07/10/2026
Since moving abroad, I've been asked "why" more times than I can count. I've written a variety of responses, but these latest words are the ones that make the most sense to me now. I hope you enjoy them and hopefully see a little of yourself in them.
The Itch
I had to get out.
To experience something bigger. Something louder, dirtier, and more alive than the life I’d built around comfort and control.
To remember what it feels like to want again.
It didn’t happen overnight.
It crept in quietly. In the cracks between meetings that meant nothing. In the smile I pasted on for photos I didn’t want to be in. In the long, forgettable weekends that were supposed to recharge me but only reminded me that Monday was coming.
It wasn’t anger. It was numbness. A slow suffocation disguised as success. The itch started there.
The Lie of More
The lie was elegant: work hard, check the boxes, upgrade when you can. Fulfillment will follow.
I had the job. I had the health insurance. I had the high-end espresso machine.
I crafted clever, curated lines for social media; bite-sized witticisms and filtered photos meant to say, “I’m doing fine. Look at me.”
But under all that polish was a quiet desperation. I wasn’t full. I was trapped. Like I’d spent years building a life someone else convinced me I should want.
More money. More reach. More approval.
None of it ever felt like me.
The Jump (and the Truth)
Spain didn’t save me. It wasn’t magic.
It was different. And that was enough.
It stripped away the noise. It slowed everything down. The mornings started later. The coffee was sipped, not swallowed. The language didn’t come easy, and that was good. It forced me to listen. Forced me to be present. Forced me to earn connection.
Meals weren’t fuel. They were hours. They were moments. They were conversations and wine and no rush to get to the next thing. Because maybe, this was the thing.
I still don’t have it all figured out. But in the silence, in the mess, in the foreignness of it all... I started to feel alive again.
