Issue 002: When Spain Called Me Home

On first heartbreaks, spirit homes, and dreams that refuse to stay silent…

There's a particular kind of magic that happens when a heart breaks open instead of apart. I learned this in 2014, at twenty-two, when what felt like an ending became the beginning of everything that matters now.

The year before had shattered me in the way that only first heartbreaks can. You know the kind – where you forget how to breathe properly for a while, where every song suddenly seems to be about your story, where you believe, with the delicious dramatics of youth, that you'll never quite be whole again.

In the midst of that heartbreak, a seed of possibility came from the most familiar source imaginable – my childhood best friend, who had been there for every scraped knee, every stolen cookie, every whispered secret of my life. She was heading to Spain for a semester abroad and dreamed of us exploring the southern coast together afterward, maybe even venturing into Portugal and Italy. But wrapped in my grief, I couldn't imagine finding joy anywhere. Despite being raised by two wanderlust-stricken souls who had shown me the world through their stories, I wasn't yet afflicted with their desire to spread my wings and explore. Looking back now, I barely recognize that version of myself, so resistant to the very thing that would eventually set me free.

Sometimes the universe knows better than we do what our hearts need. And so, despite my resistance, Spain happened.

I remember stepping off the plane, exhausted and a little lost, not knowing that I was about to meet a version of myself I didn't yet know existed. There's no logical explanation for what happened next – how a country I'd never visited felt instantly like home, how streets I'd never walked seemed to hold memories I hadn't made yet, how my broken heart suddenly felt not damaged but wonderfully, terrifyingly open.

Looking back now, I realize that was my first grasp of the golden thread – that mysterious pull toward something bigger than our current reality. Spain didn't just heal me; it woke me up. In the streets of Barcelona, where artists had dreamed up impossible architectures and made them real, I discovered two dreams that would shape everything that followed: a deep connection to this land of light and shadow, and a yearning for the kind of creative community I glimpsed in its cafés and corners – artists, dreamers, and intellectuals gathering to debate ideas until dawn.

Back in Toronto, I tried to create echoes of what I'd found in Spain. I started Casa Saqi, a supper club where conversations about art and life could unfold over wine and good food. But finding kindred spirits who felt art and literature as deeply as I did, who wanted to spend hours dissecting films or debating philosophical ideas – it was like trying to gather scattered stars. The dream of that vibrant, creative community I'd witnessed in Barcelona simmered quietly, waiting.

Life, as it often does, had other plans first. For the past five years, I've been focused on survival. Building a creative studio during a pandemic wasn't exactly part of the original plan, but then again, neither was becoming the Brand Pollinator. Those years were about harnessing talent, sharpening skills, building a client base – the unglamorous but necessary work of turning creativity into sustainability.

It wasn't until last year, when I finally felt safe enough to shift from surviving to thriving, that I could hear that old dream calling again. In the midst of helping others build their brand worlds, I started wondering about my own world. What happens after you find your professional magic? What does it mean to build a life that's as intentional as the brands we create?

The answer came last October, in Mallorca.

Standing on those cliffs where mountains meet Mediterranean, everything clicked into place. The dream that had been planted in my twenty-two-year-old heart hadn't died – it had been growing quietly all along, waiting for me to be ready. Every client I helped find clarity, every brand world I helped build, every skill I mastered was preparing me for this moment of recognition: Spain wasn't just a place I'd visited once; it was a future waiting to be claimed.

But where exactly would this future take root? The answer revealed itself in an unexpected moment last week, during a late-night conversation with ChatGPT (yes, my little robot friend has become quite the muse). As we stumbled into a discussion about Barcelona's intellectual scene, something crystallized in my heart. My little robot painted pictures of literary clubs tucked away in Gothic Quarter corners, philosophical lunch gatherings where ideas flow as freely as wine, and theatres that transform into impromptu art history lectures. Here was the missing piece – not just a place to live, but a community to thrive in.

It made perfect sense. Barcelona, with its modernist dreams and artistic soul, has always been a crucible of creativity. Gaudí didn't just build buildings; he reimagined what architecture could be. Picasso didn't just paint here; he revolutionized how we see the world. The city has a way of making impossible dreams feel not just possible but inevitable. It's a place where creativity isn't just appreciated – it's woven into the very fabric of daily life, where late-night discussions about art aren't an exception, they're the rule.

That's what I'm claiming now – not just a second home, but a second chance at that initial magic I felt at twenty-two. A life split between Toronto's grounding energy and Spain's creative spirit. A world where Casa Saqi gatherings happen under Mediterranean stars, where conversations about Fellini films stretch into dawn, where a simple dinner becomes a salon of ideas. Where client transformations unfold in rooms with hydraulic tiles and stories in their walls, where every morning brings that particular quality of light that makes you believe in magic.

This isn't just about having a place to escape to. It's about creating a life that doesn't require escape – a world that holds both my professional passion for helping others bloom and my personal dream of blooming myself. Sometimes the golden thread leads us in circles, not because we're lost, but because we need to spiral back to our most essential truths. Spain has been waiting patiently in my heart for a decade, teaching me that the best dreams don't shout; they whisper, they wait, they grow stronger in the silence.

With warmth and anticipation,

P.S. Next week, I'll share the practical magic of making this dream real – the plans, the preparations, and yes, even the fears. Because building a life between worlds isn't just about the romance; it's about the courage to turn whispered dreams into lived reality.