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.

I write about building a life in Spain—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error. If you’re not already subscribed, I’d love to have you.

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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!

I write about building a life in Spain—slowly, imperfectly, and with a lot of trial and error. If you’re not already subscribed, I’d love to have you.

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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.

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.

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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.

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, read more about the process of moving abroad:

“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:

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:

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.

Read more

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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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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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…

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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:

One of the tiredest refrains from the expat crowd is, “Spain is soooo cheap!”

From an American income standpoint, that’s true enough. Still, it pointedly ignores the reality of millions of Spanish people living on Spanish salaries, which, to be clear, are on average much lower than American salaries.

It’s how damn near every article begins – especially from Business Insider.

Hard numbers are an easy, if not lazy, way to quantify a shift in lifestyle when moving abroad. I also find them to be the least interesting part of why someone moves abroad.

The most recent article making the rounds on social media is about a woman who moved from Florida to Spain, and the headline points out how much cheaper Spain is than Florida.

At this point, it’s just tired.

So let’s get it out of the way. Yes, living in Spain is cheaper than in Florida. Great. Moving on to the parts that matter and shape your life here.

Alicante, where the article's subject, Jennifer, lives, is less expensive to live in, in part because the subject chose a different type of housing. A 2,600 square-foot, four-bedroom home is going to cost more than a 1,300 square-foot two-bedroom apartment. The maintenance alone on a 2,600 square-foot home is more expensive, and that’s not even getting into when something breaks, needs replacement, or the insurance.

Jennifer’s next point is the need for patience when you live in Spain.

I don’t mean this in a nasty way, but … well, yeah!

Part of what makes living in Spain so special is the tranquilo y mañana lifestyle. Most things here aren’t rushed. Have an appointment with a handyman? He’ll probably show up, but if he can’t, he’ll say, “Mañana.” And it might be mañana, but it might also be next week. The point is, it’ll get done, but don’t expect it to be rushed unless it’s urgent.

One thing the article points out is that it takes more than a day or two to receive Amazon orders.

Umm … really? This one surprised me.

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I use Amazon here in Valencia, and unless something is being shipped from elsewhere in the EU, I typically have my orders within a couple of days. There’s very little I need urgently enough to require delivery the next day. And if it is that urgent, then I’ll find a store that carries what I need.

And honestly, shopping in stores is my preferred method here – and that’s a big shift away from the American lifestyle, where instant gratification and speed reign supreme.

I know for Americans it can be a strange concept, but siestas aren’t designed to inconvenience you. Most Spanish people aren’t even taking a nap during that time. Instead, they’re taking lunch, having an espresso, and – in summer – escaping the oppressive heat. And their workday ends up longer than the American version, often with more hours.

You learn to lean into this rhythm, and after a while, you realize why that break in the day is so important. The summer heat can be particularly brutal.

There are other subtle lifestyle shifts you learn to embrace over time.

In the BI article, Jennifer mentions that supermarkets in her area are closed on Wednesdays. In Valencia, supermarkets tend to be closed on Sundays. In Spain, Sundays are typically family days, reserved for rest and spending time with loved ones. It makes sense once you live here.

After showing up at the market one too many times on a Sunday with your granny cart, ready to load it up, you remember to shop on Saturday or wait for Monday. 😅

Finally, the article covers the difficulty in finding your “usual” food items.

I’ve run into this a lot. I grew up learning Southern-style cooking. Think sausage gravy and biscuits, pinto beans and cornbread, and fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

Some of these things are easy to find in Spain. Others, not so much.

It’s just one more part of moving abroad that can bring a few surprises you didn’t anticipate. A trip to Taste of America can fill in some of the gaps, and online stores like Wondermarket.es can fill in even more, but stock at any of these places is often seasonal or limited.

Buy me an espresso

Jennifer laments her inability to find mushroom coffee (whatever that is!), and I can relate.

Those little tastes of “home” can alleviate the homesickness that’s bound to set in eventually, however mild it may be. Just this past weekend, I was online shopping for some Christmas groceries for my own family.

But what I’ve learned is that you either adapt your eating habits or be willing to pay through the nose for those you can’t compromise on. One of our non-negotiable items is Skippy Peanut Butter. My husband loves it. My daughter loves it. So once a month, I go to Amazon and order the giant jar that satisfies them both. It’s a splurge – but a worthy one.

We’ve learned to live without other things. I haven’t had a proper Southern-style biscuit since we left the U.S. in August 2024. Dill pickles? A very rare (expensive) treat. Grape jelly? Happy hunting! Cornbread? Forget it. You can’t get Martha White here.

There are more tradeoffs than I can list here when you choose to move abroad. Still, I also live in the space of, “I can’t go back to being who I was before I moved to Spain.” Will, me, the kids … We’re all forever changed. And the truth is, some of that change came from letting go of parts of my old life I didn’t realize were weighing me down — the routines that once felt “normal” but were quietly exhausting me. Would I give this life up for my old life in the suburbs?

No. I don’t think I would.

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.

Down the Spain-rabbit-hole you go:

There’s nothing quite like a move to make you get brutally honest about things you should’ve gotten rid of long ago.

One of the less fun parts of moving abroad is deciding what to keep, what to sell, and what to toss.

Years of memories – both remembered and forgotten face you head-on. And you can’t move everything. (Well, …

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This week, I’ve been working hard to dig up one of those “I regret moving abroad and moved back home” articles, but wouldn’t you know it? Just when I need one, I can’t find a great one – or one that isn’t at least a year old.

Anyway, with that in mind, I did manage to find an article about redefining what to expect…

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In October 2024 — just a couple of months after our move to Valencia — it started to sink in that holidays would be forever changed for me. While friends and family in Tennessee and Kentucky were pulling out their sweaters and winter jackets for the season, I was still walking around Valencia in a T-shirt and …

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An interesting thing happens when you move abroad and you don’t yet know anyone else who’s done it.

In 2023, when we announced to our friends and family that we’d be moving abroad, Will and I were met with mixed reactions. Some were surprised, some supportive, and some intrigued. Others weren’t surprised in the lea…

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There’s an old saying everyone knows: Wherever you go, there you are.

It’s easy to believe that moving abroad will fix some problems, and it might indeed fix one or two of them. But no matter where you live, you’re still you — warts and all.

I recently read an article from Business Insider about a young woman who moved to Rome after a breakup, believing it would give her a fresh start to become someone new.

At least, that was my perception.

I empathize with where she’s coming from. It’s tempting to believe you can leave behind your old relationships and the baggage of being who you are in favor of creating a whole new self in a place where not a single soul knows you.

Some people do manage to do the Under the Tuscan Sun bit and completely reinvent themselves, but it’s rare. At the end of the day, we are who we are, and moving abroad won’t change that.

I had similar visions of moving to Spain and shedding my introvert skin to become an outgoing, ready-to-mingle social butterfly. My life stress would melt away, and I’d be a whole new person.

Neither of those things happened, and I shouldn’t have expected them to. Being an introvert is a strong personality trait, and it’s not going away just because I changed countries. And life is still life, whether it’s in Spain or the U.S. With life comes stress, and no one escapes it, wherever they live.

Once the honeymoon period wears off, what’s left?

For me, it’s the access to the rest of Europe, the beautiful city I get to explore every single day, the culture and language our whole family is immersed in, the kindness of the Spanish people, the food, and living out a dream I’ve had since I was a child.

I’m still me: introverted, quiet with strangers, observant, often anxious, smart, clumsy, sometimes ditzy, friendly, and sensitive. Not one of those traits changed just because I changed countries.

You can’t outrun who you are, but maybe you can learn to love who you are — and who you brought with you to start over somewhere new.

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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