I’m a name-dropper here in Málaga. A couple of months ago, I tagged along with my friend Fiona to a book discussion group where everyone described a book they’d read recently. The mention of one book generated mentions of others and at some point, Viet Thanh Nguyen’s book The Sympathizer came up. It’s one of Fiona’s favorite books. “Oh, he’s a friend of mine,” I said of Viet. Okay, it’s not as if I’m in his social circle. But I did meet him at Bread Loaf in 2008, and we subsequently became connected on social media where he on occasion has liked or commented on my posts. So, I shortened this qualifying statement in the interest of time and ego to “friend.”

In October in Madrid, I was on a literary walking tour with other members of the European Writers Salon, and we stopped in at the English-language bookstore The Secret Kingdoms. As we passed a display table, I spotted the UK version of Monsters by Claire Dederer. I said aloud, “Oh, there’s Claire’s book.”

Katharine, one of the EWS associate directors, stopped suddenly in awe. “I love that book! You know her?”

“Yeah,” I said in the nonchalant way of the famous-adjacent.

“How do you know her?” Katherine asked.

“Well, I used to live in Seattle.”

“And all the writers in Seattle know each other?”

“Kind of,” I said. (Back me up here, Seattle.)

For the record, I met Claire through Hedgebrook residency alumna meetups in the mid-2000s.

Earlier this month I went to Madrid to see Tessa Hulls in an event at Fundación Telefónica  sponsored by the publisher of the Spanish translation of her Pulitzer-Prize-winning graphic memoir Feeding Ghosts (Alimentar a los fantasmas). (The event was videotaped and you can watch it here.) After the event, my friend Miguel and I joined Tessa and her Spanish publishing team for tapas at Picholeiros (highly recommend!). The next day Tessa and I had lunch and went for a walk. The day after that I took a walking tour on the theme of the Spanish Civil War. One of the first buildings the guide pointed out was the Telefónica building on Gran Vía which is where the war correspondents, including Hemingway, went to file their stories during the war. “I was in that building the other day!” I exclaimed. Was I asked why I was there? I don’t remember. But I gave it up anyway: To see my friend talk about her Pulitzer-Prize-winning book. See how I did that? Friend…Pulitzer Prize. The guide, a French and Spanish-speaking American of French and Lebanese Mexican descent, was duly impressed.

So, am I unduly calling attention to myself when I drop these names and the accomplishments associated with them? Maybe. But I’m also expressing my appreciation and respect. These are writers I admire for their words, their intellect, and how they live in the world. I met them all before they published their first book and it’s no surprise to me that their work has resonated so widely and deeply.

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This year, I attended my first Boxing Day celebration, a UK tradition that originally arose to give to those in need but has evolved into an extension of the Christmas holiday. It was a festive time with delicious food, charming company, and wine and champagne which made for a sparkling atmosphere. Not to mention paper crowns spilled from English Christmas crackers. It was the first time I sat down at two in the afternoon for lunch and remained at the table with the other guests until ten at night, eating, drinking, talking, and laughing. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, except without the madness. Just the wonder and enchantment. Okay, a little bit of madness.

It was hosted by a delightful pair of former Londoners, she a retired public health scientist and he a retired epidemiologist who have previously lived in India and Viet Nam. Other guests included a Swedish classical pianist and a Peruvian former ballet dancer who have lived and performed all over the world. Also present were an educator originally from Madrid who spent many years living in New Zealand, and another Londoner who is a part-time Málaga resident and a birder who has traveled as far as Madagascar to birdwatch. Besides me, there was another American—a former corporate executive and civil rights activist and now a life coach and author. I am generally the least interesting, least traveled person in the room. Though I’ll never catch up, I did put a few notches in my travel belt this year.

Last summer, James and I spent a few days in nearby Marbella to celebrate my birthday. After my writing retreat in the foothills of the Spanish Pyrenees in late summer, I explored the medieval streets of Bayonne and then the architectural magic of Bordeaux in France. In September I spent several days in Brussels to attend the European Writers Salon annual conference, and from there delighted in the magic of Paris before heading to Nantes for a more decelerated pace. Back in Spain, I went to nearby Córdoba to revel in Roman and Islamic architecture and history.

I also went to Madrid multiple times (six to be exact) for assorted reasons. In January I went to meet the flight of daughter Natalie, granddaughter Malaya, and husband James who accompanied them on their move from New York. During that trip I also hung out with friends Kat who was also visiting Madrid from Málaga and Miguel who previously lived in Málaga but now daily enjoys the bustle of Madrid. In May, I met up with poet and editor Virginia Bell and her husband after their bicycle trip in Andalucia. In June, I was thrilled to reunite with the vibrant, can-do-anything former colleague Julia who was traveling with her partner in Spain and I also attended the Feria del Libro. In October I got to read at the European Writers Salon event with other writers from around Europe; in November I went to see my cousin’s band Pawn Shop Boys perform; and in December I saw the amazing Tessa in a scintillating conversation with the Chinese-Andalusian writer/artist Quan Zhou.

My life is full and I have nothing to complain about. But plenty to hope for.

Another year is coming to a close on an unruly world. I’m among the lucky ones to live in peace and safety, though such states are precarious. Fifty years ago, the country I live in now was a dictatorship following a civil war so painful that in order to move on to a democracy, the left and right agreed to a Pact of Forgetting whereby perpetrators of human rights violations would not be prosecuted. That expediency of the past has its ramifications for the present. Today, in Spain as elsewhere in Europe, the right and ultra-right are gaining momentum. Twenty-one percent of young Spaniards (18-24) think life was better under Franco. Meanwhile in the country I used to live in, Trump, elected by voters motivated by racism and sexism and sorely lacking in an understanding of civics and history, is dismantling democracy in the United States. I’m thankful for the leaders, organizations, and individuals who are standing up and fighting against that Constitution-busting administration and making inroads. I’m hoping that 2026 will see a significant reversal of their criminal deeds and that every person of color, every trans and gay person, every differently abled person, in other words, every marginalized person whose contributions, accomplishments, and basic value as a human being have been denigrated, denied, or ignored will start to feel safer in the United States.