It's been exactly one year since I stepped off the airplane in the tiny San Sebastián airport, and breathed in that sweet Basque air, knowing that I was here to stay and not just to vacation. Since my sweet German friend picked me up and took me to an apartment that I now call home.
I remember my first night of sleep, heavy heavy, then waking up and making my first new friend, Iker at the local bakery, who informed me of the U.S. Open results of the late night before. A mutila that I still see weekly on the streets of Gros, who I now know studies 3-D design in his off hours. And this year, I have plans later tonight to watch the very same final, Nadal v. Djokovic, in the nearby Irish pub with two friends.
So much has changed, and it's only been 365 days. I have a baby who speaks Basque, Spanish and English. I have a husband with American and Spanish bands. I have eaten at restaurants I used to only dream about and met the chefs. I've made friends I know I'll have forever, those people who are just ridiculously similar to you but just happen to live in random corners of the world. I've been run over by eight men carrying a rowboat through the streets of Lekeitio. I've eaten a LOT of pintxos. And drank even more wine, cider, and cava (and gintonics). I've been underground in La Rioja and on top of the mountains in Navarra.
I've learned what's urgent, what's important, and how to stop and just enjoy an evening, a lunch, or a walk.
I'm so thankful. To life, to all of my friends, and to this chance for as long as it lasts.