Far from Home, Closer to Myself

Far from Home, Closer to Myself

By Ollie

When it came time for my year abroad, I went to Spain. As part of studying a language degree, it’s compulsory to spend an academic term in the country of origin, so I’d known it was coming for quite a while. In fact, it was partly the reason I chose Spanish at university in the first place. I was looking forward to that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to immerse myself in a foreign culture and grow as a person.

In the build-up, though, I was terrified. Where would I live? Who would I meet? Questions plagued my mind before I had even set foot on the plane. I made myself sick overthinking it. My brain has a habit of preparing for every possible worst-case scenario—and, of course, none of them ever happen.

When the day finally came, I was off: goodbye mum and dad, goodbye friends, goodbye home. Hello new life. I vividly remember that first night in my flat, lying awake and quietly taking in my new surroundings. The warmth of the air, the jumble of Spanish voices outside, the small single bed—it all felt strange but thrilling. I had finally done it. What could go wrong?

The first few weeks in southern Spain flew by. New friends, new classes, new adventures. In that kind of environment, you either adapt or fall behind. I was having conversations in different languages, planning road trips, exploring nightlife. To my surprise, I came across as confident—something I had never associated with myself back home in my quiet English village.

My time in Spain was transformative. From exams and weekend trips to long walks in nature, every experience shaped me. While my biggest takeaways were the friendships and memories, I also learned a lot about myself.

It was the first time in my life I wasn’t working, so I suddenly had endless free time. At first it felt like a gift—I could explore, party, live freely. But it also left me restless. After a big Friday night out, Saturday mornings often felt hollow, and I’d find myself waiting for the next social event. I realised I needed to learn how to be alone—and to be comfortable with it.

That wasn’t easy. I grew up with a shared tendency (like my mum and sister) to feel low after being around people—the quiet house, the closed doors, waking up to your own thoughts. But I also have determination. If I put my mind to something, I’ll make it happen. So I started small: reading in cafés, wandering through galleries, walking by the river. At first, I felt exposed, like people could see I was alone and judge me for it.

But over time, I grew to love it. I went on day trips, ate in restaurants, explored places on my own. What once made me insecure became a source of strength. I even started craving my own company. In Spain, I had the comfort of anonymity, speaking English in a place where no one paid me much attention. Back in England, I realised I still had that same power.

Moving home was hard. I didn’t want to lose the confident, independent version of myself I had discovered abroad. But I followed through. At university, I regularly went to exhibitions and cafés alone. Now, as a working adult, I still go on trips by myself.

To the wrong reader, this might sound lonely. But to my younger self, it’s inspiring. The ability to enjoy your own company is, in many ways, the purest form of self-love. To take yourself on dates, to be unafraid of being seen alone—that’s not sad, it’s empowering.

Of course, I still treasure the time I spend with friends. Anyone who knows me knows I’m always out and about, keeping busy. But I also make time for solitude, knowing that I can enjoy life just as much on my own. Sometimes, even more.

In the end, that year abroad gave me more than adventures or language skills—it gave me myself. I learned that I don’t need to wait on anyone else to live fully. And because of that, I know I can take whatever comes next head-on.

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