Mattia's experience in the Canary Islands

My year of volunteering with the European Solidarity Corps (ESC) is coming to an end, and what could be more poetic than reorganizing my thoughts on paper while outside there is a black sea of volcanic rain. Yes, you read that right—I spent this magical experience on La Palma (Canary Islands, Spain), which in recent times has been learning how to coexist with the overwhelming force of a volcano.

I must confess that the idea of throwing myself into this adventure was born out of fear: the suffocating fear of freedom after finishing high school, too little time and too many options to choose from consciously. The terrible fear of wasting my life chasing predefined footsteps that don’t quite fit my shoes, and the unbearable fear of leaving unheard that inner voice which, for far too long, had been screaming while searching for the world.

Now, when I ask myself whether that restlessness has gone away, the answer is no—but I’ve learned how to put it into perspective. Traveling, exploring new cultures, connecting with new people, and trying new activities inevitably lead you to compare “your world”—which once seemed like the only possible option—with the reality around you.

It allows you to evolve, to change into a better version of yourself—more aware.
It doesn’t provide answers, but instead makes you reflect on the right questions.
It doesn’t erase fear, but it gives you the right push to face it—and to face yourself.

Along my journey I met wonderful people—and, fortunately, also unpleasant ones. It’s precisely from them that you learn a lot: they are the clearest example of what you don’t want to become. I invested a great deal of energy in achieving my goals, perhaps too much, to the point that I realized that to achieve them in the best way possible you also need to invest time in rest.

I clashed with ideologies and ways of facing life so distant and irritating that they kept me awake at night—not necessarily wrong, just different. I immersed myself in the island’s breathtaking nature, sank my feet into black sand on Christmas Day, learned the tobacco production process, and I’m returning home with a set of handmade wooden spoons that I made myself.

I went on nighttime treks lit by the full moon and visited all eight Canary Islands. I spent days without talking and without eating (don’t worry, it was a personal challenge—and even if it’s a volunteer project, they still give you money for dinner). And now, we’re at the mercy of a volcano.

I don’t mean to say that everything is perfect—because that would be impossible—but let’s just say it’s never boring. You can look at it in many ways, but even obstacles can be transformed into tests of independence and opportunities (a very brief example: if it hadn’t been for Covid, I would never have ended up here).

One important thing is to be honest with yourself, to learn how to listen to the signals your body sends you, and to reclaim your own time. I often misinterpret the value of time: since it’s the most important resource we have and it’s limited, I stress myself trying to fill it with as many things as possible so as not to waste a single second, or I feel guilty when I’m not being productive—because I’m “losing” time.

The moral of the story: zero minutes of quality time.

When instead I slow down, when I focus on what I’m doing rather than on the ticking of the clock, when I reconnect with reality and manage to quiet my mind—that’s when something clicks. In that exact moment, I use my time in the best possible way, without the obsession of controlling or stopping it.

For this reason, it is vital to keep challenging ourselves, to ask who we want to be and what quality time truly means to us. Living on “autopilot” is no longer sustainable. We must learn to follow our instincts and be ready to slow down in order to understand what our path really is.

This life adventure is waiting for you—or, more likely, it’s a life you were already waiting for, without even knowing it yet.