you think.

• Your favorite private healthcare system’s app. We frequently use Quirónsalud for doctor appointments. I find having their app on my phone convenient for making appointments, confirming them, and viewing medical records or lab results.

• Transit apps. In Valencia, I use EMTicket to ride the buses. There is no App Store app for the Metro, so I created a shortcut to the website on my phone that looks like an app. There’s also a city bicycle rental app called Valenbisi, which I occasionally use.

• Banking apps. We currently use Revolut as our Spanish bank, and I use it to keep on top of bill payments and some purchases, as well as to manage our kids’ monthly allowances. I also use the Wise app to move money from our U.S. bank account to our Revolut account.

• WhatsApp. Spain—and the EU—runs on WhatsApp. I use it to communicate with friends and family, participate in local groups, and contact businesses. Even doctors’ offices will communicate via WhatsApp. It took some getting used to, especially since WhatsApp doesn’t have the same presence in the U.S., but now that I am familiar with it, it’s become my preferred method of communication.

• Your Spanish phone service’s app. Check your bills. Make payments. View your usage. Contact customer service.

Nice-to-Haves

These are the apps that you’ll use—maybe not frequently—but they won’t be top of mind. Instead, you’ll just be glad you didn’t have to download them when you thought about using them.

• Mercadona. Okay, maybe this one won’t be your favorite, but I love it! Mercadona is my favorite grocery store here, and while I don’t use it for shopping, I do use it to check whether I can find a particular item at my local store. Figure out which grocery store you like best and download the app.

• Trainline. Renfe’s website can be notoriously tricky to use, and with iryo and Ouigo in the mix, Trainline acts as an aggregator, making it easy to compare prices and times.

• Freenow. Need a cab? Freenow is my favorite way to grab a ride around town. You can schedule a taxi, tip your driver, and follow the route while you ride.

• Food delivery apps. My preference is Uber Eats, but in Spain, you can also choose from Glovo or Just Eat. Not all restaurants that deliver are offered on each app, so you might want them all.

This isn’t a comprehensive list, but I hope it gives you a good starting block. Landing in a country and not knowing where to find the information you need straight up sucks. No way around it. I wish someone had handed me this list before we moved. Instead, I had to piecemeal it together, which took time, patience, and digging.

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

For more reading on navigating Spain:

When you think of healthcare, your mind probably first goes to health insurance. And rightfully so. If you’re from the U.S., it is one of your largest monthly expenditures.

Recently, my son experienced an allergic reaction that, initially, seemed mild. By afternoon, we were concerned enough to take him to our nearest urgencia to get checked out.

We walked in, handed over his TIE and insurance cards, explained to the receptionist why we were there, and she quickly escorted my son and me back to pediatric triage. Within minutes, a pediatrician met with us to assess whether his reaction would need further care.

As it turned out, he did need further care, and the doctor kept him for a couple of hours after administering epinephrine.

A week later, we met with an allergist for allergy testing, bloodwork, and ultimately, she prescribed Anapen, the Spanish equivalent of an EpiPen.

Later, at the pharmacy, I expected to spend more than €100 for the Anapen. In the U.S., an EpiPen will cost more than $150 using a GoodRx coupon. If you’re lucky enough to have “good” health insurance, you’ll have a copay to offset the worst of the cost, but the copay is variable. Otherwise … blah, blah, blah. You know the American health insurance drill.

You can see how this all very quickly becomes expensive—and complicated.

I whipped out my credit card to pay for the Anapen, and the pharmacist said:

“€42.09.”

My mouth must’ve dropped open a bit in shock because she smiled as she took the payment and bid me a good day.

Having been in Spain for nearly a year and a half, I’m still caught off guard by how affordable prescriptions are—and the cost is fairly consistent from pharmacy to pharmacy.

Ninety days of propranolol? €2.00.

Testosterone injections? €10.00.

Estradiol gel? €17.00.

When you use private healthcare in Spain, unlike in the U.S., your prescriptions won’t typically be covered by insurance. Instead, you can expect to pick up your prescriptions at the pharmacy, pay out of pocket, and be pleasantly surprised by the cost in most cases.

So how is Spain able to do this?

Prescription costs are subsidized via taxes and negotiations with drug companies.

Without getting into the politics, there is a public healthcare system. The cost of prescriptions ties back to how that system as a whole works. As a relatively new Spanish resident, I don’t entirely understand it yet.

Outside of prescription drugs, I find that over-the-counter drug costs can vary. Some are less expensive than those in the U.S., others are more. But for the prescriptions you really need?

Spain does a remarkably good job of ensuring everyone has access to the healthcare they require.

Subscribe now

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

More reading on healthcare in Spain:

Moving abroad often means giving up so much. It’s expensive to ship a household full of belongings, and most of it wouldn’t fit into your new space anyway.

I posted a Note about this recently and received mixed reactions, but most people seemed to agree: don’t rent a storage unit and do…

Read more

Welcome to poco a poco! If you’re new here, let’s make finding your way around this corner of the internet as smooth as possible.

I write about life in Spain — the day-to-day reality of raising kids abroad, navigating bureaucracy, and building a life here with intention, poco a poco.

If you’ve ever wondered whether it’s possible to move abroad with a family or want the full reality instead of the fantasy of life abroad, you’ve landed in the right place.

What to Expect

• Daily life in Spain, including the parts that don’t make it into guidebooks

• Posts on paperwork, bureaucracy, and navigating unfamiliar systems and cultural differences

• Raising kids abroad and how it’s reshaping family life

• Notes on money, logistics, and the tradeoffs of building a life elsewhere

• Occasional travel rooted in everyday life

Start with These Posts

Trying to figure out everyday life in Spain, whether that’s navigating paperwork, understanding how systems work, or making decisions for your kids, can feel overwhelming at the beginning.

I’ve got you. Here are a few good places to start.

Doing the Work Before the Leap. Getting organized and understanding the lay of the land are necessary parts of moving abroad, especially with a family.

From Dollars to Euros. Handling money abroad can be challenging, but there are a few money tools you should know about to make the transition easier.

A Crash Course in Spanish Bureaucracy (Featuring My Digital Certificate). Spanish bureaucracy can be a maze, but some of its quirks can save you time and headaches.

What My Kids Lose — and Gain — by Growing Up in Spain. Moving kids abroad and uprooting them from everything they’ve ever known is anxiety-inducing, but while they’ll lose some cultural touchpoints, they’ll gain others.

The Part These “Spain Is Cheap” Stories Always Leave Out. The cost of living in Spain is lower than in the U.S., but it’s important not to lose sight of the fact that it is often much less affordable for Spanish locals.

Need help thinking something through?

If you’d rather talk things out than piece it together on your own, I occasionally offer one-on-one calls for readers navigating a specific decision—moving logistics, visas, kids, or just getting unstuck.

They’re 45-minute virtual coffee chats, focused entirely on your situation.

You can find details here: Book a call

Spanish bureaucracy is notoriously finicky.

If you’ve spent any time applying for a visa, attending TIE appointments, or figuring out how to get your padrón, you know.

It can feel a little like this scene from Friends:

Read more

Back in January 2025, I started this newsletter as a personal project – a way to document my family’s new life in Spain while telling stories that might help others who want to move abroad.

Somewhere along the way, it became a little more.

At first, I simply wanted to get my stories and thoughts down on “paper.” So many thoughts, ideas, and perspectives were whirling around in my head as we settled into life in Spain, and I thought maybe our friends and family would enjoy reading about our day-to-day existence here.

Eventually, I realized that others were finding my little corner of the internet. It felt like a good time to lean into it. I began sharing my link on Threads, Instagram, and Substack Notes.

Truthfully, I didn’t expect anyone to click the link, let alone read my Substack. But over time, I began to build an audience beyond friends and family. It gave me a little thrill because, for most of my life, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I enjoy the process, the structure, and the challenge of choosing the right words to bring a story to life on the page.

As the holidays come to a close and we look forward to 2026, I wanted to take a moment to say thank you for being here.

Thank you for coming along on this journey with me. I look forward to continuing to tell stories about Spain, travel, and what it’s like to build a life in a new country. Writing for you has taught me a lot about myself, and it continues to push me to look beyond the surface and notice the layers beneath.

As we move into 2026, I’d love to hear from you. If there’s something you’ve enjoyed here or something you’d like to see more of, my inbox and comments are always open.

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

If you’re new here or just want to revisit where this all started, here are a few pieces from the early days to get you caught up:

When the kids were small, Will and I used to tuck them in around 8:00 P.M., and then we’d often settle down to watch TV together for an hour or two. Surrounded by the day’s leftover toys scattered about our living room, sometimes, it was Succession, Inventing Anna, or some other drama, but very often, it was HGTV’s House Hunters International.

This particular version of House Hunters scratched that itch to learn more about life abroad. I think there was also an underlying curiosity about how people could make that move. Was it work? Family? Retirement? Most of the couples featured on the show are young – some with kids and some without.

I watched the show with fascination, dreaming about the day I could do what they’d done as I sat in my living room in Murfreesboro, Tennessee.

A few weeks ago, Will and I were in the city center doing a little shopping, when he looked at me and said, “Do you want to go to the square?”

It’s our terminology for Valencia’s Plaza del Ayuntamiento – the historic area full of buildings that remind us of ornate wedding cakes and is always bustling with tourists and locals.

To me, the square is magical, and I never tire of it.

Teenage Jen would be in awe of Mom Jen, who is very much living out her Adult Study Abroad Era.

Teenage Jen desperately wanted to travel to France with her French class the summer following junior year, but the money wasn’t there.

I knew better than to even ask, but I yearned to see the Eiffel Tower in person, speak the French I’d been pining to learn since I was 10, and taste the buttery, flaky croissants France was renowned for.

I didn’t have the words for it then, but what I longed for was a life that felt bigger than the one I had in rural Kentucky.

This Jen? This Adult Study Abroad Jen?

She can go to the square anytime she wants.

“Yes,” I said to Will. Of course.

The moments are coming fewer and farther between now that life in Spain is becoming more “normal,” but sometimes, I still look around and think, “We’re living out what we used to watch other people do on TV.”

I write here about building a life abroad—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error.

You can subscribe to receive new posts by email, or support this work with a paid subscription, one-time contribution, or just hit the ❤️ button below to help others find poco a poco.

If you’d like to reach out directly, you can find me at jen@jeninspain.com.

Want to keep reading? Here are a few more stories from life in Spain: