My journey and the crossroads that led me to Iberian shores…
I was raised amidst the buzzing streets of Boston. High school was a breeze, but the concept of diving into further academic endeavors never struck a chord with me. My calling was clear: entrepreneurship. Multiple ventures saw the light of day, though many vanished into the darkness just as quickly. But, as they say, perseverance pays off. As the mid-90s approached, one venture clicked, and life began to look up for a bloke in his early twenties.
Then, one evening, an unexpected letter slid under my apartment door. The neighboring tenant, a jazz musician with nimble fingers, had a bone to pick – quite literally. He claimed to have tripped over a loose tile in the hallway (for which I was unfairly blamed due to a previous complaint I’d made) and fractured his wrist. The musician’s ability to play was at stake. The blame was placed squarely on my shoulders. The looming threat of legal action hung in the air, and I braced for the storm.
The following weeks were a whirlwind of legal jargon and mounting stress. Looking for an escape and a fresh start, my eyes wandered to the enchanting lands of Spain. A small town in Andalusia caught my fancy, and I envisioned a life amidst olive groves and flamenco tunes. But just as I was about to embark on my new journey, an olive branch was extended. The musician reached a settlement with the building’s management, clearing me of any financial obligations.
However, the wheels were already in motion. I had liquidated my assets, bade farewell to the city I called home, and dreamt of paellas under the Andalusian sun. So, in a leap of faith, I boarded that flight. And while the years have seen me shuttle between the U.S. and Spain, the heart remains forever tethered to those Iberian shores.
-Dennis S. Edwards