Our new author, Calley Overton, grew up on a farm outside a tiny U.S. town of only 300 people. At twenty-two she made a decision that surprised even her: she booked a one-way ticket to Mallorca. That “temporary” move changed everything. Even though she’s now finishing a master’s degree in Venice, she already knows she’ll return — because Mallorca is where she first felt at home. Her debut piece is a love letter to the island.
Falling for the island
Sometimes your dream life is one you never knew existed.
I fell completely in love with Mallorca — slowly, steadily. I remember hiking from Esporles to Banyalbufar and seeing mountains meet the sea for the first time, the impossibly turquoise water at Cala Agulla, the festival of lights inside La Seu. I learned about Mallorcan holidays and folklore from the teachers I worked with, and picked up a very basic understanding of Mallorquín. My blank page slowly became a picture. And somewhere along the way, Mallorca became home. There was no dramatic, defining moment. One day, it simply was.
How it all began
At twenty-two, I booked a one-way flight to Mallorca despite knowing nearly nothing and no one. The short version is simple: I moved to be an English teaching assistant, which is probably the most common route for Americans who end up here.
I didn’t have a burning desire to live abroad. I loved the idea of travelling — I’d even changed my degree from English to international studies and Spanish — but moving overseas permanently wasn’t in my plans. The teaching assistant program was meant to replace a study-abroad semester cancelled by the pandemic.
And Mallorca? I hadn’t even heard of it until a girl from my university posted Instagram stories of stone streets and turquoise coves. Before that, my knowledge of the Balearics extended only as far as hearing “I took a pill in Ibiza” on the radio. In the end, I chose Mallorca for two reasons. First, it reminded me of a movie quote that stuck with me since 2018: life is short and the world is wide. Second, I was scared and wanted the comfort of being able to ask someone — even a distant acquaintance — silly, specific questions. In my bravery, I was a chicken.
From small-town Tennessee to the Mediterranean
On paper, I wasn’t supposed to move abroad at all. I grew up on a farm outside Toone, Tennessee, population 300. My family has been on the same plot of land for around 150 years — there’s a plaque to prove it. While my mom valued travel, for us that meant road trips around the Southeast. I didn’t get on a plane until I was nineteen.
Books gave me my travel bug, but the idea of truly leaving home felt unimaginable. I only moved an hour and a half away for college — practically next door by U.S. standards. Looking back, I’m not sure where I thought I’d end up. Staying on the farm wasn’t what I wanted, but moving elsewhere in the States felt like a huge commitment. So I ended up with two options: move to Nashville, or move overseas and tell myself it was temporary. I chose the latter.
Learning the rhythm of the island
When I arrived in Mallorca in the autumn of 2022, I was convinced I’d stay eight months, then return to my real life, whatever that was. Now I’ve been living abroad for a little over three years, two of them in Palma. I’m currently finishing a master’s degree in Venice, but hope to return to Mallorca when I’m done.
One thing that draws me to Mallorca is its contrasts. Coastline and mountains. Wild nature and the urban buzz of Palma. A strong local identity and a vibrant international community. I sometimes wonder if there’s anywhere else in the world where — depending on your energy levels — you can hike from mountain town to mountain town along the coast, eat a slice of gatò with your café amb llet, and then dance all night at a packed salsa social in Palma, all with maybe two hours of travel. Everything is close, but distinct. It’s a choose-your-own-adventure island.
Mallorca also has a steady rhythm that never feels rushed. Coming from a place with dramatic seasonal changes, it took me about a year to appreciate the subtler cues here — almond blossoms instead of autumn leaves, long verbenas instead of Fourth of July barbecues. Holidays mark time in a way that settles into you: Sant Sebastià and Sant Antoni with their dimonis, Jaia Corema losing her legs one by one, Día de les Illes Balears, Sant Jordi, harvest festivals. There is always something happening.
Finding community — and a sense of belonging
As an outsider looking in, I’ve been struck again and again by how people come together — whether at Semana Santa processions in Palma, Sant Bartomeu in Montuïri, or Sant Antoni in Artà or Manacor. My small town in Tennessee wasn’t like that. The closest we had was Fourth of July fireworks, and even then most people kept to themselves.
I think of Lluc a Peu, the overnight pilgrimage, how people from every corner of the island walk together or sit outside their homes cheering the walkers on. That sense of communal belonging is beyond anything I could imagine happening where I’m from.
At the end of my two years as a teaching assistant, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay in Mallorca permanently. I loved it, but wasn’t convinced. Then I moved to Barcelona for my master’s — and immediately missed the island. I found community in Barcelona, too, but I kept coming back to Mallorca every chance I could. People would say, “But I thought you left?” Maybe my address changed, but I didn’t feel as if I’d left. Not really.
Every time I land in Mallorca, it feels like a full-body exhale. It feels like coming home.
What home really means
After three years of living abroad, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about home and belonging. Once you leave your birthplace, you never fully feel at home again — but when you arrive somewhere new, there’s always a part of you that feels like an outsider.
And yet I believe a place can speak to you, choose you. It’s like meeting someone for the first time and knowing instantly you’ll be friends.
Mallorca speaks to me.
And while I’m finishing my degree in Venice, I know I’ll be back.
