Moving to another country is exciting, but it’s also a highly effective way of discovering just how little control you actually have over your life.
I’ve lived in Mexico for almost six years now, and I arrived with plans, expectations and a fairly clear idea of what I thought my new life would look like. Mexico, as it turns out, had other ideas.
That’s probably the first thing living here taught me. There’s a big difference between knowing about a country and actually living in it.
I knew Mexico from holidays. I knew about the beaches, the food, the history and the colorful streets. I knew enough basic Spanish phrases to get by, or at least I thought I did.
What I didn’t know was what it feels like when the water suddenly stops working. Or when something that should take an hour takes three days. Or when you’re told something will happen mañana and eventually realize that “tomorrow” can be more of a concept than a date.
Expectation vs. reality
I’ve learned to laugh about those things. Not because they’re never frustrating. They are. But because getting angry doesn’t make the water come back or the paperwork move any faster.
Mexico has taught me that sometimes you simply have to adjust your expectations and get on with your day. That lesson alone has probably saved me quite a few pesos on negating the need for blood pressure medication.
It’s also taught me that there isn’t one Mexico. The country I know from Puerto Vallarta is very different from the one I experienced in Guanajuato. Mexico City has a completely different rhythm again, while Guadalajara seems to be constantly negotiating the space between its traditions and its rapid growth.
Travel around Mexico long enough and you start to realize how ridiculous it is when people talk about the country as though it’s one big, homogeneous place.
It isn’t.
Even the Spanish changes. I arrived with some vocabulary and considerably more confidence than I deserved. But Mexican Spanish is full of slang, expressions and regional differences that can leave you wondering whether you’ve misunderstood the entire conversation.
I have. Repeatedly.
Learning from mistakes
Some mistakes have been mildly embarrassing. Others have been memorable for all the wrong reasons. But there’s something useful about being forced to become comfortable with not being good at something. You make a mistake. Someone laughs. You laugh, too. You try again. And eventually, you get better.
That applies to more than just language.
Living in another country means accepting that you’re going to get things wrong. You’ll misunderstand how something works. You’ll make an assumption that turns out to be completely incorrect. You’ll occasionally find yourself standing in the wrong line, wondering why no one else seems to be getting anywhere.
The trick is learning from it without deciding that the entire country is doing it wrong, and that’s harder than it sounds.
Mexico has also changed the way I think about money. One of the biggest misconceptions about living here is that everything is cheap. It isn’t.
Puerto Vallarta can be surprisingly expensive. Parts of Mexico City are eye-wateringly costly. Guadalajara has changed considerably as demand and investment have grown. Imported goods can cost far more than you’d expect, while local products are often considerably better value.
I’ve learned to keep some money aside for the unexpected because, eventually, something unexpected will happen.
That’s life anywhere. Mexico just has a particularly effective way of reminding you.
Finding value in small things
Then there’s food. I knew Mexican food was delicious before I moved here. I didn’t understand, though, just how much variety there was: tacos al pastor, birria, mole, pozole, tamales, seafood, fresh fruit, regional specialties and an almost endless variety of salsas.
Travel around the country and the food changes with the geography, history and culture. Some of the best meals I’ve eaten have come from places that would never make it onto a tourist list, so I’ve learned not to judge a restaurant by its facade. And when in doubt, order the tacos.
But perhaps the biggest change has been in what I consider a good day.
It doesn’t necessarily involve doing anything remarkable. It might be a long lunch with friends. A neighbor stopping for a chat. Someone remembering your name. Fresh tortillas. A walk with nowhere particular to go. A sunset that makes you stop for a minute.
Those things aren’t uniquely Mexican, of course. But living here has made me notice them more.
There’s a tendency when moving abroad to think the big things will determine whether you made the right decision: the house, the job, the finances, the location and the lifestyle.
They matter, but after almost six years, I think the smaller things have mattered more.
A complex place to call home
The people you meet. The routines you develop. The places that become familiar. The shopkeeper who knows what you usually buy. The restaurant where they recognize you before you’ve even sat down.
That’s how a foreign country slowly stops feeling foreign.
None of this means Mexico is perfect. It isn’t. There are things that frustrate me. Things I disagree with. Things I think could be done better. Living here for years has made me more aware of those things, not less. But that, too, has been part of the lesson.
You can love a country without pretending it has no problems. You can be grateful to live somewhere while still questioning how things work. And you can recognize that moving abroad doesn’t magically make life easier. It simply gives you a different set of problems, experiences and perspectives.
If I could go back and talk to the woman who first packed her bags for Mexico, I wouldn’t tell her everything was going to be wonderful. I’d tell her it was going to be complicated.
I’d tell her plans would change, that she’d get things wrong and that there would be days when she wondered what on earth she had done.
And then I’d tell her that was all OK.
Because six years later, I’ve realized that the goal was never to create a perfect life in Mexico. It was to create a life that felt like mine.
And somewhere along the way, this place I once had to learn how to navigate became home.
Charlotte Smith is a writer and journalist based in Mexico. Her work focuses on travel, politics and community. You can follow along with her travel stories at www.salsaandserendipity.com.
