I stood across the park. Spires loomed along the tree line. Stone erections rising from a skeleton, decorated with cranes.
I always hated the Sagrada Familia. Every photograph I saw was vomit from the mind of a mad man. Last time I was in Barcelona, I refused to go.
Why bother seeing something I could dismiss with a photo?
This time, I confronted the spectacle of weird shapes. Bizarre angles. I craned my neck at the suicidal statue on one face, wondering if he was as disoriented as I was.
Still determined to stick to my opinion, I bought my ticket. Wandered through words.
I studied the light. Listened to sound bounce off tree-like columns and sun bursts of stone. I watched cares drain from faces, as everyone frolicked in colors and shapes, music and wonder.
Buildings are layers of experience. Just like books. Or people.
I was wrong about Sagrada Familia.
What else am I wrong about when I dismiss an experience with a glance or two?