The Art of Staying Put (Even When You're Moving)**

Date: 2025-09-11 09:04:58

Lisbon’s morning light is softer than Barcelona’s—golden where Barca’s is sharp, diffused through a veil of coastal mist. I’m writing this from a tiny pastelaria, where the espresso is strong enough to make my hands tremble and the pastéis de nata are still warm from the oven.

Yesterday’s shoot for the assignment went better than expected. The city unfolded for me like a map written in sunlight and shadow, and for the first time in days, my camera felt like an extension of my hands rather than a weight. But here’s what surprised me: I didn’t chase the high. I didn’t stay out until midnight chasing the perfect night shot or lose myself in the labyrinth of Alfama’s alleys just to prove I could. I came back to the hostel early, edited a few frames, and FaceTimed Clara to debrief over her tinto de verano and my mediocre hostel wine.

This is new.

I used to think presence was something you practiced only in motion—mindful of each step on a mountain trail, each fleeting interaction in a foreign market. But these past few days have shown me it’s just as vital in stillness. In letting yourself pause after the shot instead of immediately hunting the next. In admitting, I’m tired, and not seeing it as failure.

The editor who killed my Morocco piece emailed this morning. Not an apology, but a new assignment—a series on European cities “through the eyes of locals.” It’s ironic, really. A month ago, I would’ve scoffed at the idea of being someone’s local. Now, I’m learning to embrace it.

Because roots don’t mean you stop exploring. They mean you carry a piece of home with you—whether that’s Clara’s voice in your ear, the taste of tortilla española craving when you’re away, or the quiet certainty that there’s a balcony in Gràcia waiting for your return.

So today, I’ll wander Lisbon with my camera, but I won’t disappear into it. And tonight? I’ll book my return ticket to Barcelona—not as an ending, but as a comma.

—Sofia