Spanish Deal – There Are No Shortcuts
The ever-changing landscape outside the window feels like a theater show where the flood of characters and views flashes by too quickly to grasp who the people I see from my train seat to Poland really are. Coming back from work after two weeks, this feels like the perfect moment to rewind a few months and reflect on a story I was part of—one that turned out very different than initially expected.
This year has been a turning point in many areas of my life. It’s exposed long-standing mental patterns that shaped my behavior over the years. The more I contemplate who I am—and who I no longer want to be—the clearer my path becomes toward who I want to become.
An inseparable part of the process of becoming—and of creating one’s own reality—is the act of exposing oneself and taking a critical look at the decisions for which we bear full responsibility. In my case, self-criticism outweighs any external judgment of my actions, which effectively subjected me to several months of a mental test, as well as an observation of the level at which I make decisions crucial to my life.
In my previous piece, I focused on intuition and its nuances. I also mentioned that intuition doesn't always lead to pleasant places—and it’s in those moments that our focus should turn inward. Why did we create the circumstances we’re now in? What part of our inner world does the present moment reflect?
That’s exactly the lens I applied to my story of moving to Spain—and what that move brought with it. That’s what I want to share today.
By way of a brief reminder, at the end of April this year I moved to Spain at the invitation of a friend, to start a project aimed at building a space for organizing all kinds of events. On the southeastern coast, about seventy kilometers south of Alicante, lies the town of Torrevieja. Near which we planned to launch a venture that would offer us peace, financial freedom, and the beautiful surroundings of the Spanish landscape. The place we chose for this endeavor was a finca (a type of rural estate in Spanish terms), surrounded by orange and lemon groves—a perfect retreat from any trace of urban noise.
My arrival in Spain was preceded by weeks of preparation and a beautiful solo journey across Europe, during which I mentally prepared myself for what was about to unfold. The emotional euphoria leading up to my arrival gave me a strong surge of energy, allowing me to dive into work at full speed from the very first days in my new home. With a clear plan in mind, I was able to begin taking action in my own way—fully committed and completely immersed in what I was doing.
To help you understand the context, I’ll explain what we were planning and what my role was.
My first time stepping through the gate of what was meant to become our future place of abundance brought neither euphoria nor deep analysis. It was only by being there in person that I realized the true extent of the work required before we could even earn a single cent from this place.
Imagine a property left unattended for several years, with no plan for development—just piles of rubble and garbage scattered randomly. In one corner of the land, a few old but rather cool cars were slowly being overtaken by vegetation, accompanied by two half-built structures that stood as evidence of wasted resources and a complete lack of technical foresight. The way they were constructed made it almost certain they would collapse on their own one day.
However, the vastness of the land—around 6,000 square meters—offered a glimpse of hope. The more accessible parts, once properly cared for, seemed to hold real potential for the kind of project we had envisioned.
Our home was a quirky setup: a flat concrete house with a wooden Alpine cabin placed on top—apparently shipped from Austria two decades ago. After a few conversations with Andy, who invited me, I had a better picture of what we’d been discussing on the phone for weeks. The deal was simple: he had access to the land through a connection with the owner, I had the energy and technical skills to execute the vision. He knew the Spanish market and the area. Since I was focused on the work, I didn’t check into legal or logistical red flags.
After assessing the full situation during those first few days, I immediately got to work—the kind of work known as “starting from the ground up.” A wheelbarrow, shovel, and rake became my tools in the battle against years of neglect on this patch of Spanish land.
From this point, it's worth noting one very important aspect of our living situation there. Even before my arrival, I was informed by Andy that, at the time, there was no electricity on the property. During the period of disuse, the power supply had been disconnected by the utility company. This issue had already been reported a few weeks prior to my arrival, and according to the arrangements, the electricity was supposed to be restored any day.
However, once I arrived, it turned out there was still no power. I explained it to myself as just another example of the Spanish work style and the typical sluggishness of those responsible. I accepted the situation calmly, and during the first days, I found some charm in candlelight after dark and cold water in the shower.
The fact that the star-filled sky in complete darkness was an incredibly beautiful experience for me was, unfortunately, somewhat overshadowed by the inability to prepare meals or store food in a fridge. Still hopeful that the issue would be resolved any day and that we could finally move forward with our plans, I focused on what I could control—spending my days clearing debris from the property, cutting down tall grass, and tidying up what was within reach.
The lack of electricity also significantly increased our living expenses, as we were forced to eat out at least once a day. Given the current euro exchange rate, this was far from cheap for me, converting from Polish złoty.
But despite the inconveniences, I pushed forward each day, filling any free moments with time spent by the turquoise waters of the eastern coast. This rhythm lasted for the first two weeks. Gradually, however, as each day without electricity passed, doubts and a more critical analysis of the situation began to creep into my mind, slowly replacing the initial emotional euphoria.
Every time Andy and I discussed the issue, we kept coming to the same conclusion—that it was only a matter of time before those responsible would fulfill their obligations, and our finca would finally light up, granting us the green light to move forward with the project.
Two weeks in, I flew off for professional gigs in the UK and Germany. I stayed in contact with Andy, waiting for news that the power was finally back.
No such luck.
Imagine my surprise when, upon returning to Spain, I found everything exactly as it had been before I left. This time, I took more time to reflect on what was really happening around me and to ask more specific questions about why the situation remained unchanged. Andy and I were in it together—we both felt the same discomfort and shared the same confusion.
Conversations with the property owner led nowhere, as he insisted that the issue had been reported long ago and claimed to have no idea why it was taking so long to resolve.
During my next stay on-site, frustration over the situation turned into genuine anger and growing doubt about the success of our joint venture. To my relief, about a week later I took on another job and flew back to Germany, then to Poland, as I was involved in organizing a festival I truly cared about. This gave me a chance to catch my breath, step away from the bizarre circumstances, and focus more clearly on what was actually happening.
In the meantime, my ongoing communication with Andy brought nothing new—only a deepening sense of stagnation and emotional disappointment on both sides.
I told myself that the upcoming weeks in Romania, where I had another job lined up, would be the time to decide what to do next.
This time, I’ll go into a bit more detail, as I’ve only just finished outlining the context of my stay in Spain—which was really just the backdrop for what was happening in my life during that period, and the lessons it held. While still in my usual rhythm of traveling across Europe for work, I found myself soaking up the sun on the shores of the Black Sea in the Romanian city of Constanța, spending my days helping to build one of the summer music festivals. It gave me time to redirect my focus and gain some distance from everything that had happened so far.
Just as I had intuitively decided to move to Spain, I now felt with equal clarity that the plan no longer made sense. I began to let go of my expectations—and received confirmation from that sunny country, where Andy was still trying to fight the situation. It turned out that electricity wouldn’t be coming back at the speed of light—or even at a snail’s pace. The property was in debt to the tune of several thousand euros, and after Andy’s inquiries, the power company gave a clear response regarding the state of things. The property owner turned out to be a fraud, and for reasons beyond our understanding, he had never informed us that he hadn’t paid the electricity bills for several years. That was the real reason the power had been cut off.
Andy was in a tough spot—he had invested in the entire project based on the promises of a man who turned out to be dishonest. I, on the other hand, had invested based on Andy’s assurances, convinced as he was about the eventual success of the whole venture. I was in a slightly better position because I had alternatives and knew I could afford to take the risk that came with the plan. Andy stayed on site, but once the truth came to light, the owner decided to take legal action to evict his now unwanted tenant and threatened legal consequences if the property wasn’t vacated.
A few weeks later, my Spanish friend received an official letter from a law firm demanding the immediate evacuation of the premises—otherwise, legal measures would be taken. The letter referred to the property (and this part is important) as a “Finca de Rústico”, which clearly indicated its legal status as an agricultural plot. According to Spanish law, the only events that can legally be held on such land are small private gatherings—something along the lines of a child’s communion party—but definitely not large-scale, ticketed events for hundreds of people.
That was exactly how I received a clear and definitive answer about the course of action I needed to take moving forward.
I informed Andy that I was withdrawing from the plan, as well as from searching for any alternative ventures together in Spain. I simply had no need to force a new life for myself in another country. At the end of August, after completing my last major project in Romania, I flew with my partner back to the land of oranges to pick up my belongings.
Andy picked us up from the airport in my car, which had remained there during my absence. We talked about the current situation, and I have to admit with some sadness that it had taken a real toll on him. His life had become seriously complicated over the course of those few months. He had invested a lot in this plan and, unlike me, didn’t have a backup option. It wasn’t easy to witness—but at the same time, there was no point in crying over it together.
We packed the car with all my belongings and began our journey back to Poland. That’s when the real adventure started—a journey my partner and I truly needed.
Now let me share what this chapter taught me.
At this point, it’s time to lay bare what I learned about myself through this experience. Even before the idea of going to Spain appeared in my life, everything around me already felt a bit off. After our trip to Central America, we came back without a clear plan. It was hard for us to communicate, and I ended up staying with my parents for a while—falling back into old conflicts with my father. I didn’t have a job and wasn’t really interested in staying in Poland. Gonia was in London for work, and our connection started to fade.
The multilayered uncertainty of the present moment, along with the demands it brought, significantly drained my energy and motivation to take action. I felt completely stuck—until the Spanish deal proposal appeared on the horizon. In the meantime, some personal events had strongly discouraged me from staying in Warsaw.
From this point, I ask myself why my logic didn’t function the way it should have back then. The answer is simple: at that moment, I just wanted change. I wanted to dive into something new that would allow me to grow on different levels—somewhere my relationship could also find more stable ground to flourish. And yes, I admit to myself that I created this whole idea in my mind as my new direction for growth, despite lacking the knowledge, resources, or mental tools necessary to actually start building it in reality.
So when Andy called with the proposal I described, there was no turning back. In my mind, the plan was already a success—I was already a co-creator of an event project, already earning as a manager, with the Spanish sun overhead, my partner beside me, and a new environment surrounding me, living right where I’d be building something new.
Maybe it was a lapse in logic not to verify the things that eventually ruined it. I made bold moves in my usual style, based on someone else’s promises—even though he was a good friend. But he, too, was capable of making mistakes, and I simply, in my own way, became part of them.
So yes, I walked into it eyes half-shut. And yes, my intuition led me into a dead-end. But that same intuition gave me the lesson I needed.
I wanted stability—both in my environment and in a new way of earning money—without changing what I carried inside me: the inner program of a professional worker, shaped long ago, who sells his time to different companies and is constantly on the road. But realizing that took me the past few months, along with working through my emotions and the self-criticism that surfaced within me.
At the same time, knowing I had become part of Andy’s personal downturn, I decided to focus on myself—to understand. To understand my own behavior and the level at which I make decisions that matter to me.
I understood I’d tried to shortcut my way to a new identity—and the universe responded with a firm “not yet.”
To this day, I still don’t understand what motivated the owner of the property in Spain to withhold the facts he did—or what he hoped to gain from it. It’s one of those situations where the full truth may never come to light. But from where I stand now, it no longer matters. The disappointment has long passed, and through these events, I’ve had the chance to understand what truly matters to me—how I want to act, and what I want to nourish my being with.
Gonia and I turned the journey home into a healing road trip. We crossed the Alps, marveled at stunning routes, and visited incredible places. It gave us hours of conversation and introspection—space to reconnect and reflect on everything we’d been through.
A transformation took place—not only of the Spanish land, but also of how I see myself. I now know the kind of man, partner, brother, and human being I want to be for the world I help shape.
I know that my work is a powerful tool for changing my life and giving it new colors—fresh and different from what came before. The power of creation is immense, if only we choose to believe in it—and I have. So now I’m setting new directions and scaling my professional skills, pushing past my own limits of achievement and opening myself even more to the world.
I used to criticize my “worker identity” as nothing more than trading my time—a precious currency—for money dictated by the market. But I also see within it my full commitment and the strength of my actions. If I manage to redirect those skills and that focus toward my personal growth and contribution to the world, I know I’ll achieve everything I want—and not just on the material level.
Despite the surface-level failure, the loss of several thousand złoty, and investing myself in something that didn’t bring the expected results, on a deep and fundamental level, this is my personal success. I’ve learned to take full responsibility for the events that happen in my life.
Of course, I could blame external circumstances or hold Andy accountable for wasting my time and money based on promises of a joint project—but I know what this became for me. I know that he suffered even more than I did, and that none of it was directed at me personally or intended to deceive me.
I found myself in circumstances that, admittedly, had a lot of logical and logistical shortcomings—but they were mine. And it was my own decisions that led me there.
I congratulate myself on this entire journey—both internal and external—that I’ve gone through. Thanks to it, I’ve tangibly felt the power of my own creation, and now I set new goals that lie beyond the reach of my current mind, so that in time they can become my new everyday reality.
The greatest lesson I’ve taken from this entire experience is the importance of being mindful of what comes my way and reflecting on why certain events unfold the way they do. My inner strength and independence allowed me to move through it all unscathed, fully aware of what it came to mean for me. The multi-layered nature of this situation gave me clear confirmation of something I realized some time ago—namely, that more important than what we do is why we do it.
Are we making our own choices? Or letting others make them for us?
The structure of today’s world is filled to the brim with people living under someone else’s command—being told what to think, what to do, and how to live—in exchange for the illusion of a stable version of reality, which is merely a narrow fragment of a greater whole, invisible to the naked eye.
This topic reminded me of a situation from a few years ago. While touring Europe with a theatre production, during one of the rehearsals, a ballet dancer—an incredibly skilled performer—was sitting at the edge of the stage in tears, while others continued practicing. I walked up to her and asked what was wrong, why she was crying. She told me that she hated ballet and had been training for seventeen years only because her mother, a ballet teacher, had chosen this path for her. After every performance, her dancing would receive standing ovations, and yet from the audience's perspective, it was impossible to see what lay beneath the surface of sacrifice and professional excellence.
That context is what matters most—understanding why we do what we do and what truly lies at the foundation of our actions. The mistakes we make on our own will teach us far more than the protective umbrella created by others around us, whose opinions we often care about far too much.
The power to create a reality in which we move on our own terms begins the moment we invite failure into our path of self-determination and the kind of success we want to truly feel—not just define by someone else’s standards. I wish for everyone to open their eyes and let go of the fear of taking action just because something might not work out. It’s in those moments of emotional grief that we have the greatest opportunity to learn—transforming that energy into our strength.
Let’s find the answer to our own “why,” and then, in alignment with our inner truth, venture boldly where comfort isn’t guaranteed—so that we may one day feel the euphoria of arriving somewhere on our own, self-created terms.
I exposed to myself—and to those who will read this—what usually remains unseen. And I know it was the result of my own actions that led me there, just as it was that same force that eventually brought me to a place of understanding why it all came my way.
P.S. If reading this text stirs your thoughts or if any part of it resonates with you, please write me even just a short message. It will let me know that the reach of my writing extends farther than I could ever notice on my own.
