FEATURED POST

I have never had a problem having things to say. I can be walking home, dictating into my Notes app, with an idea about work, another one about moving countries, something I noticed about people, a rant about a completely unrelated thing, and somewhere between all of that I will think: "oh, this could be a post." Then I get home and do absolutely nothing with it.

I remember approximately when I applied for Colombia’s Digital Nomad Visa because Donald Trump won the U.S. election on November 5, 2024, which is a completely ridiculous way to date-stamp your immigration paperwork, but here we are. I submitted my application right around the following day.

But when you're a 39-year-old woman like I was then, and you've always lived under a system where you feel unsafe as a woman walking down the street, when every time you plan something, it doesn't really come out the way you want, something is always late, something is always incomplete, something always costs more, it can be very difficult to plan for the future.

I'll drop everything for a stranger's problem. But why is it so hard to do it for myself? For some reason, I love helping people. Actually, it’s not strange, I'm empathetic; I care about people, and I tend to see what they need before they even know how to explain it. Once I see the problem, it becomes very difficult for me not to help, even when helping means using the last bit of energy I have. I’m curious, I have a great memory, and I’m very good at finding the missing pie

Now that I have moved apartments to my favorite neighborhood to try to reset my brain back to my goals and away from the grief. Now that I am finally here, a few things are happening and I am feeling like perhaps the Universe is punishing me for wanting too much? I have clients, I live in a foreign country, in my favorite city, in the neighborhood that taught me about authenticity and rebirth. So why is my brain going straight to: what am I going to lose now?

So, aside from being called a “traitor” or a “sell-out,” I’ve been wondering if there’s actually a name for people like us. You know, people who were born and raised in one country, but learned to navigate life in English. Not because we moved, but because we were immersed early.