The Sun Also Rises

Time smooths out the rough edges of memory. Sometimes it makes the past seem rosier than, perhaps, it really was. We are home from Ireland. We were excited to spend Christmas in New Years in weather that felt like so many holidays of the past. Especially all the years we spent in Seattle. And it did.

But here’s the thing. Being back in Valencia it’s sunny and 65 degrees. And boy does it feel wonderful to be warm again. And Jeff, who really missed winter in Seattle (why, I don’t know) is happy to be warm too. Here, there is no bone-chilling wind. Hats and gloves have been put away. We can have our morning coffee without a coat and scarf again. It feels good.

We’ve hit the ground running too. We found a dentist and Jeff has already gone and seen them. I often hear that ‘socialized medicine’ means long lines and weeks of waiting for an appointment. We went yesterday to a clinic who had no idea who we were and he saw the dentist today. We anticipated it being much more difficult. So one more myth debunked.

This morning, I walked across the city to an Autoescuela that speaks English. Yes, these rarest of the rare actually do exist here in Valencia, like unicorns. You don’t see them and they don’t make themselves known. But my shot gun approach of talking to everyone I have ever met here about needing an English speaking Autoescuela to get practical lessons has paid off. Someone knew someone, who knew someone who once took lessons at a place where the instructor spoke English. And the lady there was surprised I got my theory test taken/passed all on my own without a school.

Next Tuesday morning I will be taking my first hour and half lesson to learn how to drive in Spain on a manual transmission. The woman who signed me up has as much English as I have Spanish (her husband – my instructor speaks English). She asked me what I was most wanting to focus on. I told her ‘manual transmissions and round abouts’. She nodded knowingly.

But at least I’ll be taking all my lessons in daylight. I feel very sorry for this man already and I haven’t even started. He has no idea what he’s in for. But his wife told me – via Google translate voice – that once I’m ready, passing the practical test in Spanish won’t be an issue. I asked her how many lessons she thought I would need. She said her husband would have to determine that, after a nervous laugh. Ugh.

I’ve also started gathering and filling out the paperwork for the residency renewal in March. Nothing like having a few balls in the air at the same time. But it seems like a much less arduous process than the original visa appointment. No Apostles – No background checks. Pretty straight forward. It seems the hardest thing so far is getting the government website to cough up an appointment time. It may require professional help to get it across the finish line.

Coming home to Valencia feels good. While we could speak the same language as the people in Ireland, it didn’t feel like home. It’s nice to be back to our grocery stores where we know we can get what we need. Where to get a haircut and our favorite coffee place. Poundland has nothing on our El Chino. I was disappointed in Derry when I didn’t get a gift with purchase beer upon leaving.

Our flight home was full of Irish students heading back to Universidad de Valencia after the break, and others like us. I think we all breathed a sigh of relief that at midnight when leaving our Metro station near our flat – it was still 55 degrees. Suddenly, the language barrier doesn’t seem so high anymore.

Salud!

We are not big drinkers. We never have been. It doesn’t mean we don’t go out and enjoy a beverage, or several, with friends and family. But, as a general rule, we drink more water, coffee, iced tea or even Coke than we ever do some form of alcohol.

It’s probably a good thing. I’ve always been a lightweight. I know this because one or two glasses of wine is fine. The third glass? Well, I’d give you the location to a treasure map, reveal my darkest secrets, or the launch codes to the whole arsenal. I’d have made a terrible pirate, and it’s probably why I’m not President of the United States. Right?

Jeff doesn’t drink wine so if I open a bottle it will take me two weeks to drink it. Even then, I’ll invariably end up throwing out the last bit in the bottom. So moving from a country where people don’t drink Breakfast beer, or put a ‘little something extra’ into their morning coffee at the local cafe, to one where alcohol consumption is a daily thing  can feel strange at times. But we’re not Amish. The Spanish must know something because they enjoy record breaking longevity.

We just had our annual physicals and the Doctor suggested Jeff drink more liquid on a daily basis.

‘Now, it doesn’t have to be just water.’ He assured him (I was sitting right there or I wouldn’t have believed this) ‘You can mix in some beer too. As long as it’s light in color. No dark beer. And you can drink vino blanco, but no vino tinto.’

Jeff turned to me with the smile of a child on Christmas morning. The Dr. looked confused so I explained.

‘You’ve now become his favorite physician, EVER. Maybe even his favorite person.’

When we were walking home from the appointment, Jeff had a spring in his step.

‘Finally, a Dr. who has common sense and gets me.’

I knew there would be an unlock to moving here. I just didn’t know it would take the form of his annual physical to do it.

We walk in the Turia a lot (the old riverbed like Central Park) . There are ball fields for every kind of sport you can imagine. Rugby, Soccer (futbol), Baseball, Cricket. If you can throw something or swing something – you’ll find it there. And there is always, always a game going on. We like to stop and cheer people on periodically. Especially the semi-pro baseball teams.

And we’ve noticed a pattern. When the kids are little, the Dad stays at the field, with the other Dads, and watches the older kid in their chosen sport. The Mom is in the adjacent play field watching the younger child climb things, with the other Mom’s. Then, as the kids get older, the parents retire to the cafe/bar that is connected to EVERY sports field, and they watch both kids from there. And those bars/cafes have full bars in them. You can get lit with the other parents while your kids battle their rivals ‘The Bumblebees’ or another viciously named team, for league dominance.

When our kids were younger and played team sports, there were parents who brought hot toddies to early morning games, or margarita’s to summer baseball. But those were for a small clique of the hard core and it was all on the down low. Those parents would be freaking out to see how open people are here while cheering on their 6 year old on the futbol pitch. 

Back home, we bought booze for pool parties or Halloween or holiday parties. Afterwards, it just sat there, until the next get together. And before we moved, we threw a ton of it out. But I’m sure we’ll restock for our new friends in Valencia. G & T’s are all the rage here. But that won’t change a thing. I’ll still be a lightweight. But now that Jeff has been prescribed beer as a substitute for water? Who knows. He’ll probably live to be 120. 

It was a dark and stormy night



Well, it was actually a dark and stormy afternoon. And it was the day that I realized the theme of this week should be ‘The Appointment to Make the Appointment’. We hit the ground running this week.




Our first annual medical exams since we’ve been here – actually, we were way past due before we left so it was time to go get a check up and all the commiserate tests. We’re both over 50 now so the tune up and oil change takes a little more work. Blood tests and ultra sounds. It requires multiple doctors and the process here is a little more round-trip intensive.




First, we go to the clinic to make the appointment because we can’t do it over the phone – being Spanishly challenged. Then we go to the appointment and meet with the doctor. Whichever doctor it is orders tests. We go to where we are going to have the tests. Then they tell you when you can return to pick up the results – they don’t just send it to the Dr. who ordered the tests. Then you pick up the results and return to the doctor to make an appointment to review your results. Etc. Rinse and Repeat.




Jeff got lucky this time because I went to our English speaking family practitioner first. I happened to mention that Jeff would be making an appointment himself to see him. The Dr. felt he would save him some time and gave me all the blood work orders for Jeff too. So he got to skip two steps right out of the gate. When he complained about going to the Dr. after his tests came back I wanted to punch him.




Today, I had an appointment to take the examination for the driving theory test at the Jefatura de Trafico. I made it the week before we left for Brazil online and I have spent every day since doing nothing but studying the book and taking the online practice tests.  OK, that and watching a Breaking Bad marathon but you can do both at the same time. I know I’m ready because I’m passing nearly every practice test I take. But what I wasn’t prepared for was the test of getting to the test.




I had even attempted a dry run. This week I had to go get my psychological/medical fitness certificate. The clinics are across the street from the Jefatura so I knew where to go. It took 10 minutes, during which time they asked if I was depressed, tested my eyes and made me play a video game where I had to keep the two bars on the screen inside the winding road. Twenty six euros later and I had my certificate.




Since I was right across the street, I thought I’d go check out the Jefatura de Traffico and learn the system and ask for the remaining forms I required. Just so I’d be ready today. The security guard is brutal on the ‘taking-of-the-number’ business. I was not getting past him to ask a small question – without the requisite appointment. So no dry run.




Today – test day – Jeff came with me and we went early. I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time. I’d gotten my passport photos at the machine in the subway and I had all the copies that Spanish bureaucracy requires. Everything in triplicate. But getting into the equivalent of the Department of Motor Vehicle early is not allowed. Seriously, you can’t get there early – just at your appointed predetermined time. While I was in line waiting to learn this little tidbit from the militant security guard, I found my Irish friend, Donna, happened to be in line in front of me. She was swapping her driving license out – because EU citizens just exchange theirs with a form and and fee. Me? I have to act like I’m 15 again.




So after our unceremonious booting out of the Jefatura (the guy actually wagged his finger at me and said ‘No!’), we went across the street with our tails between our legs to have a coffee and to wait until the machine, that gives you a number the security guard checks so very closely, will spit out a ticket that gives you the privilege to sit down and wait. And wait. And wait.




Finally, we decided to leave the safety of the cafe to brave ‘El Securidad’ once more, and success! The ticket has 3 letters and 3 numbers. Then you sit and wait, looking up at screens every time the bell goes ‘Ping!’, checking your ticket against the information on the screen. It’s like playing Keno. When other combinations would come up and it had a common letter or number to mine – Jeff would comment on it. When my number came I almost shouted out ‘BINGO!’ but he was on to me and whispered ‘Don’t do it.’ So I held back.




Up I went to the window with my documents and copies in my plastic folder. Just like everyone else here, you go to no official building without your plastic folder full of everything you have ever documented since the beginning of time – this can include your baptismal certificate. The gentleman who helped me was very nice. He looked at what I had brought and then took my Residencia/NIE card back to have it examined by someone else and they had a long discussion about it. I was having flashbacks to the Spanish Embassy in Los Angeles. If I had to conjure bank statements I was going to scream.




Then, he came back and brought forms with him. He typed alot, glued my photos to a form, and more typing. Then he asked me when I wanted to take my test. 




‘How about now?’ I told him. I’m not sure why he thought I was there.




‘Oh no. Today you pay. You take the examination on December 3.’ He looked at me confused that I didn’t know this was ‘the appointment to make the appointment’. The test will be at a place several miles outside of town in a couple of weeks.




What could I do? Storm off? It’s just how it is. But I was a little disappointed. I was ready. I was psyched up. I memorized the manual on two continents and 24 hours in the air. I had asked Jeff over the last 48 hours one hundred times if he thought I was going to pass. I peaked too soon! But now I have a packet of all the forms and everything I’ll need in a couple of weeks. I am resigned. Jeff was less than happy.




We went home on the subway and when we got to the Benimachlet metro stop it was clear that the storm outside had become something of an issue. The water was pouring  down the stairs like a waterfall. I hid my packet of precious stamped theory test documents – including my new appointment time – under my rain coat and made a run for it. I took a video so you could see how much rain we’re talking about.








I had thought about wearing my Hunter boots today. It was raining after all. But I just wore my little green rubber ankle Boggs. My go-to rain boots for a Seattle rain. Today, they were woefully inadequate. I needed fishing waders – no kidding. By the time we got home with the rain coming down sideways, both of us were soaked to the bone. Like someone had sprayed us with a hose for 5 blocks straight.




‘We have to stop!’ I shouted at him half way home from the Metro station.




‘Why? We can’t get any wetter!’ Jeff wisely shouted back. And of course, he was right. But everyone on the street was laughing. Movie rain is like that. We’re all in the same boat, or swimming in the same ocean, I guess.




When I got home, I saw this lithograph I had bought at an artist gathering in Sao Paolo and it made me smile. Something about it struck me at the time and I stuffed it in my already bulging bag for the trip home – Jeff just shaking his head. So today, it seemed appropriate since my own umbrella was in the exact same position. A premonition of sorts.







I’ll have to remember the lessons of this week when we start our residency renewal in a few months. And allow enough time to make ‘the appointment, to make the appointment’. Hopefully, that day it will be a little less wet.

Stop Whining

OK. I had my pity party. I missed home on the 4th of July. Seems like that’s a good day to mope when you’re so far from neighborhood fireworks and bar-b-que with friends. But like one of those blow up clown dolls with the sand in the bottom, you gotta pop back up.

And some really good things happened yesterday. First off, Jeff found he had run out of his blood pressure meds and that he could put off no longer going to the Farmacia near our house for a refill. He took a deep breath and took the bottle down there and explained what he needed. His old prescription was $30 a month. The new one? 3 euros for a month supply and no prescription needed. They just handed them over. He was giddy and now no longer intimidated by going to speak to a pharmacist.

I went to my Spanish lesson yesterday and it went swimmingly. Well, maybe I felt like I was swimming because I was in the blistering heat with dripping wet humidity. But my teacher felt I’m making good progress. We’re meeting up again today to keep the momentum going.

Then I took Emilie to have her sports physical so she can be cleared to play when she returns to school in the US. I swear it’s a racket, these sports physicals, but Jeff and I had found a clinic where there was a rumor that they had a Dr. that spoke English, so we could explain why the hell he needed to fill out this form with a bunch of weird questions like ‘Do you feel safe in your home?’ and ‘Are you ever sad?’. Things he’s supposed to ask her so that he can determine if these might impact her playing basketball or hitting a tennis ball.

So we went – they require no appointment – and muddled through in my lame Spanish at reception. I was feeling more confident after my lesson so I tried out a couple of new words and phrases. More on that later. Then we went and sat in the waiting room. A Dr. came out and we heard English. Like American English. I turned to find him chatting with an American couple who had just arrived and needed some medication.

He finished with them and then called us to his office. He spoke to me in Spanish and I answered him back. We waited outside for him to finish with another patient and then he came out and ushered us in. We sat down and he asked why we were there in Spanish and I told him, in English, and he asked if I was Spanish. I told him ‘No’. He said he was so surprised because my accent was so good he thought I was Spanish. Well, can I just say I LOVE THIS DR. He could be the worst Dr. on the planet but his compliment went a long way yesterday. I sat up a little taller after that.

It turns out he was born in Valencia but grew up in Tallahassee, Florida. He went to FSU and then moved back to Valencia to be near his parents. His wife is Valencian and he has two daughters who don’t want to live in the US. So Tallahassee’s loss is our gain.

We finished up with the sports exam and then met some of our friends who moved here last week from Seattle. We had worked together at a previous employer and they had been planning to move here with their daughter before we ever made our plan. Neither of us aware of what the other was plotting. So it all dovetailed nicely. And ironically, we met at the Portland Ale House on Salamanca, which is a mecca to all things Portland Ore. in the US. I grew up in Portland, and so did Pete, so we recognized all the photos and the marque outside.

They have great burgers and beer and it was fun to be surrounded by University of Oregon flags, Timbers paraphernalia, and old street signs and license plates I recognized. The owner is from Portland and he’s done a great job in bringing a little of it to Valencia. My family should get ready because when we visit the US in September they’re all getting Portland Ale House t-shirts. Seems right.

The burgers made Jeff’s day – best burger and fries in Valencia so far. And it was fun to hear about Pete and Ryan’s adventures in getting settled. They’re off and running, and loving living here too.

So I bounced back from my whining 4th of July. And it just goes to show you that the universe is listening. It knew it needed to throw me a bone yesterday and it threw me a whole handful. It’s time to get back to work.

Noche San Juan Bautista

I’m all about the good vibrations. And generally, I’ll try anything once – as long as it’s not going to potentially kill me or result in legal action. There hasn’t been one second in my life that I’ve thought I had all the answers. I’m always in awe of deeply religious people who truly believe they have it all figured out. How wonderful that would be to live in a state of certainty. Me? I’ve always been a skeptic but I think there’s something to energy that connects us all. I just have no idea how.

Last week, we heard about the Noche San Juan Bautista (St. John the Baptist Eve) from the guy who owns the local motorcycle supply shoppe. We were there picking up some stuff that we weren’t able to get in Germany last month and we got into a conversation with him – truly one of the nicest guys. Turns out he lives near us in the same area and is a native Valencian. He told us all kinds of local history and advised us on stuff we should do in the area and things we needed to experience. Some of which – when pressed – he admitted he’s never personally tried, like the festival of Tomatina. And that’s when he told us about the Eve of St. John the Baptist.

We’ve been to every festival since the day we arrived here, so it seemed that we should be open to this one too. The Eve of St. John is always held on June 23rd. It’s about the summer solstice (and the birth of St John) and it’s essentially ‘Out with the Old, In with the New’. A healthy sweep of all the bad energy collected over the winter, and making wishes and prayers for all good things. It’s huge in Catalonia and Valencia.

The way I look at it, it’s about leaving behind what you don’t like and asking for transformation. Well, I’m all in on stuff like that. I love transformations – especially when I can achieve that on my own – not to mention enjoying watching other people rise from their own personal ashes. So when he told us about this we made plans to be there.

I went to meet my new Spanish tutor Friday afternoon. My tutor, Rob, told me about it too and asked if we might like to join he and his girlfriend, Claudia, to experience it ourselves. It involves going down to the beach and waiting until midnight. Bonfires are set about every 10 meters and people write the things they want to leave behind on papers and then burn them in the fire. They also write their deepest hopes and also, burn them in the bonfire.

Then they go out into the water and jump over either 7 or 9 waves (it has to be an odd number) and make three wishes. The fire and the water are cleansing and restorative and the wishes will be granted. Some people walk on the hot coals but I figure they must be pretty drunk to do that. There would be fireworks at midnight – it’s Valencia so duh. Then people make sure they are awake when the sun comes up because the first rays of the sun on St. John’s day are a blessing. Seemed pretty straight forward, so we made plans to go and ‘Get there early because the beach will be packed’.

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Jeff and Emilie and I went down to Patacona beach and staked out a spot in the location we were advised to. The beach was full and the police, fire department, and street cleaners (who outnumbered the other two combined) were already out in force. And it was very hot. And then, it was even hotter. Jeff started not looking well and we went up to a beach side cafe to get him something to eat and drink and he got very sick. Finally, I was concerned with the direction it was all going and I packed us up and got him home on the tram. Thank God it was air conditioned.

After a very cool shower and cold Aquarius water, he was doing better and wasn’t violently ill or alternately bright red and then grey anymore. And today, he’s just resting. So we didn’t get to experience Noche San Juan Bautista with the bonfires, except hearing the fireworks at midnight – but that’s every Saturday night here. We didn’t get to leave behind our papers in the fire or jump over the waves. But I didn’t want to risk reaching for something new at the sacrifice of Jeff.

So we’ll save Noche San Juan for next year. I mean, we’re going to need something new to experience in year 2 – right? I’ll throw salt over my shoulder or burn some sage or something. That will have to do in my nod to San Juan for this year. But I feel sure he’ll understand.

Random Crap

Everyday I learn new things. Most of them are small but this one was sort of large so I thought I would pass this and some of the other stuff we’ve gleaned lately. Because when things are different, it helps to know about them in advance so as to avoid confusion and delay.

I went for my follow up with the surgeon last night, after having the tests in the morning. In the US, the test results are automatically sent to the Dr. who is authorizing and requesting the tests. In Spain, that is not the case. You are sent the results – just like in the US – but you are expected to print the results out and take them to the Dr. He doesn’t have access to your test results for privacy reasons, unless you give him the hard copy.

So Emilie and I went to the appointment and waited – they squeezed us in – and found that I had no way to access the information and that the Dr. was expecting me to bring a hard copy. I was his last appointment of the day so going home to get my ID and password wasn’t an option. So I’ll have to go back for another appointment.

Of course, they apologized to me for my own mistake. The nurse and Dr. felt terrible about it all and I learned something new that I’ll never forget. So there was goodness all around. I told them not to worry.

Today, Jeff and I tried a new grocery store. I have never lived in city with so many different grocery stores so close to our house. In NYC, Chicago, or SF you’d have one choice of grocery store, and it would be very small and very expensive. In Seattle, living in the city was a desert of grocery stores. Although I know that’s changed a bit now with City Target moving in, and some others.

But here is the SuperCor, Carrefour, Super Carrefour, Mercadona, Super Mercat, and now we discovered the Consum. We started noticing Consum’s around the area and they looked like small stores. But while the entrance may look small, there is a HUGE store lurking behind. So we did a big shop there today.

We walked the aisles and it’s now become our favorite store. Why, when there is so much choice in grocery shopping would we choose Consum upon which to bestow our custom? Well, there are a couple of considerations here. Consum wins the award for best layout most resembling a Safeway or QFC (Kroger store) in the US. Things are just where you would expect them to be. That’s a novelty in every other store we’ve shopped in. You might remember my near ‘bleach v. laundry detergent debacle’ of mid-March.

Jeff likes that they have shelves and shelve of different kinds of tostadas. Those little toast things that you use as a tapas delivery system, or in his case, to dip into olive oil grown from ancient trees, for a mid-day snack. He’s become an olive oil and tostada snob, apparently, and shaking up his tostada selection is a top priority. He was in heaven.

They also win the award for most brands I recognize (Kikomon low salt soy sauce) and an ethnic food section that contains stuff I really, really like. Mexican foods, Indian foods, Japanese foods. They’re all there and some new things I’ve never tried. They had us at ‘Ethnic Food’ section. And they have paper towels that resemble the ones I could get back home. Yes, it’s the very, very small little stupid things that matter.

Finally, they win the award for nicest checkers, and since they have an in-store Coffee bar – with really nice staff, too – it’s doubly wonderful.

We came home and Emilie is thrilled that I found Golden Grahams cereal that is one she recognizes too. So we’re all happy. I’ll be adding this to my ‘Lessons Learned’ section under ‘Looking for a little bit of comfort’. Cause right now, familiarity is a high priority on my comfort scale.

Everything has a Silver Lining

Today I had to wake up earlier than usual and head out to the IMED hospital in Burjasott. It’s more on the outer ring of Valencia. Not far before you aren’t in Valencia City at all. The Metro goes out that way and even further. We had underestimated the time we needed to take the subway because the trains out there don’t run as regularly as they do here in the city proper. When we discovered it would take 15 minutes until the next train at our transfer point of A. Gimenez off Gran Via, we went up top and grabbed a taxi.

We had left Emilie at home to sleep. I was nervous about these tests (really about the outcome) and also navigating to an unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar hospital and then there’s the language barrier. I didn’t sleep well last night. But pulling up to the hospital, it looked more W Hotel than hospital. In fact, it was the nicest hospital I’ve ever been in. It looked like the lobby of a very nice hotel in a large city in the US and there was a check in desk and concierge – seriously. Whoever designed that place either hired someone from or spent some time themselves in an extensive Hotel Management or Hospitality course.

So we went to get checked in and I realized that I had left the orders and the papers the Dr. had given me last week, on the table at home. (I really had not slept) I told the person checking me in and she said they would need them and asked if I could pop back home to get them. The concierge ordered me a taxi and we went back to our apartment, I went up stairs while Jeff waited with the driver, got the papers and were back at the hospital in 20 minutes. And here’s the thing. THEY HELD MY APPOINTMENT.  Yes, you heard that right. They treated me like a human being. My head was spinning. I didn’t lose my place and have to reschedule. I just went back and stood in line and they did the paperwork and I was given a card with a number on it and told to sit in the rather chic waiting area with sculptures and things.

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It seems they take patient privacy very seriously here. In the US, the nurse usually comes out and calls your name. Like a fish wife telling you your flounder order is ready. This after you’ve signed extensive privacy policies that say they won’t reveal anything about you – including your name.  At the IMED they would never stoop to that. The card they give you has a number and you look up at this screen when you hear the bell and they flash the number of the person who is being served. No PII data exposed. Then you get up and they direct you back to the room where you’re having one of your tests.

So we sat down and waited about 3 minutes, my number came up (sounds ominous but it wasn’t) and they took me back. I had my tests and then I came out and was told that I would have the results in 48 hours. Except I didn’t, because I got the results in about an hour. Before we got off the Metro I had an email inviting me to log in and get the results. Sure, Google translate isn’t great for medical terms that aren’t exactly translatable. Measurements seemed understandable. This was X cm or X mm. But more than that, my confidence that these people are going to figure everything out and come up with the right treatment plan is getting higher with every interaction.

So tonight – after 5 pm – I’ll go see the surgeon again and learn what our next steps are. But the upside of the entire thing is that we got to see a new area of the city. Across the street (well, really on the other side of the freeway via tunnel) was a store that sold athletic shoes. So we decided before heading home on the Metro, we would check it out. I mean Jeff is still having to wear that one pair of shoes, since our stuff was supposed to be here yesterday and there’s been no word.

We walked over and found a place called ‘InterSport’ to be chock full of everything you might find in a US sporting goods store – minus the hunting/fishing section. We asked a nice guy if they carried US size 13 or 48/49 EU for Men. He said they did and that we should just sit down and he would bring out everything they had in those sizes. Jeff was elated.

The guy had about 10 pairs of shoes in that size and Jeff selected 3 pair that fit well. He was walking on air as we made our way back to the Metro. So happy to find a store with something that would fit, he started looking up how much real estate goes for in the area. That might be taking it too far – choosing a home based on the availability of shoes – but I kind of understand it. We all have our comfort zones and, lately, mine has been tested on a daily basis. But every time I have to tackle something that make me lose sleep or gives me butterflies I know I’m just getting stronger.