I'm Moving...

You know that feeling when you travel to a place and think to yourself, I could live here?

Or maybe your friend takes the leap, sells their stuff and starts over in a foreign country, and you’re like shiiiiittt…should I do that???

Yea, same.

That happened to me.

Six months ago, I spent a month in Spain and fell head over heels with the country.

I’d been there before but this time it hit different.

Maybe it’s an age thing.

Living in the US—as I’ve been doing in Austin for the past six months—is amazing if you’ve got an infinite amount of energy, want to grind and are willing to sacrifice everything to make a dream come true.

I couldn’t think of a better place to have spent my 20’s.

But honestly, I’m getting up there now…I’ll be 33 this year.

DAYUM!

And with age, has come a shift in values for me.

I still want to go after my dreams, I still want to work hard…just with balance. With intention.

I want more time for community, nature, hobbies, play, and eventually, a family of my own.

And no place does those things better than Europe.

Europe—as you probably know—moves much slower.

I heard this story that in Denmark, if you work overtime it’s not uncommon for your boss to pull you aside and try to figure out how to help you work less.

How amazing is that?

I love the US. It’s given me countless lifelong friends, a career, and permission to climb crazy peaks. But it also stresses me the f*ck out.

That stress is subtle. It’s not just the news cycle, the politics or the random shootings…it’s this feeling that you’re never doing enough. That there’s always somewhere to go, someone to know, some opportunity to grasp.

A few years ago my friend from France visited us in LA.

After he came, I asked him how he liked his trip.

He said it was great but he now had this unnerving feeling that he needed more. The houses, billboards, and conversations, had all surreptitiously enforced this idea within him that he didn’t have enough.

Same here dude.

So that’s why, this past summer, while walking the streets of Barcelona on a beautiful 70-degree weather day—21 Celcius…gotta get used to that—watching as a dad threw his kid atop his shoulders and an old couple held hands, I had that thought…I think I could live here.

Something just clicked.

Things just felt easier.

Like my lungs had opened up, like I could breathe again.

Like I had suddenly stepped off the treadmill and was given a sec to look around at the beauty that had always escaped me.

(I have to be careful here and acknowledge my tendency to romanticize things.

Yes, Spain is beautiful but it also has its problems. Just like anywhere. Just like anything.

Still though…can’t deny a feeling a like that.)

So yes, I’ve decided to move there. Like move move.

I’m not overthinking it, not saying “maybe one day,” not coming up with some excuse.

In the wise words of Sir Shia Labeuf, Just f*cking do it.

So, España, here I come.

My flight is literally tomorrow.

If you live there, especially in Barcelona, shoot me a message. Let’s hang.

I’m beyond excited and a tiny bit scared.

And per usual oh so very grateful.

Love,

Matt