There’s something thrilling about deciding to leave your life behind and embark on a new adventure somewhere new. At first, the nerves and uncertainty are almost drowned out by excitement, and the more you talk about it, the more real it becomes. Suddenly, you’re consumed by researching accommodation, navigating the bureaucracy of visas, and dreaming of all the travel waiting ahead.
Somewhere between all of this, however, the excitement begins to shift, and reality settles in. While the promise of a new adventure is abundant, the truth of the matter is that embarking on this journey requires saying goodbye to the life you have become so accustomed to. Although the heartbreak is soon healed once you arrive and settle into a new routine, the reality soon returns when the fast-approaching end of the year abroad comes into sight, and you are once again having to say ‘goodbye’.
There’s a specific kind of heartbreak that comes from leaving a city that taught you who you are. When I first arrived in Barcelona as an English Language Assistant, I thought the experience would mostly be about teaching. I imagined lesson plans, correcting pronunciation, and the uphill battle of trying to explain why English has so many strange rules (and yes, there was plenty of that). However, somewhere between settling into the job, finding my feet, and establishing a group of friends with a connection so deep it felt like we’d known each other for years, the city quietly became home.
That’s what makes saying goodbye so difficult; not leaving a place, but leaving the version of yourself and your life that existed there. Living abroad changes your sense of time. At first, everything feels temporary, as you remind yourself you’re ‘only here for a year’ and you keep one foot emotionally planted somewhere else. Somewhere along the way, however, this begins to shift as routines start to form and you start finding your favourite places, people, and pastimes that suddenly make the temporary become real.
The hardest part about saying goodbye isn’t packing a suitcase or boarding a plane. It’s realizing life will continue here without you. Your favourite cafés will still open every morning. The teachers will welcome a new assistant. The students will grow older and forget most of what you’ve taught them, or remember other parts unexpectedly years later. The city keeps moving, which is somehow comforting and painful at the same time.
In truth, the thing that hurts most is knowing you can never return to this exact version of time. Even if you come back one day, it won’t be the same, as you won’t be the person who arrived wide-eyed and uncertain. The magic of this experience exists because it was temporary.
That’s the strange thing about goodbyes: they prove something mattered. Before moving abroad, I thought courage looked dramatic, and yet now, I think courage sometimes looks like showing up in a classroom where you barely know anyone. It looks like building friendships across languages and creating a home in a place that once felt foreign. While goodbye feels impossibly heavy right now, I know this city gave me something permanent: proof that I can begin again somewhere unfamiliar and still find belonging there. Ultimately, maybe that’s the gift hidden inside every difficult goodbye – not the ending itself, but the reminder that we were brave enough to love a place deeply in the first place.
Author: Grace B.