Slippers in Germany, Twin Beds, and a Lesson in Letting Go- Spain & Morocco Part 1
I recently went on a trip to Spain and Morocco that turned out to be one of the hardest experiences I’ve had in a long time. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing the lessons and stories that came out of it. My intent is not to rehash the drama, but to explore the human experience when life doesn’t go the way we planned.
Sometimes the most beautiful growth hides inside the messiest moments.
These posts will be written in a more personal, I/Me storytelling style, but no matter where you live, where you’ve traveled, or what you’re walking through right now, I think you’ll find a piece of your own story in mine.
They’ll be a bit longer than usual, but don’t worry, here is the link to the audio version if you’d rather listen.
The tightness in my chest is telling me that something is off. But what? Should I not go on this trip?
It’s rare that I dismiss my intuition, but my Uber to the airport will be here in a few minutes, so I don’t have time to interpret what is happening, especially since I can’t not go at this point, and I don’t want to know if something bad is going to happen. I remind myself of my intention for this trip:
I am open to receiving.
This trip is special because Spain and Morocco have been on my travel bucket list since the early 2000s. I loved watching Rick Steves Travels Europe, and my favorite episode was when he went to Spain and crossed the Straight of Gibraltar by ferry to Morocco.
At the time, I was almost fluent in Spanish and dreamed of going to Spain and practicing in the wild. And this began my fascination with Morocco. Many years later, I learned through a DNA test that I am twelve percent Moroccan. When the opportunity came up to go on a surf retreat in Morocco, I jumped on it, especially since I had been on other retreats from the group before and learned a lot. I have even planned to take the ferry from Spain to Morocco.
The twenty-four-hour voyage with three legs- Honolulu to San Francisco, San Francisco to Germany, and Germany to Spain- to my first destination of Mallorca, Spain, seems daunting, but I have braced myself for the adventure.
“Please grab your belongings and deplane the aircraft,” a flight attendant announces.
What the hell?
We have just finished boarding my flight in San Francisco en route to Germany, so I am confused as to why we are suddenly being asked to leave. As we deplane, I overhear a flight attendant say, “We do NOT want to take this aircraft.”
Okay, so it’s a mechanical issue.
This is the only time I don’t mind United incessantly texting updates. They have texted us meal vouchers for the airport and have already identified a new plane for us, which will be here in two hours. Before grabbing some food, I overhear one of the other passengers talking about why we had to deplane, but I can’t make out the whole story. I’m nosey as shit and dying to know, so I ask, “Excuse me, what was the reason for getting a new plane?”
“The baggage guys crashed their cart into the plane.”
Are you kidding me?
I can feel the irritation rise, but at least we are all safe on the ground, and our new plane will be landing soon. I’m not going to let this ruin my bucket list destination trip vibes. However, I am slightly nervous because I only have an hour and a half layover in Germany, so I may miss my flight to Spain.
Oh well, I’ll worry about that when I get there.
In the women’s bathrooms at SFO, there are signs on the stall titled, “Are you OK?” There is a message about sex trafficking, but I can’t stop looking at the question. I used to unravel at any hint of uncertainty emotionally, but that’s not who I am anymore.
I’m OK. Everything is going to be OK. It’s just a minor disruption.
As we deplane in Frankfurt, Germany, at 4:30 pm, which is the same time my flight to Spain is leaving, a flight attendant announces, “If you had a connecting flight, please proceed to Gate Z18 to receive your new flight assignment.”
Luckily, the line at Gate Z18 is short and turning over quickly. I just want to get my new boarding pass and get on with my day.
I approach the counter when it’s my turn. “Hi!” I say to the lady who seems all organized with a stack of boarding passes in front of her.
“Hi! What is your name and next destination?”
“Angie Hawkins. Mallorca, Spain.”
“Oh… yes…” she says with familiarity while rifling through the boarding passes.
“This doesn’t sound like it’s going to be good news.”
She smiles half-heartedly as she locates a stack of vouchers that apparently belong to me. “The next flight out isn’t until tomorrow at 10:10 am.”
My stomach drops. I only had a day and a half in Spain to begin with. I don’t want to be a Karen and take out my frustration on the messenger, so I return her half-hearted smile as she hands me my hotel voucher, food vouchers, and my new boarding pass for tomorrow.
It’s OK. I’m not going to let this ruin my vacation. I can handle an unexpected adventure. I’m OK.
Fortunately, I don’t need a visa to leave the airport. The Sheraton is right next to the airport, but I have to walk outside to get there. This wouldn’t be an issue if it weren’t 50 degrees Fahrenheit and raining, as I’m wearing slippers (what we call flip-flops in Hawaii) because I wasn’t expecting this cold-weather layover. All the signs are in German, but I am confident I will be able to find the Sheraton.
I can’t find the Sheraton. The anxiety rises in my chest as I open my phone to Google Maps. It says it’s across the street, but there is a bunch of construction bullshit blocking my way. Now irritated, I backtrack along where I just walked from to see if there is an unobstructed section to cross over. There is not, but I am noticing that the only cars in the adjacent parking lot are Porsche, Audi, BMW, Mercedes, and Volkswagen. As the owner of a VW Eos, being in German automobile territory makes me happy. But my feet are freezing, and I need to find the hotel ASAP.
I see a man dressed in airport security garb ahead. I am afraid he doesn’t speak English, but I have to try so I can get out of the cold and rain. “Excuse me, can you please tell me how to get to the Sheraton?”
“Of course! Just walk up a little further and then cut over.”
The “little further” he is referring to is back to where I came from, which means I walked all this way in the cold for nothing. But I’m happy he speaks English, and I know where I am going now. “Thank you!”
After checking in and dropping off my bags in my room, I eat dinner in the hotel restaurant that is stereotypically German in a way that seems exaggerated, unless this is truly how most restaurants are in Germany. Technically, I have left the airport, but this hotel and restaurant still have a commercial, token airport vibe.
Everyone else in the restaurant is laughing and seemingly having an upbeat dinner, but I feel numb. There is a part of me that wants to wallow in self-pity that this trip is not getting off to a good start, but I don’t want to set a negative tone so early into the trip, so I stuff down the disappointment and try to embrace Germany, which is hard because I want to be in Spain.
It's not so bad. It could be worse.
Interestingly enough, the last time I went to Europe was to Italy in 1997. Our plane had mechanical problems, and we had to wait twenty-four hours for a new flight, so we stayed at the Hilton at O’Hare. This feels eerily familiar.
Maybe I am just not meant to travel to Europe.
When I checked into the Sheraton, I didn’t even think about upgrading my room. I already took a shower, and I am too tired to deal with it now. The basic room that United provided is a small, basic room with two twin beds that I can’t push together because the frames are affixed to the floor. I have twin bed trauma because my mom’s guest room has a twin bed, and every time I visited her, her house was freezing, and I had to sleep in a tiny, uncomfortable twin bed in a physically and emotionally cold home.
I turned the heat up before getting into bed, but there is still a lingering chill in the air as I get into the tiny, uncomfortable twin bed. I don’t feel emotionally safe, but I know it’s my trauma talking, so I stuff my feelings down even more so I can get a good night’s sleep before moving on to Spain tomorrow.
Because I was so overwhelmed with information when the lady at Gate Z18 handed me my new boarding pass, I didn’t check the seat assignment.
Now, as I am walking down the aisle, trying to locate my seat, I see that my seat is in the middle. I can feel an anxiety attack coming on. I am claustrophobic and I need to sit in the aisle. I am going to lose my shit if I have to sit in the middle.
It’s only a two-hour flight. You already survived five- and eleven-hour flights. This is a walk in the park. You’re OK.
I stuff down the anxiety and pull out my Kindle. I am reading Debbie Gibson’s Eternally Electric, so I engross myself in the book to make the flight go faster. This is effective until about thirty minutes before landing, when I move my left arm and notice that there is a piece of gum on my armrest that my arm has been on the entire time.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Since I am already on the verge of an anxiety attack about the middle seat, I calmly clean the gum off my shirt sleeve, but all it’s doing is making me realize how relatable the viral airplane meltdowns are.
I can’t wait to get to the hotel.
And now that I’m at the hotel, I can’t wait to check out. They have a twenty-four-hour cancellation policy and have just informed me that I still have to pay for last night, when I was in Germany and not here.
“You can give the receipt to the airline. Maybe they will reimburse you,”
United doesn’t give a shit.
Since I have a flight at 7 am tomorrow morning, I want to make the most of my partial day in Spain. So, I do what any other island person would do on another island:
Go to the beach.
As I walk along the beach, I notice a lot of the women are sunbathing topless.
Ah, yes, I forgot this is a thing in Europe.
I have a strange urge to do it.
No, it’s way too risqué.
Nobody knows you here.
It’s weird.
It’s liberating!
Since my trip has gotten off to a rough start, it feels empowering to do something out of my comfort zone on my own terms. I find a spot on the beach to lie down and take off my top.
Holy shit, this feels amazing.
The best part is that it feels safe. In America, even if this were socially acceptable, at any given beach, there would be at least one creepy dude jacking off in a corner. But here, it’s just another day at the beach.
For the first time on this trip, I feel safe.
(To be continued in Part 2)
Glow Tip:
It’s OK to Not Be OK.
When you’ve spent a lifetime being the “strong one,” it’s easy to mistake emotional regulation for emotional suppression. You tell yourself you’re fine, push through the discomfort, and call it resilience, when really, it’s self-abandonment in disguise.
Growing up, when I felt disappointed, my mom’s go-to response was, “Other people have it worse,” or “At least you have ____.” My feelings were brushed aside with logic and gratitude, leaving no space to actually feel them. So I learned early that emotions were something to manage, not experience.
Here’s the truth: feeling your feelings doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.
Emotional regulation isn’t about avoiding your emotions. It’s about trusting that you can handle them without drowning in them. The more you let yourself feel, the faster the feeling moves through you.
Suppressing my disappointment and frustration did catch up to me (more of that in future posts), and it’s not surprising to see why.
So next time life throws you a delay, a disappointment, or a twin bed that feels like a test — pause, breathe, and remind yourself:
You can feel it and still be okay. That’s your glow.
Video Version: https://youtu.be/4bobutey2J0
Ready to Stop Performing and Start Glowing?
You’ve spent a lifetime being the strong one. But strength isn’t suppression. It’s feeling your feelings and trusting you won’t drown in them.
If you’re done mistaking resilience for self-abandonment…
If you’re craving a life where your worth isn’t up for debate…
If you’re ready to stop dimming your light and start living unapologetically…
Then it’s time to book your free Find Your Glow session.
👉https://www.runninginslippers.com/work-with-me
Inside, you’ll:
Get crystal clear on your confident, joy-filled self who leads with intuition and sets boundaries that feel like love.
Uncover the hidden blocks keeping you stuck in overthinking, people-pleasing, and self-doubt.
Leave feeling grounded, radiant, and ready to live from your truth
And if you’re ready to go deeper…
Join the Unshakable You- How Not to Give a Sh!t About What Anyone Thinks Live Zoom Masterclass:
Wednesday, November 12th 10am Hawaii Time | 2pm Central
Because when your confidence comes from within, no one can take it away.
👉 https://www.runninginslippers.com/masterclass
You’re allowed to feel.
You’re allowed to shine.
With love and fire,
Angie
