My Greatest Risk

The Leap Into the Unknown

When I boarded the plane leaving Santiago for Madrid, the emotional cocktail I carried was as complex as the best pisco sour. Equal parts excitement, fear, and a generous dash of self-doubt swirled in my chest. I was about to start a master’s program in Cultural Studies, leaving behind the familiar warmth of family dinners, the scent of my grandmother’s patio full of jasmine, and a steady career as a columnist. I’d taken risks before—sneaking into a quinceañera party in heels too high for dancing definitely counts—but this was different.

This time, the stakes were higher. My savings were modest, my Spanish visa was temporary, and my path forward looked murkier than a cup of over-steeped yerba maté. But I knew one thing for certain: staying put and wondering "what if?" would’ve been more unbearable.

Saying Goodbye to Expectations

Back home, I had ticked all the right boxes. A good job, a budding reputation as a writer, and that sense of stability Latin American families prize like Sunday asados. But stability has a way of turning into a cage, no matter how comfortable the cushion you’re sitting on.

On the outside, I had it all together. On the inside, I kept asking: is this it? How many meticulously edited columns would it take to feel fulfilled? How many second dates where I debated whether I’d be the one ordering a pisco sour or a gin and tonic? My life may have looked fine, but fine wasn’t enough. Fine is the relationship equivalent of two people watching Netflix on separate couches—pleasant but uninspired.

Madrid promised inspiration. With its art-laden streets, moody flamenco bars, and café con leche mornings, it offered the romance of reinvention. It also offered zero safety nets, which made its allure even stronger. There’s something intoxicating about not knowing what’s next—much like the first time you lock eyes with someone intriguing across the room.

Sink, Swim, or Tread Water

Here’s what they don’t tell you about chasing your dream: it’s not always Instagrammable. Madrid lived up to its soulful reputation, but my early days there were more survival mode than self-actualization. My tiny studio apartment smelled like mildew no matter how many vanilla candles I burned. During one particularly humbling moment at the grocery store, I found myself Googling “What is the cheapest vegetable?” (It’s cabbage, by the way).

Those months of adjustment were like the beginning of a slow-burning romance—awkward, uncomfortable, full of second-guessing. You wonder whether you’re doing it right, whether you’ll ever feel at home. But just like love, you don’t run the other way when things get hard. You stay, you grow, and you learn what you’re made of.

A Case for Risk

Within six months, the mildew apartment evolved into a cozy nook where I burned incense and played Mercedes Sosa on repeat. I found a community of international students who felt just as untethered—and just as alive—as I did. On the weekends, we wandered through bookstores with Spanish editions of Pablo Neruda stacked like treasure. One Tuesday evening, I struck up a conversation with a local artist at a gallery opening. We debated the meaning of abstraction and ended up on a spontaneous midnight walk through the city’s old quarter. Spoiler: it wasn’t a love story, but it was a story, and it added far more color to my life than predictability ever had.

Risk, I realized, doesn’t always pay off the way we think it will. There wasn’t one cinematic moment where I thought, “This is the reason I left.” Instead, the little intentional choices added up to something bigger: I was carving out a new version of myself, bold and curious, and untethered by convention. That was more meaningful than any one moment of courage.

Lessons From the Leap

If Santiago taught me how to write, Madrid taught me how to live with a wide-open heart, one that embraces uncertainty like an old friend. Here’s what I learned about taking risks—whether it’s moving across continents, starting over, or making that first move with someone who catches your eye:

  1. Discomfort Is the Price of Growth
    Feeling out of place or even incompetent is normal. Whether you’re learning a new language or figuring out if someone likes you back, the only way to become fluent is to fumble—and keep going.

  2. Your Worst-Case Scenario Is Rarely That Bad
    Yes, my savings dwindled, and yes, a part of me worried I’d return home with nothing to show but some questionable euros spent on churros. But even if I had, I would’ve been richer for the stories, the perspectives, the mental and emotional stretch.

  3. Every Step Toward Vulnerability Counts
    Taking a leap doesn’t always need to be across an ocean—and it’s not just geographic risks that matter. Putting yourself out there in small, vulnerable ways (like sharing your poetry at an open mic or finally expressing your feelings to someone you’ve been texting) can shift your life in subtle but profound ways.

The Empowerment of the "What If"

Heading back to Santiago later—older, slightly wiser, and fully caffeinated—I had no regrets. Madrid didn’t change me overnight; it sparked a curiosity in me that kept growing long after my visa expired. I’ve taken smaller, quieter risks since then: starting to write fiction, trying my hand at salsa dancing (no poet has ever looked graceful on a dance floor), or opening my heart where I once would have closed it.

Risk is a funny thing. You imagine it’ll look like a dramatic movie montage, but most of the time, it’s a series of quiet choices. I won’t romanticize it—it’s messy and terrifying, like getting caught in a rainstorm in heels you probably shouldn’t have worn in the first place. But when you risk something meaningful, it reminds you of why you’re alive. It unearths the part of you that’s curious, resilient, and willing to bet on yourself again and again.

So, whether your leap looks like hopping on a plane or simply letting yourself hope for more, take it. Because the beauty of risks isn’t just where they take you—it’s who they make you along the way. Life happens in the unknown.