I grew up in a big family. Christmas was a big deal. Easter was a big deal. Thanksgiving was a big deal. Birthdays, dinners, lunches, brunches, everything was a big deal with lots of people with lots of opinions and lots of noise. I’ve always been surrounded by people. Growing up, I frequently went to sleep-away camp and was left in a cabin with five to seven other girls at a time. College was no different. I was sleeping with roommates in buildings full of people, full of noise, full of community.
For someone like me, loneliness is an unfamiliar emotion.
Five days ago, I began my journey from San Antonio, Texas to Bilbao, Spain. Upon boarding my second flight (a connection from Atlanta to Madrid), I met a lovely 40-something-year-old lady. She was kind, allowing me to stand in front of her in line. Upon chatting, we soon realized we were in seats right next to each other, and I was instantly grateful.
I had felt nothing but bliss up until that point in my seventeen-hour travel day. Boarding my first flight out of Texas I felt excited; excited for the possibilities that were to come from being abroad. I’ve been traveling my whole life, most recently on my own for the first couple of times to and from Denver. The only international trip without my parents was with close friends, which made it easy to navigate and ease any nerves that may have bubbled up from being away from a familiar space.
It is when I sat in the Atlanta airport that I began to feel it.
The idea of an eight-hour flight, left to my own devices, seemed unappealing in a way I can only describe to be apathy. I felt anxious; was I missing something important like a charger? Toothpaste? AirPods? I felt guilty; Did I spend enough time with my family this summer? With my friends? With my pets? I felt intense unease; would I really be able to do this for three months on my own? Would my host family be nice? Would I be able to adjust?
My mind was a cloud of gray, my nails busy picking at my skin as a way to release the nervous tension I could feel bubbling up in the pit of my stomach.
All of that melted away as I followed closely behind Patricía into the narrow isle of seats lining the plane.
We began to talk, the entire conversation in Spanish. With Spanish as my second language, I was automatically grateful to have someone who allowed me to practice during the lengthy flight. Patricía was flying from Atlanta to Madrid and had been for the past couple of months due to her father’s continuous sick spells. Despite this, she maintained the most lovely and positive demeanor I’ve encountered in a while. She told me all about Madrid, Bilbao and other parts of Spain. How the culture was, as reflected in her own eyes, what the people were like, what the food entailed. Her Spanish accent made it difficult to understand certain words at times, along with the noise from the plane, but I found that we were able to communicate at times simply through hand gestures. I offered her some of my snacks, she offered me her eye-mask when it was time to sleep on the plane. We shared commentary, jokes, and even part of my Snoopy blanket throughout the flight, and it felt like I was back home with my tía, her personality comforting and familiar.
When it came close to being time to land, we exchanged contact information, took a selfie together, and said our goodbyes. I was rushing to make my connection, she knew I was anxious, making sure to direct me to the right place, giving me tips on how to navigate the massive airport.
Loneliness is a strange emotion, one easily felt even amid an airport bustling with thousands of people. We all as humans crave connection, it’s natural. We want to be around someone familiar, someone who feels safe. I am forever grateful for having met Patricía, to have had almost a little reminder of home with me on such a long flight was all I could have asked for. It just goes to show that you should be kind to every stranger you meet; you never know how big of an impact it could have on their life. I don’t know if Patricía realized how much of a comfort she was for me on just an eight-hour flight. Perhaps I’ll tell her over a cup of coffee when I get around to hopefully visiting her in Madrid!
DU Abroad 