Barcelona-Sants

“...Because I don’t know how to put myself first.” I had to go back and get him. I kept replaying this in my head on the train ride back to Barcelona from Madrid. I broke down in front of my buddy at dinner 8 hours after visiting La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona a few days prior to Madrid blurting this out. And while I probably only ‘boo-hoo’ cry 1-2 times out of the year, this moment was doubling that average. Going to that church made me feel so small and while not a realization, was confirmation that for quite some time I had lived my life small. After years of abuse/traumatic events that ranged across the spectrum, the last few months leading up to this trip made me face myself in more ways than none. That as a result of my past beginning before the age of 10, I had let false beliefs of inferiority reign supreme 8 months out from 30 and as a result believed things about myself that weren’t true - and did things to myself that didn’t need to happen. Hiding my tears with my hands at a restaurant and receiving consolation, I took deep breaths and realized that I had a long way to go with recovery but that I owed it to my self to tap into the potential that as a result of these incidences, I had shamed for so long. I’m not a Christian, and left that organization a long time ago, but to see the power and beauty of something so magnificent - and the power of an idea and a belief in oneself touched me on so many levels that you can’t come back from that. That stunning admission from myself to myself at the restaurant in Barcelona became more vivid as I reached the platform of Barcelona-Sants. I realized that love is selfless and is a choice. That to love someone meant to make the choice to put them first and I saw for the first time that I had never done that for myself. I had never done it for that little boy left behind at 7. And trying to hide the tears that were now flowing as my feet hit the platform - I said I had to go back and get him and show him what love was. Thank you Spain.