Once in a Lifetime: Living and Working in Mexico City

Month 12. Mexico City. If I had to sum up living and working there in one word, it would be idyllic, as in charmingly simple. For idyll is not to be confused with ideal or some form of perfection. If I learned one thing living on the road for a year, it’s that no one place is perfect. Cities are a lot like people: each with its distinctive charms and quirks. The sooner you accept it for said quirks, the sooner you will get along.

I rolled into Mexico City long after dark on a Saturday night. I suppose any city would come off as “charmingly simple” when you’re 11 months in to switching your home base every month, a veritable nomad. I had my new city entrance plan down pat by the time I reached the capital of Mexico and the Condesa neighborhood (see Here I Go Again).

Condesa is where I called home for the next five weeks. The neighborhood was charming, green, and brimming with options for coffee, food, and nightlife. I have talked about my accommodations in every city and most of my talk has been positive. I arrived at Avenida Tamaulipas to find that they had saved the best for last.

Two story floor to ceiling windows. Need I say more? I love city living and this was the perfect city apartment with a wonderful view of the bustling thoroughfare our apartment called home. It also had the best living room of any apartment. I had never been more excited to lay eyes on a sectional sofa! After a year of tiny couches you couldn’t quite fit your whole body on, it was a lush, inviting change. Although it was not my first experience with an in-unit elevator (see This Must Be The Place), the novelty was still there.

I shared this impressive abode with two wonderful roommates, Kristina and Susanna. Kristina and I had roomed together previously in Lima. Susanna was my first roommate month two in Marrakech. After months of requesting a repeat, our number finally came up in month twelve. I am grateful that I ended my RY journey with them. They added so much to my Mexico City experience.

So much of the living and working experience comes down to proximity to the trifecta of needs: the co-working space, the grocery, and the gym. Well once again I won the location lottery, with they gym my furthest walk at 15 minutes. My commute to the workspace was nil for the first week.

I decided to work from home the first week since CDMX was the first city where I was actually working the hours of 9 to 5. I was dreading it. Granted, it was only an hour shift from Bogotá, but I knew my body would feel it, so I removed the commute. I had a home office thanks to the combination of strong wi-fi and the desk in my bedroom that faced the scenic street view.

If there is one thing I didn’t miss all year, besides winter, it was working from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. The further I got away from the standard time clock, the more I realized what a prison it is, and an arbitrary confine at that. As long as the work is getting done, why does it matter when I’m doing it? In my case it matters because the majority of my day is scheduled in back-to-back meetings. As a hard working, responsible adult, the more I worked outside its confines, the more I recognized the freedom I was looking for from these standard time stamps.

The chance to work outside the 9 to 5 window proved yet again that I have never been and will likely never be a morning person. I grew to love working nights in Africa and Europe because I could wake up without an alarm, ease into my day, see some of the city, and then get to work during my peak productivity hours in the evening.

I also loved the idea of turning the evening on its head. Most weeknights I come home, eat, watch some tv, and go to bed. Work leaves you too tired to do much of anything else. That’s why I loved the night shift: I got to do the things I enjoy (read, write, wander, coffeeshop) while I had the energy. Then by the time I got home from working the nightshift, all there was left to do was sleep.

Even that extra hour in Columbia made a marked difference. To set the gym alarm for 7 a.m. versus. 6 a.m. felt like a post sunrise luxury. Yet the biggest thing I realized working for a year outside the U.S. is this: how much of daily life and lifestyle in the U.S. is built around work. Whereas around the world it’s the opposite: daily life and lifestyle are built around one’s life. Work is secondary and it shows in all the right ways.

After a week of working from the home office, I began my daily commute to A.255 Social Working Club. A ten minute walk that took me past the beautiful Parque Mexico twice a day. Hard to even call it a commute, it felt more like a stroll. I enjoyed making A.255 my office, with plenty of space, beautiful decor, and a rooftop space that incorporated the best of both worlds - indoor and outdoor space. The only drawback for me is that they allow dogs. If you don’t know that I don’t like dogs (or animals for that matter) you don’t know me that well. I never got used to the feeling of them lurking under tables and grazing my ankles as they brushed past. My shoulders rose in apprehension just typing that.

Luckily I only had to make it work for two weeks as I decided to take the last two weeks of RY off from work. As I wrote about in Working for the Weekend, I asked for a month off to get the most out of my final month of this once in a lifetime experience. I asked for a month and I got three weeks and a lot of passive aggression from my co-workers instead.

I knew full well I was asking for a lot of time. Time my benefits afforded me. Similar to the RY experience, this ask proved yet again that the cliche about perception and reality is all too true in office culture. The perception is that I was “on vacation.” The reality is I was working the same 40+ hour work week, readily available at the drop of a ping, and never missed a deadline. The difference is I was doing it remotely.

I naively thought that as long as my work was there, it wouldn’t matter where I was. I was wrong. I didn’t realize just how wrong I was until this last request. When I asked my superior why three weeks and not four, the answer was optics. I was told that I’ve been remote for a year and now I’m asking for four more weeks. “More” told me everything I needed to know in four letters or less.

After a year of doing my best to make this setup a success, it was frustrating and disappointing to see that in the end no amount of hard work can compensate for perception. The previous 7.5 years with my company were just that, in the past. It was also a valuable career reminder, that your reputation is built up and brought down, one day at a time.

The damage was done. So I chose to focus on the present. My experience of a lifetime was nearing its end. I knew whether it would be six months or five years from now, whenever I look back on this experience, it’s the experience itself that I will cherish and not how successful people at work found my time to be.

Those two weeks off were a wonderful staycation. The staycation gave me the luxury of time, every day of the week. I spent the first couple days sick. I finally fell victim to the travelers’ tummy that is unfortunately synonymous with CDMX. Three weeks in, I figured if I hadn’t gotten it yet, I wouldn’t. Well I did. I was immediately grateful for that aforementioned sectional sofa, Netflix, and the wonder of Rapi (Lat Am’s most popular delivery service) for bringing me all the electrolytes and all the water (as CDMX was another non-potable city).

Once I was well, I rotated between loafing about and being a tourist. I loved being able to make plans with my fellow Ohana during the day, whether it was visiting the Frida Kahlo museum with Susanna or walking through Parque Mexico with Rockow in the middle of the day. The novelty never wore off.

I also cashed in some serious T time. T time is how I affectionately, albeit narcissitically, refer to me time. As someone who’s usually squeezing in a workout before work, I relish nothing more than getting to leisurely walk to the gym and not keep a constant eye on the clock during my workout. I splurged this month and went for the fancy gym option, Qi Wellness Center.

It has a calming, spa like vibe from the moment you walk in the door. That calm continues as each floor features sliding glass doors that let in the breeze and a view of the trees (the beauty of a year round climate). I enjoyed stretching out near the doors, feeling the breeze and soaking in the treehouse vibes. And if cooling down among the trees wasn’t the best end to a workout, it got even better with a post work out steam. A little luxury as Qi was the only gym all year to offer one.

The walk to and from Qi only enhanced the experience. Some of my fondest memories of the month are those walks along Avenida Amsterdam. Amsterdam is a former race track turned into an elliptical avenue that borders Parque Mexico. The median that runs down the middle of the street is a pedestrian’s dream: free of traffic and lined on both sides by trees. For me it was 15 minutes of some of the best scenery in the city. Those walks were also some of my favorite time for reflection. For if there is one thing I was acutely aware of all month - it was that final month feeling.

As a natural born sentimentalist, I knew the final month feels were inevitable. Yet as I braced for impact, I was reminded that I am also practiced at the art of compartmentalizing. So for once in my life, those two attributes simultaneously served me well.

I was able to enjoy my time and be present. Instead of playing my usual game of “This is going to be my last time doing x or seeing y,” it was about rooting myself in the moment with an “I am doing x” mentality. I was able to enjoy my time for what it was and not quantify it or limit it with finality.

When I traveled before RY, I would I get nostalgic before I even left my destination. I would get caught up in the thought of “this might be the last time I’m here.” It’s a bittersweet way to see the world. It wasn’t until my solo trip to Hawaii in 2017 that I learned to see travel differently. It taught me to root my feelings in gratitude over nostalgia. I didn’t want to leave, I mean does anyone want to leave The Aloha State?! But leave I did with a smile on my face and a full heart, grateful for having been there.

RY only helped to reinforce this lesson month and month again. The month is limiting in a good way. It encourages you to take every day as it comes. I took my time in Mexico City one day at a time. And for a short time, the days seemed infinite, as we had five weeks for our last month, which means we got four full weekends to explore and connect with the city.

As weeks became days, the feels went from final month to goodbye RY. The closest thing I can relate it to is the week leading up to high school graduation, when you are hyper aware that a chapter of your life is coming to a close. There is a finality to the end of Remote Year that you don’t often get in your adult life, where time is seemingly amorphous without the calendar tentpoles that school life provides.

Except this time, I’m not 18 and this is not high school. I am old enough to know differently. There is a good chance I won’t see some of my Ohana again. And if there is one thing I knew for certain the entire time and I was reminded of in those last days, it’s this, this experience will never happen again. Will I travel like this again, maybe. But I will not travel like this again with my Ohana.

I was aware how unique this experience was every day was in it. Like the Talking Heads song “Once in a Lifetime” goes, I was “letting the days go by,” one day, one month, one city at a time. The song mentions water flowing a lot. Well, by the end, the nomad experience was as fluid as “water flowing underground.” The song sounds like a dream with that twinkle in the background that sounds like equal parts outer space and cartoon sparkles. When I look back on my time on RY, all these months later, it feels like a dream. I found myself living in many parts of the world and I know how I got there. It’s when I look back, with equal parts incredulousness and awe, that I ask myself “ ‘Well, how did I get here?’ ”