Breathe in, Breathe Out — An Expat Adapts
By Elyn Aviva
“Breathing in, I expand and acquire, filling my home with comfortable items and convenient accoutrements. Life is good.
“Breathing out, I contract and detach, releasing material acquisitions. Life is good.”
After living in Spain for 11 years, my husband (Gary White) and I returned to the U.S. a year ago. We sorted through our stuff in our rented apartment in Oviedo, Asturias, left many books and lots of other possessions behind and shipped the apparently indispensable rest of our stuff to Cottonwood, Arizona, our new home. It was the place where we were settling, we thought, for the rest of our lives. Our reasons for returning to the U.S. seemed good at the time: to be closer to family; to be “back home” in case we needed long-term care; to be in a country with a language — English — and a culture in which we are fluent.
But these reasons didn’t hold up long term. Or even short-term. A combination of Covid, the U.S. electoral season, and culture shock made us realize within months that we felt like expats in our country of origin. We were uncomfortable, ill at ease. We were aliens in an alien culture, one that had once been our own but was no longer.
We longed to return to Europe, where we hadn’t needed a car for 11 years, where we could walk to a nearby plaza and enjoy an espresso at a sidewalk café while watching humanity stroll by, where ancient sites and historic buildings were just around the corner or a train-ride away, where the lively bustle of the municipal market ensured fresh fish, fruit, and vegetables on a daily basis. Eager for a change and a challenge, we decided to apply for long-term residency in Portugal rather than return to Spain.
Soon we were preparing for another transatlantic move. As I sorted through our “recently-acquired-in-the-U.S.” possessions and the ones we had shipped from Spain at great expense, I pondered how many times we had repeated this exercise of buying, sorting, storing, getting rid of, and giving. Many times indeed. Moving from Iowa to Colorado. From Colorado to New Mexico. From New Mexico to Spain. From Spain to Arizona. And now from Arizona to Portugal. There seemed to be a certain inevitability about it, something akin to breathing, or the rise and fall of ocean tides.
“Breathing in, I expand, acquire, fill my home/nest with comfortable items and convenient accoutrements. Life is good.
“Breathing out, I contract, detach, release material acquisitions. Life is good.”
We decided this time to move to a furnished apart-hotel in Évora, capital of the Alentejo region in central Portugal, and to take with us only with what would fit into two suitcases and a daypack for each of us. Gary pondered what technology he had to bring with us (a portable printer, various multi-plug extension and charging stations, etc.), while I pondered what was the least number of kitchen gadgets I needed, and which books were truly indispensable. My drum and altar items were non-negotiable, but shoes and clothing were replaceable. We packed our heavy suitcases (we were allowed 50 lbs for one leg of the journey, 70 lbs for the next) and realized that they were too heavy for us to handle. As we struggled to haul the suitcases up on the bed, we realized it was time to jettison even more. Toss out all duplicates. Leave behind all questionable items. Ruthlessly let go and give forward.
“Breathing in, I expand, acquire, fill my home/nest with comfortable items and convenient accoutrements. Life is good.
“Breathing out, I contract, detach, release material acquisitions. Life is good.”
Breathing is a rhythmic act of giving and receiving, a taking in and a giving back. Without inhaling and exhaling, we die.
I found comfort in this image and a bit of satisfaction. What we were doing was perfectly natural, even if it was a financial stress. What if I conceived of this process as a snake shedding its skin? This new image brought with it a sense of growth and change, not just repetition. The old skin is too small and constricts. It must be left behind if the snake is to continue living. The snake is vulnerable until the shedding is complete, but this in-between time allows for expansion.
I liked this image. I liked to think that as we sorted through our possessions and cast off those things that we no longer needed, we gave ourselves space to grow and transform. We created an opportunity to see what really matters and is important. I felt happy about the process and, I admit, a little smug. I even fantasized about the way mendicant friars — or medieval pilgrims — traveled from place to place, with nothing but a small pack of necessities slung over their shoulders and, perhaps, a begging bowl.
After numerous challenges (applying for residency in Portugal is not without its complexities, especially in the time of Covid), we at last arrived in Évora. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage City, with still-extant Roman walls and the energetically powerful Temple of Diana (perhaps a misattribution, but a romantic one), Roman and 16th and 17th-century city walls (the latter built to protect against Spanish invasion), and an eerie Chapel of Bones.
We settled into our attractive, historic, furnished apartment—and soon realized that to be comfortable as long-term residents instead of short-term tourists, there were some things we needed. Small tables for our altars. A cheese grater. A colander. Better lighting. Coffee mugs.
Oh no, I thought — here we go again! Acquiring more stuff! Whatever happened to the snake shedding its skin? To the mendicant friar? With a sigh, I realized the challenge this time would be to see how little we need to be comfortable, rather than how much.
I breathe in and out. Life is good.
Elyn Aviva is a transformational traveler, writer, and fiber artist who is currently living in Évora, Portugal, with her husband, Gary White. She has written numerous books on pilgrimage and powerful places. To learn more about her publications, go to pilgrimsprocess.com and “Elyn Aviva Writes” on Facebook. To learn about Elyn’s fiber art, go to fiberalchemy.com. Elyn’s latest novel is Melita’s Quest for the Grail. Elyn and Gary produce a series called “Transformative Travel Live-Stream Salons,” available on YouTube.
