Moving Abroad: how it reframed how I think about identity
I moved to Spain in 2023. I was twenty six years old and knew only one person well in the city I was going to live in. Before then, I had lived my entire life in Scotland and was used to the familiarity of occupying a space in society that was always there for me. When you have always been somewhere, you always have a narrative there: a niche that’s been carved out for you that feels effortless. This, of course, comes from the lucky position of someone who was fortunate enough to have been mostly accepted by the people around them - I know it’s harder for marginalized groups, facing rejection even from those in their place of origin. This is written from my own perspective, and it’s not one that accurately represents all lived experiences.
The definition of ‘belonging’ or ‘community’ has been turned on its head for me recently, and it’s a change I believe is for the better.
When I return to the place I grew up I feel like a part of the furniture. I don’t have to work to create a sense of belonging because I’ve always taken that for granted. Upon moving abroad and settling in one city for a long time I realised that creating a community is extremely difficult - and a task which requires an awful lot of work.
Home in Edinburgh: no problems feeling like I belong here
The first thing I suppose I realized was that the idea of ‘belonging somewhere’ is a pretty flimsy one. The sense of security I was so used to growing up is one that many people never have. It’s something that can be taken away very easily: a feeling that is, in many ways, artificial, or perhaps temporary. This being said, it’s still a vital part of life anywhere in the world. And while I felt, back in Scotland, that I wasn’t destined to live there forever, I still carry a sense of identity with me. In fact, that sense of national identity has become a lot stronger now that I don’t live there any more.
When I first found myself living in Barcelona I faced all the preconceptions in my head that I had about suddenly living somewhere new. In my imagination I had this fantasy of an extremely busy and vibrant life, full of new people, things to do, and experiences. What I hadn’t really thought about was the amount of work (and courage) it takes to create a new life like that, from scratch. My situation is fortunate as I already knew one person - my partner - who already has a wide circle of friends here. This gave me a few chances to meet new people but it never really felt like ‘my own’; I felt as though I was piggybacking off someone else’s hard work. I wanted to find people for myself.
Making friends as a child or a teenager is much easier, I soon found, than making friends once you’re in your late 20s. People are more cautious, myself included, about who they choose to spend their time with. Social groups are already long-established, newcomers finding it difficult to become a part of something that’s been going on for years before they arrived in this city. For myself, somebody already predisposed to anxiety, this creates a social nightmare: a hellscape of unfamiliar faces, the once-exciting glow of anonymity bestowed by a new place wearing off and turning to aching loneliness.
The idea I had been nurturing for so long: the fantasy of a ‘full life’ was replaced by an unexpected calm. I didn’t have a job (I didn’t have a right to work in a ‘proper job’) and didn’t know enough people yet to use my skills as a tattooist in any meaningful way. Days were filled by wandering around aimlessly, learning Spanish and cooking. I spent too much time going to parties with my partner, meeting people in clubs and adding them on social media, then never speaking to them again. I learned that meeting people at parties is rarely a reliable way to form a solid and meaningful connection with anyone. There are so many ways to form a community: you can go to clubs, practice hobbies, join groups, but the thing that eventually worked for me was patience. It takes time. You can do all these things to put yourself out there, but forming bonds and connections is not something that happens overnight.
I’ve never found it easy to feel ‘safe’ around people I don’t know very well. This has made it difficult for me to make those new connections and keep fostering them until they become strong friendships. My brain - despite being addicted to travel, change and excitement - isn’t so good at that when it comes to people. Perhaps it’s a mild neurodivergence, or a crippling shyness, or an unwillingness to do things I find uncomfortable. My partner is a social butterfly: he can meet someone new and immediately things feel incredibly smooth, easy and comfortable between them. I am plagued by awkward silences and a lack of conversation. Learning how to accept being alone, and being able to build strong platonic relationships over a long time are two skills that take a lot of practice to master.
It was around this time that I began to think more about the way I view friendships as a whole: my best friend back home in Scotland has always been immensely important to me but being separated like this made me appreciate it - and her - in a new light. Phone calls became a ritual and a grounding experience during the process of finding my balance in my new world. I used to be far less willing to share things about my life with the people around me but being able to call my parents and my best friend and tell them about my life brought the whole thing into perspective. I knew so many people back home that I took them all for granted - but a lot of those people weren’t particularly close friends. Having a large circle of ‘acquaintances’ has always kept me from feeling truly alone - but I never really had enough energy to maintain such a vast number of friendships on any truly meaningful level. I only spoke to three people back in Scotland on a regular basis once I was away - but those were more than enough.
Living an almost solitary life in a new and unfamiliar place has also forced me to change my relationship with myself: when there’s only one other person you know it’s easy to become dependent on them for company, and their companionship becomes a familiar zone which can be daunting to step outside. I have had to relearn what it means to be independent, and appreciate that it’s impossible to be totally independent at the same time. I used to idealize not needing anybody and being completely self-sufficient when I was in my home country: I thought that that was what it meant to be a ‘strong person’. I understand now how important it is to be able to rely on people: having the skills to integrate into a new place socially and find new support systems is a sign of a much greater strength.
