**The Space Between Departure and Return**

Date: 2025-09-12 09:03:58

Barcelona smells like rain this morning—petrichor mixed with the faint tang of the Mediterranean. I’m back on my balcony, the same one where I spiraled three days ago, but something’s shifted. My suitcase sits half-unpacked in the corner, Lisbon’s tram tickets still tucked in the side pocket. The flight home last night was smooth, the kind where you drift in and out of sleep against the window, lulled by the hum of engines.

Yesterday’s shoot in Lisbon was my last for the assignment. I spent the afternoon in Belém, watching the golden light lick the edges of the Jerónimos Monastery. Normally, I’d feel that familiar itch—one more shot, one more street, one more story—but instead, I sat on a bench and ate a pastel de nata slowly, letting the custard dissolve on my tongue. No camera. Just presence.

This trip was different. Not because Lisbon wasn’t magnetic (it always is), but because I didn’t use it as an escape. I carried Barcelona with me—the weight of rejection, yes, but also the warmth of Clara’s voice through my headphones, the memory of my neighborhood’s evening bustle. And when I landed at El Prat, I didn’t feel the usual dissonance of Where do I belong? I just felt... home.

Growth, I’m learning, isn’t linear. It’s not about trading restlessness for roots or motion for stillness. It’s about holding both—letting yourself ache for the horizon while savoring the coffee in your hands.

Today, I’ll finish unpacking. I’ll call the editor about the new assignment and pitch weaving Barcelona into the series. And later? I’ll meet Clara at our usual tapas spot, where she’ll inevitably tease me for my "nueva sabiduría" (new wisdom) while stealing my patatas bravas.

Because the journey isn’t just in the leaving or the returning. It’s in the space between—where we learn to carry where we’ve been into where we’re going.

—Sofia