When the Universe Sends You a Sign

If you’ve been wondering why I’ve been M.I.A from the Dear Montecito column, wonder no further. My last reflective article chronicled my feelings about the L.A. fires, which broke out across Los Angeles six months ago. A thought that stuck with me was that it only took about 15 minutes for me to gather everything I deemed worth saving, a tiny fraction of all my possessions.

That got me thinking: material objects weren’t as valuable to me as I’d imagined. Feeling displaced from the fires, I gave myself permission to imagine possibilities far from my possessions: outside of L.A., or even the United States. While I stayed in Santa Barbara with my dog to wait out the worst of the fires, I called my dad. 

“I think I want to go to Spain to study teaching English as a second language,” I said without much thought. I was on a walk with my dog Winston, headed to Handlebar. In college, I’d spent a month in Seville – a city in the south of Spain – and loved it. I hung up the phone as I approached Handlebar, but was dissuaded by the abnormally long line out the door and decided to go to another coffee joint on Chapala: Lighthouse.

Upon entry, Winston, ever social and curious, bombarded a petite fluffy dog. After Winston introduced himself, I followed suit, striking up a conversation with the dog’s owners, a smartly dressed couple. They were from out of town visiting their son. The woman’s response to my innocuous question “Where do you live?” flipped my stomach: “Half the year in Scottsdale, Arizona, and the other half in Seville, Spain,” she answered. 

I nearly jumped out of my seat. For the next 20 odd minutes, the three of us spoke about my budding idea to study abroad in Seville. I ended up with a phone contact: Lola, a teacher an hour south of Seville who could help me with logistics if I chose to pursue a life-changing idea not even an hour old. 

I couldn’t ignore the feeling that the universe had sent me a sign. Within two weeks of the cursory call with my father, I had secured a placement in an intensive ESL at CLIC International House in Seville, Spain, for early March. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d pursued a goal so decisively; this felt more deliberate than choosing my major in college.

The course was by far the hardest course I’ve ever taken. Alongside four other “blokes,” who soon became my best mates, I was teaching students – whose native languages ranged from Spanish to Ukrainian – just two days into the course. Classes ran from 9:30 am to 5 pm, with upwards of five to six hours of homework afterwards. When I wasn’t pulling all-nighters in my cramped dorm room, I took the month to explore Seville, knowing I’d live there someday.

I left the CELTA course with a renewed passion for learning, English and Spanish, and validation of my ability to put in the work. I’d felt reinvigorated after the work-from-home slumber COVID had placed me under. 

When I returned to the States, I snatched up a job in Los Angeles teaching English Language Arts and Math to incoming 2nd graders. I’d never considered teaching children English, but it’s quickly becoming a career interest. I haven’t felt this enriched… perhaps ever. 

All this to say – sorry for being M.I.A. But I was entertaining curiosities I’d chalked up to fantasy, and giving myself the space to try something new. Had I waited in the line at Handlebar that day, I’m not sure I’d be where I am today. When the universe sends you a sign, listen!