Finding My Place, One Small Chair at a Time

As I was walking back from lunch today—from Casa Gil to the volunteers’ house—my colleague and I spotted a small chair by the roadside. It was made of wood and leather, simple and sturdy. I was happily surprised, almost amused, by how perfectly my need was met in that moment. I’ve been sitting and working on a cold floor here, on the top floor, third piso, in the Granada area. 

Without hesitation, we carried the chair home with us, one side each.

At first, I used it in my room.

 Later, as the sun began to set, I took it outside onto the terrace. 

That’s when I was caught off guard by the beauty of the view—the sea stretching out under a glowing sky. It brought back memories of Curaçao, watching sunsets with a drink by the beach. But this time was different. I didn’t romanticize the sea. I saw it clearly, with its depth and its dangers.
“It’s a tough world out there on the ocean,” echoed through my mind.
Capricorn season, perhaps.No muckign around just straightforward honesty. 

Still, I relaxed. I sat there, grounded on my newly found chair, quietly enjoying the view outside my newly found home.

What struck me next was a realization: how genuinely pleased people here seem to be with me. They say it to me and to one antoher.. amazing! 

Sitting there, I understood what truly drew us together—the ability to speak our minds. Not holding back. Not pretending things are different than they are. Just speaking truthfully.

Gil, the head of the place, a bandit from a former life—strong, unapologetic, sharp-edged in the best way. He’s surrounded by his best friend Anto, gentler, more empathic, and by David, a soft presence who feels like sweet, melting butter in the room. Three men—big, bigger, and biggest—each with a golden heart.

Later that night, while checking whether my HelpX account was still valid, I realized something quietly profound: I don’t even need it anymore. First, because I’m invited to stay here—indefinitely. And second, because there’s another open invitation waiting for me in Florence. 

I am in a place in life where I don't have to leave, or rather, wouldn’t have to keep searching.

Because I belong.

That realization hit me deeply.
A place.
People.
Mine.
My people.

I get to stay. Not because I have to, not because I’m clinging—but because I’m welcome. 

Yes, I could be here another five years, doing what’s needed, doing what feels right and kind. I’m already living differently—among people like me: pure-hearted, open-hearted, and unafraid to speak their minds. Enjoying the company, not hding away when it gets too busy, but finding the zest to keep connecting.  

God’s big and small miracles never cease to amaze me. This one didn’t arrive with fireworks. It just quietly sneaked in.

Day by day, I’m discovering small, meaningful truths about myself and my life.
Off the road now.
A car parked in Valencia.
A strong pair of legs since July.
More grounded.
More empowered.

Amen to the journey.