In less than 10 days, I’ll be thousands of miles away from home—on a new continent, in a new city, starting a new chapter of my life.
Next Friday, I leave Guatemala and move to Barcelona.
Before the big shift, I decided to take a few days to slow down. I’ve been at the beach in Monterrico, on Guatemala’s Pacific coast, where the breeze carries salt and silence, and the blue sea crashes into uneven mountains of black volcanic sand. There’s something healing about it—the slowness, the stillness, the way time stretches in the sun. It feels like the calm before the storm.
The last time I ventured out into the world, I was 23. I had just closed my café, packed my bags, and set my eyes on Spain. I was excited, wide-eyed, and completely unprepared. I didn’t have a clear plan, just an idea—I would find a degree I liked, enroll in school, and start again.
It was my first time crossing the Atlantic. My first time so far away from everything I knew.
That trip taught me a lot.
It taught me how important it is to let go of expectations. It taught me to accept help when I need it, to respect my limits, and to plan ahead, because relying on luck or kindness will only get you so far. The rest? That’s on you. You have to be the one who has your own back.
I still remember arriving in Madrid, jet-lagged and overwhelmed. I was supposed to catch a train to Granada, but I had miscalculated the travel time. I didn’t have a SIM card, didn’t bring the right adapter, and I was completely lost in a massive train station I couldn’t quite navigate. I sat down, frustrated and on the verge of tears, until the man next to me started a conversation. His accent sounded familiar—he was Honduran. Out of all places, of all people. He helped me buy an eSIM (life-saver), walked me through getting a ticket, and explained the basics of getting around Spain.
That moment reminded me that even when you feel alone, you’re never really alone.
Now, a few years later, I’m doing it again—but this time, I’m going prepared.
Older. Wiser. With a heart full of lessons, and a mind focused on what matters.
This time, I have a plan. I’ve done the research, lined up the paperwork, and carved out the time to land gently, not chaotically. I’m visiting the school I’m applying to with days to spare, not hours. I have a phone full of friends and stories, and I’m open to whatever new connections are waiting for me there.
Most importantly, I’m letting go of worry, and letting life lead the way.
Guatemala to Barcelona: A Journey of Personal Growth
Every morning this week, I’ve walked along the black sand beaches of Monterrico. The waves kiss my ankles as I watch the way the sun reflects off my skin. The sound of the ocean blends with the cries of seagulls overhead. There’s a sacred rhythm here—an intimacy with nature that slows everything down and centers me.
And I keep thinking: this sea I’m swimming in now… it’s the same sea that will greet me in Barcelona. Different shore, same water. That thought comforts me. The ocean is a witness. It saw me here, grounded in my roots, and it will see me there—growing, evolving, and becoming.
Letting Go, Letting Life
Leaving isn’t easy. I love Guatemala. I love my family, my upbringing, the familiarity of it all. But I also know that staying still won’t help me grow. I’m ready for challenge. I’m hungry for the next version of myself.
There’s something sacred in the act of saying goodbye. It’s not just about leaving a place—it’s about trusting the tides. Trusting that life knows what it’s doing when it pulls you away from one shore and takes you to another.
This trip is my leap of faith—not in something divine, but in myself. In the timing. In the unfolding of everything as it comes.
Right now, I feel ready to fly.
Final Thoughts
If you’re preparing to move abroad, change careers, or take a leap of your own—here’s what I’ve learned:
🌊 Be still before you move.
🌊 Let go of what you can’t control.
🌊 Prepare well—but stay open.
🌊 Trust the tide.
🌊 And when in doubt, let life lead the way.
I’ll carry the sea with me wherever I go.
And I know, no matter how far I go, it will always call me home.
Antonio P Argueta 
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