Reasons to stay alive

It was a Tuesday night in October last year. I was working late as usual and it was just me and another teacher in the staffroom at our academic center in the North of Madrid. This tall handsome stranger and I had been introduced at the beginning of the school year but we hadn’t really talked since then. We were both tapping away at our computers when he started a conversation. "Do you like reading?" he asked from behind his screen and I looked up. I looked at him, then looked away.

I didn’t know how to say that yes, I used to love books but now the mere thought of reading one was so exhausting that I couldn’t even bring myself to try. Finishing a book seemed like an impossible task to accomplish and I didn’t want to add to my never-ending list of failures. I didn’t know how to explain that when you’re overwhelmed by anxiety, reading two sentences after another is already a major undertaking. It's like reading a text with no punctuation - it makes absolutely no sense. 

"I like writing." My timid voice broke the awkward silence a while later when the part of me that longed for human connection suddenly decided to speak up. The other teacher smiled. "I know a great bookstore. You should go some time." I scribbled down the name and address he gave me and we said goodnight. Desperate literature. That was the name of the bookstore and it made me wonder how much misery my face had given away. 

Three days later, I had a free afternoon and decided to go for it. Now, to a normal person, stepping into unknown territory may not seem like such a big deal, but for someone with panic disorder, it requires careful planning and plenty of courage. So when I arrived only to find the store closed for siesta, I did what no normal person would do. I sat down and waited. For two hours. Because I knew that if I left, I would never come back.

The doors finally opened and a friendly girl with purple hair welcomed me. I entered and literally stumbled over a book called Reasons to stay alive, which had been placed on a small table right in front of the door. I picked it up and read the few lines on the back page, then held the book close to my chest.

Desperate Literature

It was a book written by Matt Haig and it had spoken my name as I was waiting outside. I instinctively knew that this must be why I had been sent here but, unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to buy it. I was still paying off the debts of my hospital bills and wasn’t supposed to spend any money so I put the book down and had a look around.

The shop was small and there were books upon books stacked on the shelves covering the walls all the way up to the ceiling. I took three steps into the back room and found a section of French classics, which I carefully held in my hand before lifting them up to my nose, randomly opening pages and breathing in the smell of words. Sentences. Stories. Sensations. Was this what happiness felt like? I couldn’t quite remember.

I walked in circles around the store and each time I passed the front table I picked up Matt Haig's book again. “We take credit cards!” the cashier cried out the fifth time I came around. My hands shook as I handed her the book along with my card, which was supposed to be for emergencies only. “I’ll take it.”

That night, I didn’t sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever although in reality was only a year, I had someone who understood. Who had been where I was. Who knew what it’s like to stand on the edge, contemplating another step. Matt and I spoke the same language. We talked about insomnia, inability to speak, air too thin to breathe, disconnection, dread, darkness, the weight of guilt, trying to keep afloat, not having a single waking second outside of fear and longing, above all else, to just feel normal.

But not only did Matt understand, he also gave me hope. He didn’t say that it will all be okay because how could it possibly ever be okay. He said it takes time. He said one day, you will see a tiny bit of the blue sky emerge behind the clouds again. You will read one (short) paragraph, then maybe one more and eventually, you will finish a whole chapter. And then start a new one, while leaving an old one behind.

He made me see that depression and anxiety are liars who tell us things that aren’t true. He promised me that even when I feel like I'm sinking, there is a stronger part of me that remains steady. He assured me that pleasure can grow out of the pain and that I will one day feel a joy that matches this sadness. That is the hope that I still live by today and if I forget, I dive into Matt's book to remind myself again. In fact, in the year that has passed since I first visited Desperate Literature, I have read over twenty books and enjoyed every single one of them.

The tall handsome stranger and I never really had a conversation again. We passed by each other in the hallways at work a couple of times, but I never knew how to say thank you. I didn’t know how to tell him how much his words had meant to me. Not just the recommendation but the fact that he saw me when I felt invisible and alone in the world.

We never know what someone is going through, but we also never know who needs to hear what we have to say. Nothing is random and no kind word is ever wasted so don’t be afraid to reach out and break the silence. You might just give someone a reason to live.

Inhale - stay in the present moment. Exhale - it's a wonderful moment.

Staying in the fire

"Don't be so scared." My new yoga teacher is encouraging me to stretch my boundaries and take more risks. "Allow me", he says and pulls me up into the tallest shoulder stand that I have ever been in. "If we don't know what's going to happen", he addresses the other students in the room while holding onto my legs, "why should we worry?" With my feet in the air, my head on the ground and my balance a bit wobbly, this seems easier said than done, but I allow the thought to simmer. 

I have been in Seville, the heart of Spain and the birthplace of flamenco, for about two months now and I live on a charming little street called "Sol" (the Spanish word for 'sun'), although sometimes I think I may actually be living on the Sun. Temperatures rise to nearly +40C every day and the only way to put up with the heat is to adapt the Spanish lifestyle of drinking ice-cold Sangria on one of the many terraces in the city and to swing a fan while staying in the shade.

My street. Also, there is a church in every corner of Seville. 

One day, when I was walking home, i.e. towards the tiny little room where I keep my tiny little suitcase, I got lost. This is not unusual in Seville, as the streets here form a maze impossible to orientate unless you have a very good sense of direction. I have no such sense. With no mountains to turn to for guidance, I have lost my stable base in life and often feel like I belong nowhere. I am constantly stumbling and tripping over and looking for something or someone to call home. 

Plaza de España - the Spanish square

Typical Sevillan street. Always empty during siesta-time.

Anyway. There I was, somewhere in the middle of Seville, dehydrated and dizzy from the heat, when I noticed a sign saying "This is your home for the summer!" As I approached, I found that the sign belonged to a yoga studio and just then, one of their teachers walked by, patted me on the shoulder and held the door wide open: "Come in," he said and I entered. 

Now, for the past six months or so, I have told anyone who wants to listen that it is my dream to someday become a yoga therapist, in order to give back and help others who are struggling with physical or mental disorders. So you can imagine my surprise when, back home, I googled the yoga studio and learned that they are experts on yoga therapy. Furthermore, they offer a yoga instructor training starting in October and finishing in June next year. It seems like too much of a coincidence so, without any idea of how I'm going to pay for it, I have signed up and been accepted on the course. 

It is not going to be easy. On top of committing to a daily practice, the whole course will be in Spanish and I am going to have to study and work hard, however, this is the only thing that I am remotely interested in. I have lost some of my appetite for life (and food) after too many ups and downs, but perhaps this new test of endurance will bring my zest back. As far as food is concerned, I am thankful that Spain is the land of tapas, meaning one can eat as little, or as much, as one prefers. I quite like a tapa of spinach and chickpeas so I live on that (and ice-cream). 

This summer in Seville has also reminded me of the Indian term "tapas", which originates from ancient literature and has nothing to do with food. It is a concept of perseverance and heat, referring to the intensity that sets psychological processes on fire and helps us preserve the discipline required for change. Sometimes, staying in the fire and putting up with the intensity is necessary for the sake of transformation, which is also true of the yoga classes that I now go to every week. There are fans on the ceiling of the studio but no air-conditioning and still unsure of what my body is capable of, I am constantly struggling between pushing myself and respecting my limits on the mat. 

If I truly want to become a good yoga therapist (and I do), I need to learn to listen to my own body first. I need to learn to see and take care of others, as well as myself, the way that we all deserve to be seen and taken care of. Meanwhile, the Amazon rainforest is going up in flames and although it may seem coincidental, nothing is random. We are all made of the same elements and when the lungs of the Earth are burning, it affects everything and everyone. Hopefully, this urgent situation will bring about a positive change, making us more aware and more adept at looking after each other and our planet, our one and only home. 

48 hours in Granada

He's a carnivore, I'm a herbivore. He's an atheist and a communist while I believe in Jesus and liberal rights. He's also a smoker, an extrovert, a reckless driver and everything else that I'm not. This larger-than-life Andalusian was my guide in the Sierra Nevada mountains and during our four-hour hike, he used more swear words and smoked more cigarettes than anyone ever should, but he also made me laugh more times than I could count. It was the most fun I'd had in a long time.

Meeting my opposite was a great reminder of who I truly am. As my guide, he led me across suspension bridges, held my hand when I slipped on gravel and helped me crawl up to the highest mountain peak before showing me the crosses drawn for fallen rock climbers. Only afterward did he share with me that actually, he's afraid of heights. He invited me for a beer and some blood sausage after the hike and found it hilarious when I asked for an orange soda and some tomatoes instead. 

Hiking near the village of Monachil

The main attraction of Granada is the Alhambra, a majestic fortress hovering over the city. Overtaken by the Catholic Monarchs in 1492, this royal palace is said to be the most popular monument in Spain and one of the world's most amazing masterpieces of Arabic art. It has been declared a Unesco World Heritage site and receives nearly three million visitors a year so if you're planning on traveling to Granada, don't do what I did and forget to book tickets for the Alhambra in advance. Still, I wasn't too disappointed. Walking up to the Mirador San Nicolas at sunset to enjoy the stunning views of the city, the Alhambra and the mountains was enough for me.

La Alhambra

The fortress is not the only piece of Arabic heritage in Granada. As this was the last city to be reconquered by the Christians after centuries of Muslim reign, the Arabic influence is still clearly visible in the architecture, especially in the neighborhood of Albaycín, as well as in the food. My friend and I also felt like we were constantly surrounded by tall, dark and handsome men but then again, this is true of anywhere in Spain. As far as the food was concerned, I had been warned in advance that Granada is not exactly a vegan-friendly place. Arabic shops and restaurants are everywhere and meat is often served with a side of water pipe. I didn't try either of those, but I very much enjoyed the Moroccan mint tea. 

Moroccan teahouse

On Saturday night, my friend and I walked into a taberna that served tapas the old-fashioned way, i.e. we were offered a free tapa with each drink order. So we had a couple of glasses of wine and the waiter kindly brought me some vegetarian food as well. For this, and many other reasons, I would definitely recommend a weekend away in Granada. It is the perfect opportunity to get lost in mystic alleys between white-washed houses and then find yourself on top of the mountains.

This is my happy mix - a little bit of the extreme, a little bit of downtime and to top it off, a glass of vegan wine with a dear friend. I may be on a time-out from many things in life right now, but my thirst for adventure has not been quenched; I'm just learning how to find the right balance.

Life is a journey and everyone we meet along the way can be a teacher so before we judge those who are different than us, let's remember that they may be crossing our path in order to help us take the next step and guide us in the right direction.

Happy hiking in Andalusia