The temperature slips below zero and the wind picks up. An east wind straight from the frozen belly of Russia, my Mormor tells me. The trees clap their branches beneath the grey clouds, which bloom and hurry in a brooding dance across the sky.

The scene is set. Costume on: coat buttoned, gloved hands plunged deeply into pockets, hat pulled down over the ears and hood thrown over the top. I am ready for a cold show beyond the protection of cosy windows and walls, as the front door slaps shut behind me. A chilly wisp of air gets in beneath the scarf. Pull the shoulders up towards the ears, turn the face westward, quicken the pace to get the blood flowing, and onward I plunge into the dark grey afternoon.

The Russian wind quickly drains the feeling from my fingers and toes and I look forward to an upcoming hill to raise my heart-rate. I plough up the slope and then decide to turn around and go back down so I can climb up it again. Reaching the crest for the second time, I can feel my digits once more and I know I will be fine as long as I keep moving. I pause only a moment to gaze around at the rolling fields and naked forests, and the thatched and terracotta rooftops dotting the Danish countryside, before striding onward.

Straight from a warm and balmy Spanish winter into the chilly, windswept breast of northern Europe. Spain’s winter has been one of the warmest in ages, and so has Denmark’s; but its “warm” winter still bites, and today the temperature has finally dropped to a more typical position for the season. It is certainly the coldest I have experienced since leaving Canada a year ago, but I haven’t let it stop me. I roam the paths that wind through bare, open forests and walk by glowing windows and twinkling white lights still up from Christmas. I even say hello to the sea, hiding from the forceful gusts beside a small shed, watching the powerful waves rush towards the shore in a ceaseless white wheel of foam.

Spain now feels far away indeed, but I know that when I board a plane at the end of the month for the long haul to Australia, I will partially be expecting to fly back to Sevilla. It will feel strange to leave Europe after nearly a year living and travelling here. There is so much diversity to explore on this relatively small continent, and within each country as well. The modest slice we have seen has already proved more than I’ve been able to keep up with on my blog, particularly during the last month of backpacking and Workawaying (volunteering in exchange for room and board) in northern Spain. I certainly cannot cover all those experiences in one blog post, though perhaps in this year’s writing I will revisit some of the beautiful towns, cities and landscapes that we travelled through in 2015.

What I will say now is that both Robin and I feel very grateful for our year living in Spain. We learned so much along the way—about other ways of life, about Spanish language, about each other and ourselves—and spent many lovely times with old and new friends. Our circumstances came with their set of challenges, as most circumstances do, but all in all we had so much fun. Looking back on 2015, we’ve also come to the satisfying realisation that we’ve accomplished something we both dreamed about for years. Living in Spain has given us more than many joyful memories; it has increased our confidence in our ability to make our dreams reality, and that is really something.

Now last year is over and a new one has begun. What will 2016 bring, and what will we make of it? As I roam the frosted paths of the small Danish town of Espergærde—the same paths I roamed many a time when this place was my home for a year, nearly a decade ago—I notice how the feet remember, carrying me this way and that without need for pause. My mind is free to wonder at the winter world around me, how it has changed and how it has stayed the same, and how the very fact that I know this place means I have made dreams happen before. I had a goal to live in Denmark, my mother’s homeland, to learn Danish and keep my dual citizenship, and I did that too. Why do I not stop to appreciate such things more often? Probably because I have a habit of jumping to the next goal as soon as one is finished, hardly noticing what I’ve done or taking a moment to enjoy it, running from the fear that what I do—who I am, even—is never enough.

Not today. I take a moment to thank myself for pursuing those wanderlust dreams. Not all of us have the need to travel, but for some, the outer journey is part of our inner journey. Happy 2016 to all, and happy travels, within and without!