It's a bright morning in September. I'm covered in sweat. There's a receptionist yelling at me in Spanish at far too fast of a pace for me to comprehend.
I wasn't planning on oversleeping and stumbling into orientation 45 minutes late, but jet lag after a sleepless flight — compounded with taking the metro 20 minutes in the wrong direction — isn't exactly conducive to punctuality.
Since my arrival in Barcelona, I've substantially acclimated to my new Catalonian surroundings. I don't get lost on the metro anymore. I've learned that being 45 minutes late in Spain is synonymous with being 15 minutes early.
Even though the throes of jet lag left me after a couple of days, another temporal issue lingered. It seemed, by some paranormal twist of physics, that the 24 hours across Europe were fundamentally different from the 24 hours I experienced in the States.
And now that I've drunk the proverbial Kool-Aid from across the proverbial pond, I don't have any desire to go back.
The average 24 hours in American postgraduate life revolves around work. Wake up, get ready, head to the nine-to-five ... and the day's effectively over. The "five-to-nine after my nine-to-five" genre on TikTok offers a treasure trove of homeostatic upkeep recommendations after a long day at the office.
As aesthetically pleasing, well-shot and efficient the five-to-nine videos are (and truly, there is nothing wrong with enjoying a mellow night in), the repeated, monotonous nature of this content seeks to glorify isolationism.
In these vignettes of postgraduate life, there is no mention of community — that's a luxury reserved for the weekends or corporate-sanctioned happy hours. There is no laughter. Most subjects in these videos seldom flash a smile, their faces contorted in a depressively corporate stare.
By contrast, the European day starts once you clock out.
Whether you're a merchant, salaryman or student, we're all calling our friends to meet at a cafe as soon as possible. After some tapas and a glass or two of sangria, we remain outside — together — for hours, laughing, exploring the city and taking in those warm, yellow street lights.
Through all this, I manage to keep my alone time with morning walks, lifts and reading at the library.
Time dilates. Barcelona's architecture is detailed. The streets are meant for the pedestrian. Open spaces and patios packed with locals and visitors alike pop up on nearly every corner. The very city is tailored for you to actively observe your surroundings.
Barcelona boasts an allergy to isolationism — my neighbors often join me and my host mom for lunch. The Spanish table remains replete with conversación y croquetas, a rarity in Suburbia.
In this dark cloud of American isolationism, there remains a silver lining — university. College students do a great job of staying connected after classes. Whether it be clubs (at school or on Mill Avenue), pickup basketball at the Sun Devil Fitness Complex, or the all-too-familiar 2 a.m. Taco Bell run, we're always trying to preserve our network.
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It certainly helps that the institution of university is designed to not just enable, but also to facilitate and bolster interpersonal relationships.
But this trend doesn't persist through postgraduate life. We don't get to live like this forever.
I don't dread walking the graduation stage for the workload I plan to face as an attorney in the grown-up world. I dread turning my tassel as it signifies my entry to a reality in which the very ability to participate in a community has become the exception rather than the rule.
If the "rise and grind" culture purported by the American workplace translated to concrete economic success, there'd be little reason to offer any critique. But the supposed solitude-induced benefits have yet to trickle down.
Over the last four decades, worker productivity soared while wages stagnated. The middle class shrinks while the wealth gap skyrockets. Home ownership becomes a thing of the past as more and more can only afford to rent.
While America maintains a harsh dichotomy between the collegiate and postgraduate daily regimens, Europe seamlessly reconciles many prosocial college aspects with adulthood responsibilities.
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I could do both — work and live in a culture that prioritizes the importance of human connection. These two concepts need not be mutually exclusive.
The country prides itself on the well-being of the citizen, not the bottom line of the corporation. I can't wholeheartedly say that reality is mirrored in the States.
The purpose of studying abroad is to grow tolerant, to live in a foreign country for eight months and come back a more worldly individual. Despite experiencing more and more of Barcelona's "altered" 24-hour cycles, I've paradoxically grown further intolerant, but only toward my home country's downward spiral to detachment.
The loudness flowing through Barcelona's streets means far more than pub patrons enjoying themselves. It is an affirmation of camaraderie, a rejection of isolationism and a vocalized effort to move.
America has grown too quiet. In this overwhelming silence, it's long overdue to resume raising our voices. It is the responsibility of the community — not the corporation — to turn the volume up and push for a better way of life.
Edited by Kasturi Tale, Senna James and Ellis Preston.
Reach the reporter at stroeste@asu.edu and follow @samtroester on X.
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Sam is a junior studying political science with a minor in business. This is his second semester with The State Press.
