I stood at the DHL counter, speaking halting Spanish to the clerk as I slipped each passport and its accompanying documents into the prepaid envelope.

“You do a lot of these?” I asked.

“Muchísimos,” he said, not even requiring the address for the U.S. embassy in Madrid.

We’d just gotten back from our visit to the U.S. I planned to renew our passports when we returned to Spain, knowing we had a couple of upcoming trips in Europe and that they were set to expire in February 2027. Many airlines—and some countries—require at least six months’ remaining validity on a passport, and I didn’t want to take any chances on missing that deadline.

Having never done this before, I had no idea how to renew a passport from overseas. Instead, I kept hearing from other people how easy and fast the new online renewals are, which didn’t help me one bit because you can’t use that method from abroad.

So I sat down to figure it out.

Passport photos

The first step in renewing a passport is, of course, a passport photo.

U.S. passports use 5 x 5 cm photos. Spain’s standard passport photo size is 32 mm x 26 mm. You can see how this could become a problem.

I used a cheat code. Will and I went to Walgreens in the U.S. to get our passport photos taken, but any photo shop in Spain can adjust the photo size to fit 5 x 5 cm. The El Corte Inglés at the Colón metro stop here in Valencia has a photo shop inside called Wonder Photo Shop that can take them for you if you’re looking for an easy-to-get-into place (but not the cheapest).

You don’t have to pay for a passport photo. It just has to meet U.S. passport specifications. There are apps that can help you do this, or you can attempt to do it yourself. I prefer to pay for it to ensure the photo is accepted the first time around.

If this saved you a Google spiral, there's more where that came from.

Requirements

The U.S. embassy in Madrid lays out these guidelines pretty clearly for an adult passport renewal.

• Fill out the DS-82 form.

• Send one U.S. passport-sized photo with your application.

• Include your current passport. (This is the item that made me twitchy.)

• Make an online payment using pay.gov for your passport fee. They do not accept any other form of payment.

• A DHL Express return label must be included with all of the above so that the embassy can return your old passport and your new one to you.

The waiting game

Once you’ve gathered all of these pieces of the process together, it’s time to send the passport off.

I sent both passports via DHL to the Madrid embassy, but you do have the option to place them in drop boxes in Barcelona or Madrid. But since this entire process can be completed with DHL and I don’t live near Madrid or Barcelona, I chose to use DHL to send them as well.

Occasionally, the embassy sends out information about passport waiting times. Just after I sent our passports to Madrid, the embassy posted an update that with summer travel season approaching, if you need a renewal, go ahead and submit because the wait is currently 4-5 weeks.

Ours were sent on April 19th. By May 12th, I had them both back in my hands.

This all sounds rather simple, and it is. But what made me nervous wasn’t the process itself.

Living abroad means you’re entirely reliant on a passport to get you where you need to go. If there’s an emergency in the U.S.—a relative dies, a parent is sick, or a sibling is having a baby weeks before it was supposed to happen—and you don’t have your passport, you’re not going anywhere until it’s back in your hands.

Things to remember

If you’re living abroad, there’s a good chance you’re doing at least a moderate amount of travel, often outside your country of residence. If that’s the case, consider opting for the U.S. passport with extra pages rather than the standard size. It doesn’t cost extra, and if a country decides they want an entire page for an entry stamp, you have the pages to cover it for quite a while.

It’s worth noting that the European Union is moving toward a digital entry and exit system, which means you will no longer receive a passport stamp. However, when we took our U.S. trip in April, all four of our passports were stamped both leaving and reentering the EU. I’m not sure if that’s because we’re residents of Spain or the system hasn’t yet been fully implemented. But as residents of the EU, even though we do not hold EU citizenship, we will not be required to register for EES.

While this process was intimidating to me, it really wasn’t bad at all. It was quick, simple, and relatively painless (despite my anxiety about having no passports for a few weeks). Kids’ passports work differently, but those don’t expire until 2028. Watch this space for that process.

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It’s coming.

Another cita and another bureaucratic maze to navigate. But this time? I’ve sort of done it to myself.

For months, Will and I have been discussing a move from our quiet, residential Valencian neighborhood to the busier, livelier city center. While we like this area of the city, it’s lacking some specific things we want: restaurants, a bit more English community, and even more walkability.

The list could continue. This neighborhood served us well for settling in, acclimating ourselves to the city, and providing plenty of opportunities to practice our bumbling Spanish. And the views from this apartment? Killer.

Honestly, I was terrified of trying to find a new place because it’s an understatement of the year to say the Valencia real estate market is tight—especially for rentals. And we have a dog, which makes things even more difficult.

So I put it off. “We’ll just stay here for a while longer,” I said. “We know our landlord. We know the area. We have Leo. It’s going to be too hard to look for something else.”

In March, the property manager who manages our rental reached out and wanted to know if we’d be extending our lease beyond September. Now we had to make a decision.

“What’s the latest we can let you know?” I asked.

“Mid-May would be good just so that we have time to market the property.”

With a hard deadline, it was time to figure this out. And I resisted. I was comfortable. In stasis. But as Will and I began to explore what our options might be via Idealista, leaving our current apartment began to look less and less like an impossibility.

Our first Valencia apartment, the one we're currently leaving, was relatively easy to square away. Through Valencia Facebook groups, I heard about Stepping Stone, a rental agency specializing in mid-term rentals and associated with Valencia Property. I did a little digging and quickly decided they could help. Will and I browsed the listings, landed on this place, and contacted the agency. Within a few days, we had a signed lease and a soft place to land once we made our way to Valencia.

This time around, we were looking for a long-term lease—not short- or mid-term, which is an entirely different game. The reality of the Valencia rental market is this: If you’re looking at properties listed for €1,600 or less, competition is fierce. You’re competing mostly with Spanish people earning Spanish salaries. This means they likely have work contracts, meaning the landlords can take out insurance on these tenants to protect themselves from nonpayment of rent. As a foreigner without a Spanish work contract, this immediately puts you at a disadvantage.

So how do you overcome your obvious disadvantages to win the apartment?

This is the kind of thing I wish someone had told me before my big move. Get more of it, every week, in your inbox.

If you’re fortunate enough to have the ability to go above €1,600 in rent, start there. In our case, we needed at least three bedrooms and two bathrooms, which meant most apartments were going to be above that range anyway. Now add in the need for air conditioning, an elevator, and pet-friendly, and the list gets short fast.

One option to give yourself an advantage over other foreigners competing for the same apartments is to sign up for Finaer. Finaer guarantees your monthly income and acts as a guarantor for the landlord, much like the insurance landlords can take out on tenants who have Spanish work contracts. Both owners and tenants can purchase this insurance, and while we didn’t end up using it, our agent indicated it could be a big plus in our favor if it came to that.

You can shop for apartments on your own. In fact, many, many people do and are successful. How? Sign up for an account on Idealista, where nearly all properties are listed, create a profile complete with income and family members, and start sending messages. The caveat? Using a U.S.-based phone number or sending messages in English instead of Spanish may not receive a response. And even if you are sending messages in Spanish with a Spanish phone number, you still may not receive a response.

Listing agents and landlords are bombarded with messages about their properties, especially in a hot market like Valencia’s, so you can imagine how difficult it is to respond to every single one. To work our way around this and hopefully gain more insights into how this market works, Will and I chose to hire an agent, once again through Valencia Property. It isn’t free, and while I balked at the cost at first, what we were paying for was knowledge, strategy, and relationships—not to mention her fluent Spanish.

This is where I began to realize that moving was not going to be an inexpensive venture, and it dawned on me why Spanish people don’t tend to move around a lot.

During our first conversation, our agent said, “If you find something you like, you’re going to want to act quickly. Rentals don’t stay on the market long, and if you wait too long, it’ll be gone.”

The search began with that nugget in mind. Will and I collaborated with our agent via WhatsApp and an Idealista list, working quickly to cull the listings we weren’t interested in. Then our agent set up showings, which she attended with us, helping us get answers to our questions, translating, and explaining rental terms for each apartment.

At each showing, we toured the apartment, with the listing agent pointing out neighborhood features, amenities of the building and apartment, and explaining availability timeframes. Some apartments had great features (a laundry room! a kitchen island!) but didn’t have the neighborhood vibe we were looking for. Some had a great location but were far too small. Some checked every box but required more euros than we were willing to shell out every month.

You get the idea.

Apartment shopping was a balance between affordability, size, and neighborhood. You can have affordable, spacious, or well-located but rarely all three.

In the end, the apartment we chose was in Ruzafa, a vibrant city-center neighborhood with an international flavor we really like. While not the size we were dreaming of, it's slightly larger than our current place and is within walking distance of so many restaurants and activities. Instead of a 20-minute metro ride to get anywhere, we’ll be able to walk to almost everything we want to do. And what we can’t walk to, we can take a bus, metro, or tram.

Our new landlord required a three-month deposit instead of two months to account for Leo, and our old landlord is letting us out of our lease without 60 days’ notice. Instead, he’s asked us to pay for half a month of rent even though we’re moving sooner, which we think is very fair. He’s been an amazing landlord, and we are truly sorry to leave him.

If you don’t have a Spanish work contract, prepare to present a flurry of paperwork, mostly to prove your financial standing. We showed bank statements for the past three months from two U.S. banks we use in addition to proof of our monthly passive income. Finaer might have prevented that, but it was also yet another fee we’d need to pay, and our agent advised against it unless totally necessary. That turned out to be sage advice.

One other thing to keep in mind: To land an apartment in Valencia, you will very likely end up paying an additional fee to the agency listing the apartment. It’s often coined an “administrative fee” or something else, and while this is technically illegal in Spain since a 2023 law was passed, the reality is not paying it means you’ll likely lose the rental. You can attempt to get the fee back once you’ve secured the rental, but honestly? Good luck.

This process was a beast, but having someone with our interests in mind made a big difference. Our agent is still answering our questions as we prep for the move and helping us navigate the rest of this process. Once moved, we’ll still have to deal with registering on the padrón, changing the addresses on our TIEs, setting up WiFi, and all the other admin tasks that come with moving—only we now have to figure it out in Spanish.

Right now, I'm sitting in my current apartment surrounded by totes, boxes, Christmas decor, bubble wrap, and a blanket of anxiety. In the end? Definitely worth it.

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I sat in the car, waiting for my husband to finish his lunch with his friends, and I flashed back to my car line days. I used to arrive at school a whole 45 minutes early. While I waited for school to dismiss, I’d read, listen to podcasts, or simply enjoy the silence.

There are certainly some things I miss about the U.S.—convenience being high on that list—but this car culture?

That’s not one.

In my last post, I told you what I’d missed about the U.S., and now we’re going to flip it.

Getting Around

How little I miss driving everywhere. Seriously.

Need a drink from the gas station? Hop in the car.

Meeting a friend at the park? Grab your car keys.

Want something from a restaurant a couple of blocks away? You’re taking the car because, without reliable sidewalks and pedestrian lights, arriving by foot is taking your life into your own hands.

Cars have their uses. At times, I miss having one a lot, depending on what I want to do. I especially miss having a car for getting out of the city and driving until I find a town I want to explore. But for my day-to-day life?

I can quite happily live without one. Honestly? Spending so much time in the car made me grateful for every step I take in Spain.

I’ll tell you a secret: The first time I got behind the wheel in the U.S. after not driving for a year and a half, a little thrill of power rushed through me. I like driving. I just don’t like the hold it has on me when I’m there.

Space Usage

In Valencia, buildings tend to go up instead of out. Commercial use on the bottom, and residential use on the top. It works well. The layout makes sense in a way American sprawl never did. Nearly everything you need or want can either be reached via public transit or your own two feet. Even the centros comerciales (alive and well!) go up instead of out.

In the U.S., with the exception of a few cities, everything is spread out. Strip malls, giant parking lots, warehouse stores, and big-box retailers abound. The ones still standing sprawl across hundreds of acres of land, surrounded by endless concrete parking lots—some indoor, some outdoor.

We went to a mall in Franklin, Tennessee, for a few hours one evening. The place was practically dead with the exception of a few stores. (Apple, I’m looking at you.) Just wide corridors and the echo of our own footsteps.

Food

U.S. food made me sick.

Nearly two years of eating Spanish food had recalibrated my stomach. Our first full day in Middle Tennessee, we had a lot of fast food because, unfortunately, that’s what the kids missed most. So we gave them that—and paid for it with an upset stomach for two days.

Once upon a time, I had a terrible addiction to Mtn. Dew Zero. (There is no world in which this isn’t horrible for your body.) I’m not proud of it, but my favorite treat in the world was a 20-ounce Mtn. Dew Zero with a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

Today, I can’t even eat the candy because it tastes like chemicals. I had exactly two Mtn. Dew Zeroes in the U.S. before I decided I was done with them.

Time Management

Murfreesboro, Tennessee, is a time suck.

Seriously.

It takes me 15 minutes just to cross traffic to the nearest Walmart.

We wasted so much time in traffic in Murfreesboro. Every place we needed to go was a minimum of 10 minutes away by car—and we stayed in a central area “near” everything we were doing. I-24 was its own special brand of punishment.

Listen, I know you can listen to a book, podcast, music, whatever. But sitting in a car feels a lot like losing valuable minutes of your life for … nothing. I’d much rather sit on the metro here in Valencia scrolling my phone, reading, or chitchatting with my family than staring at license plates and taillights.

Drive-thru culture just isn’t a thing in Spain. You sit and enjoy your meal for as long as you need—not scarfing it down as quickly as possible in the car before moving on to the next errand.

Kids’ Freedom

My kids have a lot of freedom in Valencia, but in the U.S.? I still feel a need to hover. And they can’t get anywhere alone because they can’t drive. Everything has to be planned and chauffeured.

The kids stayed at my brother’s house in Kentucky for a couple of nights, and that was as close as they got to the freedom they have in Spain. My brother lives rurally, on a mini-farm, and they were free to run around and be kids with their cousins and aunt and uncle. They rode in a side-by-side, climbed into the treehouse, and played with the family pets.

Kids in Spain tend to be more mature, and I will forever be convinced it’s because they’re allowed to get away from their parents and independently explore the world. My son regularly rides the metro alone here, and he is perfectly safe to do so. Lots of kids do, and if he needed help, an adult would be ready and willing if he asked.

In suburban Nashville, I’d feel the need to watch over them, especially my daughter, who isn’t yet 12. And God forbid I send them to a park by themselves even if it was within walking distance because some nosy neighbor would feel the need to post it in the neighborhood Facebook group or report me to CPS for letting them have some independence.

As we packed up our U.S. loot and prepared to travel back to Valencia, it struck me that I was going home. And as the plane landed in Madrid, the sounds of Castellano floated in the air, reminding me that this place is becoming as familiar as the place I just left.

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“Maycember” is in full swing here at my house. It’s the end of the school year, and we’re apartment shopping—amongst other things going on.

I recently sat down for a podcast interview with a friend, Mama Knows Nada, and the full interview is out today! Our conversation centered around moving and living abroad, raising kids in a new country, and why this isn’t a fairytale.

Give it a listen wherever you find podcasts (links below).

Apple Podcasts

Spotify

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It’s Friday, and since people continue to ask, “Is there anything you miss about the U.S.?” this is a great time to answer that question.

If you’ve been around here for any length of time, you know there isn’t a lot I miss, but fresh off my trip to the U.S., I realized there are a few things.

Food

Incoming unpopular opinion: In general, I prefer American food.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Spanish food. Nothing beats a good paella by the sea. But finding some of my favorites has been difficult, and as someone living abroad, I find a taste of the familiar sometimes necessary. The short list goes like this:

1. Sausage gravy and biscuits. I’m a Kentuckian born and bred, lived most of my life in the Southern U.S., and this is a dish I’ll never tire of.

2. Tex-Mex restaurants. Based on my eating preferences at home and in U.S. restaurants, I’m pretty sure I might have been Mexican in another life. Seriously, I love this particular brand of food, and it’s hard to come by in Spain. Traditional Mexican food? Yes. Tex-Mex? No.

3. Coffee creamers. The Spanish tend to do milk and sugar rather than a flavored creamer, and since I don’t like black coffee or espresso, I need something to cut the bitterness. I prefer coffee creamers, and I missed them so much that I even learned to make my own. It’s not the same, but they work in a pinch.

4. Fast food. Our entire family is healthier since moving to Spain, and less fast food played no small part in that journey. But when I want Zaxby’s or Wendy’s, I want it, and there’s simply no replacing those flavors.

5. Hot spices and sauces. Spanish people don’t do a lot of spicy dishes, and finding something like Cajun seasoning for your pantry can be a challenge. My son loves anything spicy, from Buffalo sauce to cayenne pepper, and I often end up paying far more than I should to keep those flavors in our house.

Shopping

1. Big-box retail stores. Spain has these (Carrefour, anyone?), but it’s a little bit different than your typical Walmart or Target. And to be clear, I don’t miss these stores often, but sometimes, I do miss the convenience of popping in, getting everything in one big shopping trip, and then heading back home to do whatever else I had on my agenda that day.

2. Varied clothing sizes. I’ve never been a super petite woman. But because I’m not a typical Spanish woman’s size, I’ve had some difficulty finding clothing that fits and makes me feel good about it. I do miss shopping at stores like Old Navy, where I can try on a couple of sizes and know that one of them will fit. (If you have tips on Spanish stores, feel free to drop them in the comments.)

Road Trips

When we flew back to the U.S. our route was Madrid to Chicago. From Chicago, we rented a minivan and drove south toward our destination in Tennessee. The trip took roughly eight hours, with some stops in between. Will and I really missed those road trips, where we spend hours talking, listening to music or audiobooks, and taking in some new scenery. In Tennessee, on weekends, we’d often round the kids up, hop in the car, and we’d take off in any direction for a couple of hours just to see what we saw. Without a car here in Spain, our exploration is limited to where the bus or train can take us.

Language

I’ve been working hard to learn Spanish, and I’ve come a long way. But it will never be my native language, and I may never be fluent. It was, admittedly, a relief to speak English everywhere. I didn’t have to question what anyone was saying to me or translate anything in my head. It was just … easy. I hope to reach a point of ease with Spanish, but I think I’m still a long way from getting there.

The list of things I didn't miss is longer—and honestly more interesting. Coming soon.

Have a great weekend!

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I stood in the aisle, looking at the case full of makeup wipes. “Will, look at this. They lock up the Neutrogena wipes now.”

We were standing in a Walmart Supercenter in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, stocking up on U.S. products. The last time I’d been in a Walmart, lots of unexpected products—like pregnancy tests—were locked up, but makeup wipes?

I hit the button to call over an associate to open the case. He arrived quickly, and I watched as he took out a phone, punched some buttons, and the case popped open.

“You can open the locked cases digitally now?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s supposed to be so that more people can open them, but they don’t always work right.”

He handed me my makeup wipes, and then he was off to help another customer.

It wasn’t the first time I realized something had changed in an unexpected way since moving out of the U.S., but it was the one that stood out most clearly. I’ve written about the ways in which life moves on without us, but here I was witnessing it in real time.

The small city we'd called home for nearly a decade had kept busy while we were gone. Medical Center Parkway, once a stretch of big-box stores and chain restaurants, now had an In-N-Out where a field used to be, new apartment buildings as far as we could see, and a shiny new Trader Joe’s on the other side of the street.

We drove through our old neighborhood, where dozens of new houses had been built in our absence and streets had been paved and readied for traffic. Across the road from the neighborhood, homes were being demolished to make way for new shops and residences. It all looked so familiar but foreign.

Just up the road from our neighborhood was a gas station we used to frequent for snacks, drinks, and the occasional breakfast biscuit. The owners also owned a building across the street that sat empty for years. Everyone speculated about what it could be—an ice cream shop, burger joint, market. To our dismay, it was gone. The road had been widened, and a new traffic light had taken its place.

As I looked around at all the changes in this town I’d called home for so long, I realized I’d also changed. I no longer fit quite so smoothly into this puzzle, and even if I could, would I want to?

It was shiny suburbia, with everything I could ever want or need at my disposal. Yet what it required of me were tradeoffs I didn’t want: car life, much less physical activity, food that made me ill the first couple of days in the U.S., and buildings built for function rather than beauty. Everything felt like … too much. Too much food, too much car, too much traffic, too many choices, too much sitting in a car, too many people.

Two years ago, Madrid would’ve felt like one of the most foreign places I’d ever been, but when we landed to make our way home to Valencia, I exhaled. The familiar sounds of Spanish floated in the air around me, and my body immediately relaxed—like it was okay to walk to baggage claim rather than pushing, shoving, and walk-running to the carousel.

“Home,” I thought.

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

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On April 2nd, after months of dreading, planning, and gnashing of teeth, I headed back to Nashville for my first visit since 2024.

There were things I looked forward to, like visiting my brother, reconnecting with longtime friends, watching my kids sample foods they haven’t had in nearly two years, and speaking English all day every day.

But the part of the trip that loomed—the 10x5 storage unit sucking $140 away from our bank account every month—had to be reckoned with.

About a year ago, I looked at Will, my husband, and said, “I don’t think we’re going to move back. And if we do, it’s going to be a long time from now, so we need to empty the storage unit and bring what we want to Spain.” He agreed with me, but we had to figure out the best time to make the trip, which, as it turned out, was the kids’ spring break.

One Foot In, One Foot Out

I’ve written about the dreaded storage space a few times, most recently here. It was an anchor around my neck, bothering me quite a bit more than it bothered Will. We packed nine checked bags along with four personal items and four carry-on bags when we left in 2024. I decided to leave behind my mom’s retirement clock, artwork we collected on our travels before we had kids, and our family Christmas stockings.

The storage unit represented what we would need to start over if the move-to-Spain scheme failed. We placed my beloved cast iron pans into bubble wrap and boxed it up. My prized Dutch oven? Tucked into another box for later. Well-loved Fiesta dishes in rainbow shades? Another box.

All of my Christmas ornaments—both vintage and new(ish)—sat in their plastic cases alongside the Christmas stockings, my mom’s Santa piggy bank from who knows what year, and preschool and elementary decorations my kids made for me over the years.

Will and I packed up the remnants of our own childhoods: yearbooks, a letterman jacket, a handwriting award.

As storage units go, it wasn’t much. But it was everything we couldn't bear to part with. Yet.

Breaking Open the Boxes

My face fell the first time we rolled open the door to the storage unit after arriving in the U.S. It was packed fuller than I remembered, and I was completely overwhelmed by the task at hand.

Nearly two years later, I wasn’t even sure what we’d find when we opened the storage unit, but I had my heart set on bringing the Christmas stockings back to Spain.

Opening our small fire safe had me in tears on the very first day, seeing my mom’s and grandmother’s wedding bands staring up at me.

At one point, I held up a can opener from a kitchen box and looked at Will and said, “Really, Jen? This was worth storing?”

Another box revealed every report card I’d ever received, which immediately went into the trash. (Thanks, Mama.)

I looked at Will and said, "We were paying to store trash." He laughed.

Eventually, I uncovered the cedar chest—the one I've been debating how to ship to Spain since we moved. It lived in my mom's bedroom as far back as I can remember. Getting it to Spain was proving nearly impossible without a shipping container. I was not prepared to go that far to save it.

Ultimately, I decided to sell it, and I tried not to watch as the new owner rolled it away.

During the first stage of our move, Will became an expert in Facebook Marketplace. I watched dishes, my dining table, bookshelves, cookware, and a beloved coffee mug collection leave.

Surprisingly, it was relatively easy for me to chuck old diaries, notebooks of writing, and most of my childhood keepsakes into the trash. Some of the content was … embarrassing, to say the least.

Closing It Up

Before we arrived in Nashville, I arranged for the unit to be closed out on April 10th, with management telling me we had to be out by 10 p.m. and leave the lock off the door. I knew we’d be done before then, but I wanted every last second since we were flying back to Spain on the 11th.

By the last day, the unit contained only our donation items, which we loaded into our minivan rental. Everything we were keeping was packed into our luggage and safely stowed at the hotel. (We needed six checked bags to get it all home.) I took a photo of the kids in the empty space before dropping by the management office to let them know we were officially moved out.

And that was it. This thing I’d been dreading for two years was suddenly gone. It was such a relief. And it felt final. The move was complete, and we were not moving back to Tennessee.

I simply felt … finished.

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

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“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.

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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