This recent summer I had my first brush with gumption. It took the form of an Andalusian man I met on a train trip in Spain. It was my first time in the country, and I was enraptured by everything I saw. I had spent the past few days becoming absorbed into the culture, snapping compulsive photographs of every landmark and monument. However, while indulging in my new obsession with Spain, I had lost sight of what was most important: connecting with the people. Though I longed to speak with those around me, I cowered behind the spine of my pocket dictionary even when an opportune moment came up. A perfectionist to the core, I could not bring myself to utter anything more than “Buenos dias” and “gracias.” Heaven forbid I conjugate a verb incorrectly in front of a Spaniard.
           On our second to last day we took a train from Cordoba to Madrid. As luck would have it, our odd-numbered group clashed with the even-numbered seating. I was the one to be singled out to sit next to a stranger outside of the group. On the way to my seat, I greeted the stranger with my best accent and intent, “Buenos días, señor.” The man did not react. Discouraged, I slumped down into my seat, suddenly more of a foreigner than ever before. I began to busy myself with mentally translating the safety instructions printed on my armrest as an act of self-retribution for not having successfully gained contact with the man.
           Suddenly in mid-safety instruction clause, I stopped myself. I had spent the past few days becoming involved in the culture. I had traveled thousands of miles away from home for a cultural experience that would change my life. Not to mention I had spent the last five years of my life perfecting the native tongue in order to practice it outside of classroom walls. And here I was avoiding the most opportune moment of all. I had to do something.
           So I tried again. “Buenos días, señor.” This time, he answered. In my own elation I almost forgot what I was doing. However, I proceeded to keep the conversation going as best I could. Surprisingly, for the next two hours, we spoke of everything as if we were old friends. We spoke of customs. We spoke of our families and even the war. I had found a friend in a perfect stranger thousands of miles away from home. And not once did I glance at my pocket dictionary.
           When we arrived in Madrid, I shook his hand and bade him farewell. He thanked me for my smiles (which, in turn, elicited another), and we were on our way to our own worlds, myself suddenly more a part of his. I began greeting anyone I could, in hopes of experiencing the rush of conversation again.
           They say that on the way to becoming fluent in another language, there comes an experience that catalyzes the process. Those two hours on the train were it for me, and I will never forget that man. He will be a constant reminder to me that curiosity, or even brains, does absolutely no good without initiative. Because of that, I was able to bring back from Spain something more invaluable and intangible than any photograph or souvenir – my gumption.