I always struggle with these big-milestone pieces.

It would seem obvious that attempting to condense your latest whereabouts as the product of some very formative and challenging last couple of months would be daunting for anyone, –not just one self-proclaimed Brooklyn writer– but something about the storytelling responsibility of things always gets me stumped. It’s been two years since I wrote anything on here. The last time I did, the world looked a very different color, and my innards –by extension– were a completely different kind of mess.

So how do you come back to it?

Though I originally took a break from this place to keep up with my insanely demanding work life, the events that followed into the mess that became 2020 made it nearly impossible to return. There was just way too much to process. I became incapable of formulating anything concrete, and finding myself unable to share any version of positivity, thought it might be time to close up shop. Two years later, I’ve returned to this once sacred space with the same goal and purpose that drove me to write in the first place: to conjure up rhetoric that unites. In articulating the joys and lessons we often find in the mundane, it is my hope that we might continue to realize we are far more together than we are unalike. There’s way too much noise out there encouraging us to believe otherwise, and –at least for me– it feels important to score the opposite.

Let’s get right to it.

Earlier this year, I quit my flashy advertising job in New York and moved to the middle of central Mexico in a small town called Queretaro. It’s about two hours north of Mexico City (which probably sounds more familiar) and though I’d love to recount the entire experience as the result of one too many clicks on an airline’s website after a fun night of indulgent drinking, the truth is a lot of planning went into actually making it happen.
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I first got the idea when I was visiting my parents back in Texas for the holidays. We were wrapping up my second week of vacation, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed so much more than 14 days to recover from the stress of the pandemic. Like so many others, I was feeling absolutely overwhelmed trying to process the unexpectedly terrible year, and on a personal level, had begun to struggle with a crippling sense of apathy. It goes without saying that everybody deals with their emotions differently, but for me, living in a constant state of helplessness and isolation created an alarming indifference that sort of numbed out the world outside. I lost sight of any long-term goals or motivations, and started to feel myself slipping into a trance-like state of complete and utter disinterest. To go here or to stay there, to start this or to stop that…it all really ceased to matter.

And then it just hit me. On a breezy winter morning and as I drove across town to see the house my parents had purchased after nearly a decade of strife, I had the silliest idea that I should move to Mexico. The planet is on hold. I’m exhausted and depressed, and I pretty much don’t care about anything anymore… why not just do something stupid, quit my job and move to the middle of nowhere? I thought. It felt soothingly comical to let the idea run its course. Why not? I repeated to myself out loud, my hands gripping the steering wheel with rage. This time, it was less a silly feeling and more something along the lines of terrifying. The logistical implications that flooded through my mind felt scary enough to make a grown man cry (it certainly made this one do so more than a handful of times). Yet intimidating as it may have felt, it felt. For the first time in months, I realized I was giving a shit about something.

Maybe see this through...?, I whispered out in a whimper.

What follows, of course, was my then near-manic pursuit of this striking emotion in the hope that it would single-handedly vacate my looming sense of detachment. If quitting my job and moving to Mexico felt terrifying, then that’s exactly what I needed to do.

Over the next two months, I proceeded to research cities, scout apartments, and even message locals to find the best possible spot where one very-jaded creative might comfortably decompress. I found someone to take over my bedroom lease thereby covering off on any rent payments during my absence, and –for those of you who know how much work Sarah and I put into furnishing the apartment– locked all three roommates into extensive legal contracts that assigned airtight protection for all of our precious furniture and decor. I bought tickets, packed suitcases, and didn’t stop to consider the reality of things until I was fully jammed into my economy seat. Aisle 29, economy window seat A...And off I went.

Trust me, nothing will wake you up faster than feeling like you’ve just undone everything you ever worked for. Talk about feeling that.

A lot of you asked questions about the finances that went behind living fully unemployed for an extended period of time, and I can 100% confirm it was funded by money I saved up. Part of it prior to making the decision, and part of it post.

Living as a young creative in a very competitive sometimes unstable job market, I learned the importance of savings right from the start of my career. Especially when you’re in one of the most expensive cities in the country, not saving just feels like a completely irresponsible thing to do. Needless to say, I had a healthy sum to catch me when I decided to set the world on fire. It should go without saying though, that they key word in all of this is planning. I did an extensive amount of research to determine a safe margin of error when it came to planning my unemployed spending in accordance to the Mexican cost of living. Additionally, I’ll dismiss any illusion that I was sitting on piles of money when I decided to leave the workforce by sharing that though I certainly had some money saved, a large portion of my Mexico funds came from the intense saving regime I employed during the months leading up to my leave. I calculated the income I would collect up until my very last paycheck, and worked towards assembling a number that was inclusive of any outstanding debt, payments, dues, or otherwise notable financial detractors. It was a lot of work! But it was also very much doable, and something I think more people should do for themselves.

I also got a lot of questions about the guy who was my boyfriend, but isn’t my boyfriend anymore, but also is my best friend and now just shows up in all the photos and videos from my trip. Believe you me there’s a story there for sure, but for now it will suffice to say I was immensely grateful to have an incredible companion joining along for the ride. At the time, the notion of “moving in together” didn’t feel nearly as close to describing our situation, but was instead a little more along the lines of will you quarantine with me in the middle of nowhere? We had only been dating for four months prior to running out to Queretaro, –and most of it was virtual, mind you– but I’m not quite sure I’ll ever be able to fully convey the certainty that I had begun to feel about everything that was taking place at the time. From serendipitously learning that our AirBnb hosts were queer men themselves, to our destination city randomly earning the title of “Safest city in Mexico” weeks before our arrival, it just started to feel like the universe was conspiring with me, instead of against. Not at all the usual case.

Now, standing on the other side of some of the most incredible travel months of adventure and growth I've yet to experience, there's no doubt this was very much something I was intended to take on. Call it destiny, or call it fate, I just know it was meant for me then.

Far beyond disarming the stress of any lingering deadlines and never-ending work deliverables, stepping away from the corporate hamster wheel gave me the invaluable opportunity to fully check in with myself. For the first time in years, I had the time and means to explore and grow in whatever direction I pleased. I read books (one book that I’m still trying to finish), knit pillows, took photos, and went on daily strolls to our local Oxxo for all things snack related. I did sunrise yoga on the roof, watched endless how-to videos of tasks that I’ll probably never need to do, and even discovered my new favorite genre of movies: natural disaster destroys the world, one stunning visual effects scene at a time.

It was incomprehensibly blissful to simply be. To be far away from everyone. To be disconnected from the world.  To be spending time learning new skills and software I otherwise could’ve never accommodated. It was everything I had been wanting for so long.

Now, as I ease back into life in New York once more, I can’t for the life of me begin to understand why more people don’t take the time to be with themselves in a similar fashion. There’s a running joke about how this ongoing hustle culture makes it practically impossible for us to take long breaks, except for the one case in which we're in between jobs. The only comical thing about that is absolutely nothing. Working people to exhaustion and encouraging the deprivation of any long-term respite is undoubtedly a recipe for disaster –we’re just not built to work that way.

If you in any way consider yourself to be the kind of person who looks for signs, consider this yours. Life is just too damn short to spend it hopping from one crazy endeavor to the next without actually taking time to enjoy anything. Take the break. Book the trip. Jump into the abyss. Believe you me, it'll be worth it.

Excited to be back and excited to be writing again. Until next time dear friends,