The Journey of Andrew: Our Big Move to Spain
Hi, I’m Andrew. You know, Jasmine’s better half. Soccer coach, gamer, health enthusiast, loud, Greek, Batman fan—yep, that's me. Now that I’ve introduced myself like it’s my dating profile, let me take you through my experience of our huge move to Spain.
Have you ever felt like the world around you doesn’t feel real? Like you can see it, smell it, and touch it, but it just doesn’t resonate? That’s how I’ve felt about Australia. It’s beautiful, no doubt—the place where I grew up, met my wife—but it just never felt like my place, you know?
I grew up with my mother, grandmother, and grandfather. Raised like a traditional Greek—with a modern spiritual twist, thanks to my mum. While my grandmother was more orthodox, my mum brought in crystals, zodiac signs, and Greek mythology. My dad was in and out of the picture. He was 43 years older than me, 17 years older than my mum, and his worldview was closer to my grandparents’ than hers. So, I was constantly juggling different ideologies—orthodox religion, spiritual exploration, and my dad’s separate worldview. It’s no surprise I never quite felt grounded.
The real change happened last year.
“Honey, I’m not taking sleeping tablets. When I fall asleep, I’ll fall asleep.”
“Andrew, you need to take them, or you’ll have jet lag!”
Jasmine, myself, and our two best friends had planned a six-week trip overseas, hitting six different countries. Before this, I’d never left Australia, except to visit a couple of states, and my only travel aspiration was the US. But thanks to Jasmine’s sense of adventure and endless spreadsheets, off we went to Europe. A 24-hour flight with a 4-hour layover in Doha, and I slept for 40 minutes total.
We travelled to Scotland, Ireland, the Netherlands, Greece, and ended in Bali. (Side note: if you ever need a perfectly planned trip, trust Jasmine!) But something shifted in the Netherlands—driving on the other side of the road, of all things. That’s when everything started to feel real. I didn’t feel like I had to fit into a mould, I didn’t feel judged. I realised that in Australia, I’d been living for others’ expectations. The moment I stopped caring about fitting in, I started living.
Now, you might be thinking, “Driving on the other side of the road, that’s what did it?” Well, it wasn’t just that. It was coming back to Australia afterwards, getting off the plane, and immediately feeling the weight of consumerism and unhappiness. People seemed rude, worn down, compared to Bali where happiness seemed like a choice people made every day, despite whatever struggles they faced.
That’s when I realised: Australia isn’t Australia anymore. The opportunity my mother’s generation had—owning a home, building a life—feels out of reach now. For my generation, it’s more about renting, never quite owning. The Australia my grandfather came to in the 1950s with nothing but hope on a boat doesn’t feel like the Australia I’m living in now. And if he could make that leap with no money and no wife, why wouldn’t I take the same leap—with my wife and the means to do it comfortably?
I’m choosing happiness, and that’s why Australia doesn’t feel real to me anymore. Yes, every country has its problems. And yes, Australia is massive and beautiful, full of opportunity for so many. But we’ve done all we wanted here. Now, we’re ready for a new chapter in Spain, where I feel more alive, more connected.
As I say to everyone who asks me why we’re doing this: “My grandfather came to Australia with nothing but hope. Why wouldn’t I leave with everything I’ve built, on a plane with my wife, chasing my own happiness?”
Catch you in Spain.
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