I’d been wanting to start volunteering in Mexico in some way, shape or form, since I finalized the idea to come and live here. It’s a good way to become more involved in the community and to feel a connection to the people of the city. It could be a way to make new friends. And of course, great practice for my Spanish-learning. So, why didn’t I start sooner?

Recently I had one of the most quintessential flight attendant days. It was like something out of a movie—a comedy, where the protagonist (me) can’t catch a break and finds herself encountering one obstacle after another in an almost too-much to-be-true fashion. I was on zero sleep and a time crunch and shit was just going wrong. But honestly, it was so typical I should have expected it. And so, rather than becoming frustrated or giving in to feeling bad for myself, I laughed. I laughed at the situations I get myself into, the lengths at which I have to go sometimes to get myself out, and this crazy scattered life we live. It was so good I decided mid-day, between one missed flight and one cancelled, that I’d write a piece about it here.

We’re almost a week into 2020 and I’m just now taking the time to pause and reflect on 2019. From what I’ve seen on social media I’m days late, but truth be told it was a realllly awesome year and I wanted to savor every last moment. Once the hustle and bustle of the holidays ended and I had time to sit and think about this year gone by, counting all the incredible experiences and small pleasures I’ve encountered along the way, I realized it was enough to fill a blog post and certainly a worthy subject. I know what you’re thinking: Barf! Someone’s braggy highlight reel about their awesome year. I certainly hope it doesn’t end up coming off that way. But this year was a big one for me, and since I write this thing more for myself than for you, I’m going to have to get into

month ago I packed my bags and left for Mexico. With an apartment booked until February there, and none here in Boston, my primary residence for the time being is Calle Salvatierra, CDMX. I’ve been back in Boston, working on airplanes, staying up overnight, catching up on schoolwork and freezing my tail off. I’ll be here for another full week and it feels like an eternity to be away from the new place I’m trying to settle into. But I’ve got to work and its not a quick flight home and its also not free. So I stay a bit longer, stack all of my trips in these few weeks. And then I’ll go back. This is commuter life. I knew it would be different, and I knew there would be challenges. And I’m still figuring it out. So how is it going?

I've officially been in Mexico for two weeks now. Living between Mexico City and the trunk of my car in Boston. The city is enormous. I've only seen a very little bit of it, but what I've seen I like very much. There is green space, good food for days, and I have felt completely safe thus far. But as with all changes, this one has not gone off without a hitch. Whatever my insta account may look like, it's not all fun and games and gallivanting about. Things have been

We all face pressure. High pressure jobs, pressure from our families, societal and cultural pressure. But often the real pressure comes from within. Sometimes things happen and I’m struck to realize that, while I might be face-palming those external pressures, I’m still carrying my own self-induced burdens. One of these things happened recently, when New Guy asked if he could come to Mexico City.

Okay, truthfully it’s a short term move. I was feeling restless and needed a change. And while I looked at places in San Diego and Chicago, I ultimately decided I wasn’t thinking big enough. At the end of October I’ll be headed to our southern neighbor’s capital to pick up where I left off with my Spanish learning—hopefully mastering those tenses, conjugations, and masculine/feminine words that have been slowly evaporating from my brain ever since I left Colombia.

The force of the hangover I woke up with slapped me in the face. It was my fifth day in Munich, which by my calculations is exactly two nights too many to be spent at Oktoberfest. Everything would have been fine, all my belongings still with me, this pit in my stomach nonexistent. Had I not taken that one wrong step.

An overdue girls’ weekend is like a sip of magic potion. A whipped cream-covered sundae on a hot day. A meditation of sorts; each deep breath in rewarded with a belly laugh out. It allows you to stop thinking of the stressors that consume your days and get lost in the gossip, the antics, the pure light that is true friendship. I’ve just had a ridiculously fun girls’ weekend in Stowe, Vermont that felt like a refresh for the soul.