The Consequences We Don't Consider When Making Life Decisions

Moving abroad is one of those decisions that's incredibly easy to romanticize. You picture the apartment with the little balcony, mornings at the café downstairs, weekend trips somewhere you used to have to cross an ocean to reach, and the possibility of becoming a slightly different version of yourself simply because your surroundings have changed. I understand the appeal because I've spent years imagining what it would feel like to build a life somewhere other than the United States.

I've always been curious about how people live in different parts of the world. Travel has a way of making you question things you've spent most of your life accepting as normal. The pace of everyday life, our relationship with work, and even what people consider important can look remarkably different depending on where you are. For the past few years, I haven't felt entirely at peace living in the United States, and the more time I've spent abroad, the more I've wondered whether somewhere else might feel like a better fit.

I've been fortunate enough to spend extended periods in Oaxaca, Mexico City, and different parts of Spain. Those longer stays have allowed me to develop routines, find favorite places, and experience a little more of everyday life beyond the usual sightseeing. They've also challenged some of my assumptions about where I could imagine living.

Before visiting Mexico City, I was convinced I could live there. I'd seen the photographs, followed people who had moved there, and heard enough wonderful things to start imagining my own life in the city. The neighborhoods, restaurants, museums, and endless things to do made it seem like somewhere I could easily settle. But within a week of arriving, I knew it wasn't the place for me, which honestly caught me by surprise.

There were plenty of things I enjoyed about Mexico City. I found restaurants I loved, coffee shops I kept returning to, and neighborhoods I enjoyed exploring. But the traffic, crowds, constant activity, and general pace of life reminded me of the very things I'd been hoping to get away from. It wasn't that Mexico City was doing anything wrong. It was simply offering a version of everyday life that didn't feel much different from the one I was hoping to change.

Making connections was another surprise. Before arriving, I'd reached out to a few people I'd been following online who already lived there, thinking it might be nice to meet for coffee and begin getting to know people. I know making friends as an adult isn't exactly easy anywhere, but arranging something as simple as coffee felt like pulling teeth. I'm half Mexican and speak Spanish, so I'd assumed my familiarity with the language and culture might make connecting with people a little easier. It didn't work out that way, at least not during my time there.

Oaxaca was the complete opposite for me. From the slower pace of life to the warmth of the people I encountered, something about it felt much more natural. I met some of the friendliest people I've come across while traveling, and there was a welcoming quality to my experience that made it easier to imagine staying. The city still had plenty happening, with restaurants, markets, cultural events, and neighborhoods to explore, but without the constant urgency I'd felt in Mexico City.

I could picture myself building a life in Oaxaca rather than simply returning for another vacation. But enjoying a place for a few weeks and living there permanently are two very different things. And that's where my thoughts about moving abroad tend to become a little more complicated.

The beautiful apartment still has a landlord. The slower pace still comes with errands and appointments, along with days when you're tired and don't particularly feel like appreciating the architecture. Eventually, you're no longer deciding where to eat because you're excited to try somewhere new. You're trying to figure out which grocery store has the detergent you like and whether it's worth walking an extra fifteen minutes to get it. The train station that once seemed charming becomes considerably less charming when the train is late and you have somewhere to be.

Then there are the practical realities that rarely make it into travel photography. Residency requirements and unfamiliar government systems become part of life. The country with the better work-life balance may also have a bureaucracy that makes absolutely no sense to you. Even figuring out where to go when something breaks can remind you how many things you knew how to handle back home without ever thinking about them.

Language adds another layer. Speaking Spanish has always made my experiences in Mexico and Spain easier, but having conversations and ordering dinner are different from understanding a lease or navigating a government office when something has gone wrong. Even when you speak the language, there are legal terms, unfamiliar procedures, and cultural expectations that take time to understand. There's a different kind of vulnerability in needing to function within systems you haven't spent your entire life learning.

And then there's everything you leave behind when you choose somewhere new. Birthdays and family gatherings continue without you. Friends develop routines you're no longer naturally part of, and nieces and nephews grow older between visits. Living across an ocean means seeing the people you love may require expensive flights and months of planning. You might be perfectly happy with your decision and still feel sad about missing something important back home.

My experience in Mexico City also made me wonder about the early months of living somewhere without an established circle of friends. I knew meaningful friendships wouldn't appear overnight, but I hadn't expected even the first steps toward making connections to feel so difficult. It's one thing to spend time alone somewhere when you know you have familiar people and routines waiting for you at home. It's another to imagine starting over socially, especially when everyone around you already seems to have a life of their own.

Of course, part of the appeal of moving abroad is discovering what might be different. You may find that you love walking everywhere, eating dinner a little later, or living somewhere work doesn't seem to dominate every conversation. You may also discover things about home that you never appreciated until you were far enough away to miss them. I find that possibility interesting because there's no way to know which parts of another culture will eventually feel natural to you and which ones might take years to get used to.

I've been coming back to one thought lately: we choose the visible decision, then inherit the invisible consequences. And those consequences aren't necessarily bad. Some might turn out to be the best parts of the experience, while others could be things we never anticipated. That's what makes major life decisions so difficult to evaluate beforehand. We can make thoughtful choices based on everything we know and still have no idea what those choices will actually feel like once we're living with them.

I still dream about moving abroad. If anything, spending more time in different places has made that desire stronger. But I'm beginning to understand that what I'm looking for isn't necessarily the most beautiful destination or the place with the most things to do. I want somewhere I can build genuine friendships and settle into a pace of life that feels right for me.

Eventually, the balcony becomes just a balcony. The café downstairs becomes part of your morning routine, and the streets you once loved exploring become the ones you walk down to buy groceries. There's something rather lovely about imagining a place becoming that familiar. But I also wonder about everything that comes with it, including the parts I haven't experienced yet. Maybe the question isn't simply where I want to live, but whether I'd be happy with the ordinary Tuesday that comes with living there.