This week’s episodes are guest hosted by Diannely Antigua.

TRANSCRIPT

I’m Diannely Antigua, and this is The Slowdown.

When I was 21, I studied abroad in Seville, Spain, in the land of 10 PM dinners and 6 AM bedtimes. I remember packing my bags a month in advance, folding and refolding the same clothes, trying to prepare for a version of myself I hadn’t met yet. I didn’t know then how life-changing that trip would be. How it would set me on a path of self-discovery I never expected. Up to that point, I was naive and sheltered. I’d been raised in a strict religious system that kept my world small, where stepping outside of it came with consequences.

I remember the first night I stayed out past midnight. The city felt alive in a different register. Music was spilling into the streets. People were talking, laughing, drinking wine under the shadows of great cathedrals. I watched at first, taking it all in, letting myself adjust to the idea that I could be a part of it.

And then, slowly, I did become a part of it.

I drank my first beer. I went to a club and danced for the first time, terrified and exhilarated all at once. I found pleasure in the food, in tapas, those small, delightful plates that made a meal feel like an unfolding. I said yes to things I never imagined for myself. A weekend trip to Paris, new clothes that hugged my thin hips. Even a kiss in the palace gardens.

I remember my host grandmother was in a different state of her life, moving through dementia. Despite that, she still sang at the table at every meal. And though sometimes she sang the same song, she greeted every day with newness. Even at her age, she still made space for more life.

I firmly believe I became a poet because of my time in Spain. Something in me cracked open, and a little light came through. I came through. I learned that if I stepped outside the small world I’d been given, the loveliest things could happen.

Today’s poem reminds me of the power of stepping into experience and coming away changed. It asks us to make room for the moments we didn’t know we needed.

There Is Always Space in My Life for More Life
by Natasha Rao

Which is why I swallowed the pill on the beach
in the south of France. Which is why when you said 
let’s walk one and a half hours to the Ethiopian restaurant, 
I put on my shoes and locked the door behind me. 
Now I’m surrounded by this bluegreen water, air 
bright with cicadas. I couldn’t be happier. Not even 
if you. I felt the pill working, declared this  is the point 
of it all: clear blue water, two bees buzzing. I watched
teenagers jump off the dock, twenty eight of them, 
one for each year of my life. Later, Jeff ordered 
dinner in perfect French and I became bloated 
with pride. We stepped on a boat then off. Sampled 
gelato, asked for the bathroom. On the flight 
home, I admired the new color of my hands. Why 
would I ever close the shades, with all this good light?

"There Is Always Space in My Life for More Life" by Natasha Rao. Used by permission of the poet.