The time has come for me to finally leave Guatemala.
And while I could say this isn’t at all when I thought I’d leave, that would only be true based on the version of me who arrived here six months ago.
Back then, I told myself I wouldn’t leave Guatemala until I could speak Spanish fluently and without hesitation. I estimated that would probably take six to eight months. I was nervous about venturing further into Central or South America before I had a strong command of the language.
But somewhere along the way, I realized something important:
I can learn Spanish anywhere.
Sure, it might be more difficult in places like Chile or Colombia where the dialects move faster and differently than what I’ve grown accustomed to here. But I have a foundation now. A solid one.
And maybe more importantly, I’m beginning to understand that I don’t need to master something before allowing myself to move forward with it.
What’s interesting is that I didn’t even realize how deeply that belief still lived in me until I started learning a new language.
Because learning Spanish has forced me into situations where I sound less articulate than I actually am. Where I make mistakes constantly. Where I misunderstand things, stumble over words, and can’t always express myself the way I want to.
And while part of me understands logically that this is how people learn, another part of me still struggles with not being immediately good at something.
I think adulthood allowed me to hide from that feeling for a long time.
Most of us build lives around the things we already know how to do well. The things that make us feel capable, competent, self-sufficient.
Learning Spanish disrupted that in me.
In a lot of ways, this entire experience has been about learning how to continue forward while still feeling unfinished.
Because the truth is, growth doesn’t happen once we’ve mastered something.
It happens while we’re still learning.
And honestly, based on where I currently am in Guatemala—a place where English is spoken almost as often as Spanish—I’m probably doing myself a disservice staying solely for the language anyways.
I also thought I would see all of Guatemala before leaving.
Truthfully? I’ve probably seen a third of what most backpackers come here for.
And it’s not because I wasn’t interested.
Or maybe, if I’m being honest, it’s because I wasn’t interested enough.
That was a strange realization to sit with.
Because I’ve spent the last six months in a place that people fall deeply in love with. A place people visit once and immediately begin planning their return to. A place that seems to cast a spell on almost everyone who arrives.
And Guatemala never quite captured my heart that way.
I know what that feeling is supposed to feel like.
I remember standing on the streets of Palermo, Sicily eleven years ago and thinking: I could live here. I remember visiting Colombia last year and feeling that same sense of awe and recognition. Honestly, that trip was part of what inspired me to start learning Spanish in the first place.
So part of me kept waiting for Guatemala to do the same thing to me.
But it never did.
And for a while, I think I judged myself for that.
I wondered if maybe I wasn’t giving it enough of a chance. If maybe I was missing something everyone else seemed to feel so instantly and deeply.
But I think there’s something important about allowing yourself to experience a place honestly instead of forcing yourself to see it through the same lens as everyone else.
Not everything meaningful has to become forever.
And not every place we grow in is meant to become home.
Ironically, it was actually Mexico that clarified that for me.
When I visited a couple months ago, something in me immediately shifted.
I felt lighter. More energized. More alive.
The colors, the food, the music, the chaos, the ease at which I was speaking Spanish—it all woke something up in me again.
And while I didn’t immediately decide Mexico would be my next destination, the trip did confirm something quietly but clearly:
It was time for me to move on from Guatemala.
That realization had nothing to do with Guatemala lacking anything.
It had simply served its purpose.
And truthfully, this place has given me a lot.
I’ve loved being part of this hostel. The friendships I’ve made here have added immeasurably to my life. I’ve spent mornings practicing yoga overlooking volcanoes and the lake, and there hasn’t been a single day I’ve taken that view for granted.
I’ve learned to slow down here.
To live more simply.
To stop planning every second of my future.
And recently, I was even offered a full-time managerial position at the hostel.
A few years ago, I probably would have accepted immediately.
The security alone would have been enough to convince me. The opportunity to live and work abroad has been a dream of mine for years, and the old version of me would have seen this as proof that I had finally “made it.”
But this time, something felt different.
Because while the opportunity was good, it wasn’t aligned.
Accepting it would have meant staying somewhere that felt comfortable, but no longer expansive. Staying somewhere simply because it was safe and available.
And I think I’ve finally learned that not every opportunity that appears in our lives is meant to be accepted.
Sometimes opportunities exist simply to show us how much we’ve changed.
I also assumed that when I eventually left Guatemala, I’d continue moving south—following the route most backpackers take through Central America.
But lately, I keep feeling pulled back toward Mexico.
Which feels strange in some ways considering I’ve already spent a lot of time there over the years. Hell, I got married in the Yucatán seventeen years ago.
Mexico wasn’t even remotely on my radar when I first started this journey.
I thought this experience would be about constantly moving toward something new.
But I’m learning that growth doesn’t always happen through novelty.
Sometimes growth looks like trusting yourself enough to change direction without needing to justify it.
And maybe that’s what Guatemala has really been for me:
A mirror.
One that reflected back parts of myself I deeply love.
And other parts I still find myself wrestling with.
I love that I can adapt almost anywhere.
That I can build community quickly.
That I’ve loosened my grip on needing to know exactly what comes next.
I’ve gotten infinitely better at sitting inside uncertainty instead of trying to control every outcome before it arrives.
I no longer feel the same desperate need for backup plans and escape routes.
But there are still things I’m working through too.
I still struggle to ask for help.
Still struggle to fully take up space.
Still catch myself saying yes when I really mean no.
And despite all the evidence that things continue to work out, I still sometimes operate from scarcity instead of trust.
I still make myself smaller than I need to be.
I still fear making mistakes, even though I know mistakes are often the very thing that teach us the most.
And maybe that’s why writing all of this feels so emotional.
Because I can finally sit here and see these last six months clearly for what they were.
Harder than I expected in some ways.
Much easier in others.
Lonely sometimes.
Beautiful often.
A strange mixture of grief and gratitude existing side by side.
And maybe that’s what moving on is supposed to feel like.
Not dramatic.
Not devastating.
Just a quiet knowing.
I feel ready to go.
Like this chapter has reached its natural close.
I’m not heartbroken to leave.
I’m not wildly euphoric either.
I just feel calm.
Deeply grateful for what Guatemala gave me.
For what it revealed.
For the version of myself I met while I was here.
And maybe that’s enough.
To love a place for what it was without needing it to become forever.
-A
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