Diary Entry: A Coruña, Spain – Day 4

Gray Skies

Gray Skies & Quiet Spaces

I woke up to a world wrapped in gray. The marina, usually alive with glimmers of sunlight bouncing off the water, felt muted, still. The sky, heavy with thick clouds, mirrored the weight in my chest—silent, unmoving, pressing down just enough to make me feel small.

It was the kind of morning that asked nothing of me, and for that, I was grateful. No rush to explore, no need to fill the hours with activity. Just stillness. A pause. A day to sit with myself, whether I wanted to or not.

I made coffee and watched the steam curl into the cool cabin air. Even the cats seemed subdued, curling into warm little heaps beside me, their quiet presence a comfort. I thought about going for a walk, about forcing myself into motion, but the truth is, I didn’t want to. Today wasn’t for movement. Today was for allowing.

So, I let myself sink into the solitude.

A Day for Feeling, or Not

I have faith that these gray days pass—that eventually, the clouds break, the light returns, and so does the lightness in me. But today, I wasn’t looking for silver linings. I wasn’t searching for distractions or forcing gratitude. Today, I simply let the weight be what it was.

I read for a while, but the words blurred. I listened to music, but every song felt like a reflection of something I wasn’t quite ready to face. I stared out at the water, watching the tide shift in slow, deliberate movements, and thought about nothing and everything all at once.

Grief is funny that way. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t care where you are, what plans you had, or that you wanted this to be a travel journal about adventure. It just arrives, unannounced, and makes itself comfortable until it's ready to leave.

This Too Shall Pass

By late afternoon, the clouds stretched a little thinner, not quite breaking, but hinting that they wouldn’t stay forever. The air smelled of salt and damp earth, the kind of scent that reminds you storms are temporary.

I made tea. I wrote a little. I let myself exist in this quiet, heavy space without rushing to change it. Because that’s part of the journey too, isn’t it? Not just the dazzling new places or the carefree moments, but the days that remind us we are human. That healing isn’t linear. That some days, the best thing we can do is simply let ourselves be.

And so, that’s what today was. A day of gray skies, of solitude, of quiet acceptance. Tomorrow, the clouds may break. Or maybe they won’t. Either way, I’ll be here, riding the waves as they come.