I got here late last night, too late to even blog. My jet lag is still with me and it’s brutal this time around. I’m in a state of perpetual exhaustion that makes me question everything. Even my desire to come back so often to this city I love so much. There are, after all, many other places out there, places I’ve never seen, places I might never see if I don’t make more of an effort. It occurred to me late last night, while I was trying to fall asleep, that it’s been ten years since I tried living here and found that, for all its undeniable beauty and mystery, the city only offered me fleeting glimpses of happiness. It was a bit like a relationship between two people who have great chemistry and mutual affection, two people who care about each other deeply, make each other laugh, and yet, something is off and happiness eludes them. Sometimes these things are hard to understand. Still, after a decade, is it perhaps time to let go and move on? The weird thing is that I feel that I have. Unbeknownst to me, my attachment to Barcelona has loosened. I no longer find myself sad that I don’t live here, no longer find myself concocting plans to stay forever. Maybe I’m even ready to face the possibility that it might be unnecessary to visit a lot. Perhaps I need to see all this as progress. After all, I might have a terrible track record of holding on too long, but occasionally I prove to myself that I can also let go.