In 2004, David and I moved to Barcelona with the girls, thrilled to be having an adventure as a family. There was nothing we were avoiding or trying to leave behind and nothing specific we were setting out to find or achieve. Our move was our way of seizing the freedom and advantages of wealth and experiencing the wider, wilder world.
It wasn’t hard to bid farewell to Donna and Matt, Lynn and Adam, or my parents: they all had plans to visit. Harder was saying good-bye to our pediatrician, to the guy who had cut my hair for over a decade, and to my therapist. Even more difficult was leaving UCDS. The school had become our family’s third place, where we had good friends and the future looked bright. Emily and Ali were set up to go to the right middle school, the right high school, the right college—and with those thoughts, I was thankful to step off the known path.
In the middle of August, I woke up in Barcelona and wandered through the empty living room of our rented seventh-floor apartment looking for David and wondering if the girls were awake. Stepping outside onto the sun-filled terrace, I was clearly in a foreign land. An exotic jumble of leafy plants and palm trees spread out before me and the sounds of a fountain bubbled up from below. On the other side of the park and to the right were rows of apartment buildings, each one connected to the next, most with balconies and yellow awnings, the rooftops an uneven mismatch of chimneys and antenna. Suddenly, a high-pitched squawk sounded through the air. A flock of bright green parrots shot across the sky, skimming the treetops.
“Good morning,” David said, stepping outside and giving me a kiss.
“Did you see those green parrots?” I asked.
He’d been up for a couple of hours and was going through boxes, finding plugs and extension cords. Packing in Seattle, we hadn’t been sure what to bring and our insecurities were being revealed. David’s anxiety was showing up as wires and adaptors. Extension cords were tangled in the girls’ toys. Two-, three-, and four-pronged plugs were sprinkled through the kitchen utensils. Meanwhile, my worries had resulted in several boxes of Fiber One cereal hidden in the sheets and towels. Since a weekend getaway could cause irregularity, I wanted to be prepared for an international move.
The parrots and park were highlights, but the apartment was incredible as well. For the first few weeks, in addition to getting lost in the city, we got lost at home. The books we brought filled one shelf in the library, leaving thirty-four others empty. Our clothes looked lonely in their walk-in closets. And with the girls choosing to share a room as they’d always done in Seattle, we had a whole suite ready and waiting for guests—the reason we were renting such a large apartment in the first place.
To fill the void between what we’d brought and all the space we had, we spent a day at IKEA buying red swivel chairs, beds for Emily and Ali, a kitchen table, standing lamps, and desks. Then, searching for a sofa and living room rug at another furniture store, we laughed through several awkward exchanges in Spanish, grappling with the fact that no one was around in August to make deliveries. Later, watching another family arrive, hire a decorator, and instantly furnish a showplace home with sleek sofas, tables, and lamps, I paused. But, in the end, I didn’t worry about not doing rich right. We’d had fun buying furniture in a foreign language, doing things our way, together as a family.
Although the girls had been reluctant to leave UCDS, after the first day at the Benjamin Franklin International School, known as BFIS, Ali told us she thought kindergarten was cool. It took Emily longer to adjust, but she eventually bonded with her second-grade teacher. And the community of parents was wonderful. A third of the families were from Spain, a third from the US, and a third from other countries, bringing together an eclectic mix from all over the world. Most who weren’t from Spain had been transferred to Barcelona through work, some having lived an expatriate life for years. A few were on sabbatical, taking time away from teaching. A couple were abroad simply for the experience.
“What about you?” a woman asked. “Are you working or is your husband?”
“Actually, neither of us is working. We’re here to experience Spain.”
“Will you be here a year?”
“We thought so,” I said. “But I’m already hoping to stay two.”
“Wow. A two-year sabbatical. Sounds nice. I’m jealous. How can you manage that?”
Years earlier, I would have found a way to avoid her question, uncomfortable with the facts, afraid of eliciting jealousy or disdain. But standing in the school courtyard under the Spanish sun, believing judgment, guilt, and insecurity were years in the past and an ocean away, I explained we’d moved to Barcelona out of curiosity, excited about having an adventure.
“You must be rich,” she said.
I stared at her, feeling that awkward moment.
“We’re lucky,” I said with a laugh.
“Yes, you are,” she said.
For the first few months, while our girls were in school, David and I spent our days exploring the city, wandering through the historic district and visiting museums. We took care of business too, setting up bank accounts, researching how to get Spanish driver’s licenses, and figuring out car insurance. As we settled further into the year, David joined the Board at BFIS and became president practically the same day. Soon, he was working Amazon-style hours, helping to improve academics, and hiring a new director. He also studied Spanish and took up flamenco guitar.
Spanish lessons and time at the girls’ school were part of my routine as well. Hoping to get to know other parents, I’d raised my hand to help organize the school’s Thanksgiving dinner and was shocked when I was asked to chair the event. I didn’t yet understand the task was one nobody else wanted or that volunteering wasn’t valued in Spain. But by chairing the dinner, I ended up meeting a lot of parents and was proud when the evening turned into a success. I also discovered an art studio near our apartment and spent Thursday mornings creating collages from photographs, my favorite being of Emily and Ali hula hooping on our terrace, the view of the park in the background.
Much of the local culture centered on family and revolved around food. Every Sunday, families came together and spent hours at the table. During the workweek, the midday meal was pivotal as well. People stopped and took time. Stores closed. Restaurants served a menu of the day that included starters, mains, and dessert, making it impossible to rush. And there was no reason to hurry. Nothing was going on from two o’clock until four thirty.
At first, sitting around in the middle of the day didn’t feel right. It was uncomfortable not being productive. But, relaxing into the experience, I began to enjoy the slower pace. Long lunches helped build friendships. After a few months, David and I found ourselves lingering over the table with other couples for so long that we often had to scramble to get to BFIS in time to pick up our kids.
Early on, to meet a pediatrician, I asked David to call for an appointment.
“They could get us in next week,” he said, setting down the phone with a strange look.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you think it’s important to meet the doctor?”
“It’s not that,” he said. “They told me we could come in at eight thirty ‘in the afternoon,’ and we’re supposed to bring the girls.”
“Eight thirty? At night?”
The doctor’s appointment was only the beginning. To help Emily and Ali learn to speak Spanish while doing activities they enjoyed, we signed Ali up for an art class and found horseback riding lessons for Emily. But with days lasting well into what I’d long considered night, and with the Spanish sleeping fewer hours than others in Europe, I was a wreck. Six-year-old Ali’s class started at five thirty and didn’t end until seven, and riding lessons finished equally late. There was no way to get home, make dinner, eat, read stories, and have the girls tucked into bed by their eight o’clock bedtime. For weeks, trying to be a responsible mother, I sped along the sidewalk, resenting Barcelona afternoons, the girls trailing behind me. How could other parents be sauntering along with their kids, smiling and enjoying the warm evening? How would their kids grow up to be healthy, wealthy, and wise? How was I going to earn my perfect-mother award?
Over time, aware of being stuck in the past, back in Seattle, in a small corner of the world, I let go of the “right” bedtime. Embracing the beauty of long Barcelona afternoons, we took our time getting home. We enjoyed dinner, the bedtime routine, and stories at a more relaxed pace, all of us benefiting from letting go of old habits and beliefs. The girls seemed to get enough sleep too.
Meanwhile, for David and me, late Spanish nights were nothing but fun. Date night in Seattle often meant stopping at the grocery store after dinner to buy milk, stalling to ensure the girls were asleep before we returned home. In Barcelona, where restaurants didn’t open until nine o’clock and didn’t fill up until eleven, dinner lasted well past the time Emily and Ali were sleeping—and we felt a lot younger, sexier, and better-connected as we strolled through the city at midnight.
Spanish mornings were a welcome change too. I’d never been early to rise, and in Spain, there was no rush to get up and get going. Even Starbucks didn’t open until eight in the morning. And with no value placed on the efficiency of drinking coffee on the run, I began to understand that what I’d considered human nature was American culture. Living in a country where customs and norms were unfamiliar, it was obvious there was no “right” way of getting things done—no one happy life.
As we grew accustomed to unfamiliar routines, we shared the experience with other BFIS parents, all of us trying to learn the language and adapt to the culture. Without the same need to adhere to old rules, without the same expectations and preconceptions, we quickly felt part of our new community. That year, I didn’t send Christmas cards—and was beginning to feel more carefree.
Happy with the rhythm of long lunches and late nights and getting to know other families, the decision to stay in Barcelona a second year was easy. Then, after that second year, feeling part of the BFIS community and connected as a family of four, we stayed a third and fourth year as well. At the end of the school year in 2008, with Emily about to start middle school, David finishing his work as president of the board at BFIS, and me interested in taking writing classes in English, we planned our return to the United States. But a window was open. No longer tied to a traditional path, we took further advantage of our freedom. Rather than move back to Seattle, we spent a year traveling around the world, “roadschooling” Emily and Ali, doing volunteer work as a family, and spending months at a time in several different countries.
A sixty-day visa allowed us to spend two months in China teaching at a kindergarten in Xi’an for two weeks then renting an apartment in Shanghai for six. From there, we visited Vietnam, where we had donated money to build a house for a family and spent a day painting the trim and meeting the new homeowners. For two months, we lived in Sydney, where David’s mom and my parents joined us for Thanksgiving. We spent Christmas in Tahiti with Lynn, Adam, and their kids. From there, it was New Zealand, where we lived on four separate sheep farms, staying in people’s homes. We met up with good friends from BFIS in Bali, traveled through Mumbai and Jordan, and returned to Barcelona for two months before heading to South America to visit my brother who was working in the foreign service in Bolivia. Then, nostalgic for long Spanish lunches and late Spanish nights, missing our friends and community at BFIS, we return to Barcelona for one more year.
During our travels, we’d read books on Kindles, and when we visited an orphanage in Guayaquil, Ecuador, and learned the library was locked and none of the girls had access to books, David starting thinking. In the fall of 2009, he and Colin, another BFIS parent, came up with the idea of using technology to get books into the hands of children in the developing world. They created a pilot program at BFIS and launched another at a school in Accra, Ghana. Over the months that followed, Colin left his job as director of ESADE business school to work full-time on the project and the two of them began building a team, visiting schools in Ghana, and meeting with the Ghanaian government.
In the spring of 2011, when Emily and Ali returned to our Barcelona apartment at eight o’clock after horseback riding lessons and soccer practice, David was still at work. He’d found his next Big Thing, championing digital reading in underserved communities.
Wealth had shaped our life, adding ease and opportunity, compelling me to get clear about myself and my values. I had confirmed where happiness existed—within relationships, community, and a sense of purpose. It didn’t matter where we were in the world. As I closed my computer, hugged the girls, and began to make dinner, I felt at home. I too had found my next Big Thing, excited to be writing, hoping to share my story.
Contemplation & Conversation
•Does the way you spend money match your values?
•What would you do if you had all the money in the world?