I didn’t realize how much the U.S. had trained me to live for the mailman. Not the person, exactly, but the packages. Let’s be real, every day can feel like Christmas when a box shows up on your doorstep. That little thud, that cardboard smell, that sweet, sweet sticker that says fragile (because of course I treated it like a treasure anyway).
And I’ve caught myself doing things I never thought I’d do. Pacing in the front yard like some kind of mail-obsessed sentry. Refreshing the tracking page 17 times. Calculating whether the mail truck is early or late. Watching the mailman set the package down on my porch and patiently waiting for him to leave so I can finally grab it. You know, the normal adult behavior. Meanwhile, every time I step outside, it still feels like the holidays because of how easy it is to spend money.
Then there’s Spain. Oh, Spain. Suddenly, receiving something as simple as a phone call from a random Spanish number has me in full-on paranoia mode. I pick up, and there’s someone on the line speaking Spanish about being at mi casa (my house). Like… excuse me? Who are you? And why are you here? I’ve gone from pacing in delight to side-eyeing my front door like it might swallow me whole.
It’s funny how context changes everything. In the U.S., deliveries were comforting, exciting, and predictable. Here, they’re… a tiny thriller in my everyday life. One moment I’m imagining a cute little courier dropping off a package, the next I’m whispering “¿Quién eres?” (Who is this?) at someone standing at my front door.
Maybe that’s the point. I’m learning to balance joy with caution, indulgence with awareness. And also, maybe, to stop pacing so much in the front yard. But let’s be real, if a package shows up, I’m still going to run to the door like a kid on Christmas morning. Because some habits are worth keeping, even if they scare you a little in a foreign country.
Also, if you’re planning on moving here, I highly recommend having your packages sent to drop-off locations. Sometimes you won’t be home, sometimes you won’t speak Spanish like me, and sometimes, well… I might not even be home either. It’s just easier to pick them up on your own schedule rather than playing hide-and-seek with the mailman.
Love always,
American Girl Meets World
