A Covid Interlude And A US Exodus
My friend’s wife – who is way too cool for him – said she enjoyed reading my “blog”, and that gave me the kick in the ass I needed to get back into it. But this post isn’t about that kick in the ass, it’s about the gargantuan kick in the ass that the Coronavirus (remember when it wasn’t cool to call it Covid?) gave me to leave the states. Turns out it wasn’t as hard as I thought, and all those times leading up to the departure when my girlfriend told me to shut up and stop stressing were actually warranted.
The Decision
I remember sitting, quarantined, at our makeshift home office. We were cramped into the corner of a small, overpriced 1 bedroom apartment in Stamford, CT. The only saving grace was the large windows overlooking a well-kept pool that we couldn’t fucking use. I was staring at my pc and my girlfriend, not more than 3 ft away, was staring at hers. Having completely lost myself in the ERP void, I finally looked up and asked, “What the fuck are we doing?” This question, as it would turn out, seems to have been 6 or 7 years in the making. I had been working for a few months at this marketing agency with great people that I had never met because we were forced to go into lockdown my very first day. The job itself sucked. As you may know, I enjoy very much the art of conversation and meeting new people. This was sorely missing from my job.
The Reason
Yikes, between the sky-high racial tension, impending election, pandemic and subsequent quarantine, where do I start? I guess people just started showing their true colors and using the virus as an excuse. Mass media induced hysteria can only get you so far.
A woman scolded me, like I was a child, for walking the wrong way down a Trader Joe’s aisle. Trader Joe’s is my safe space; I just wanted some goddamn mango mochi, and somehow managed to ruin this clown’s day? Little did she know, her day would truly be ruined when I called her a cunt right to her face in the parking lot, much to the chagrin of my girlfriend.
Another woman at our pool scurried to the leasing office so my friend’s mother -about to have serious hip surgery and just wanted to swim one time before summer ended – could be kicked out because she was a guest. Were these really the type of people I want to live near? The pandemic is serious, but the true ugliness I saw in people was enough of a reason to ship out. That, and the innumerable news articles telling me I was going to die every day.
The Location
We both decided it had to be Mexico. The only country that seemingly realized how much tourism impacted the economy and that they could, in fact, exist with covid if they actually took precautions 100% of the time. My girlfriend’s boss let everyone go the exact millisecond he received the small business loan, proving yet again how loyal your corporate overlords really are. The only tether left was my job, which I couldn’t leave fast enough. Our lease was thankfully coming to an end, with every crack beginning to show, both literally and metaphorically. But where in Mexico? Mexico City? Too big. Cancun? Too many resorts. How about Tulum? There’s beautiful beaches, cheap food and booze, majestic ruins, and Airbnbs the fraction of our rent. The biggest alleged downfall was that there were too many entitled, asshole Americans in Tulum. But guess what? There were a lot more in Connecticut.
The Result
So here we are. One month – a vacation so long an American would typically need to fake his/her own death – into our departure from the states. I sold all our furniture, did some really bad math, and threw a bunch of shit into my parents’ basement. Tulum is the starting point. We may very well end up back in the states – or whatever is left of it after the election – by this time next year. But shooters shoot, and we are taking this fucking shot.
Tim Ferris gets agitated when people ask “what do you do?” and expect solely a professional response. Our jobs don’t define us. From now on when people ask me what I do, I’ll be replying with my hobbies and passions. For right now, what I do is ride my rickety-ass bicycle through the jungle with my girlfriend to a beautiful Mexican beach and drink $2 Victorias while listening to music…and I couldn’t be happier.
