I wasn’t sure I was ready to write about this yet, but because this blog is part art journal, part travel diary, it feels like the right place to begin.
Later this year we may relocate to a more affordable country—a move that will give us space to pursue our creative projects, wander freely, and step away from the relentless grind of American hustle culture. I’m dreaming of a place where I can stroll to bustling produce markets, bakeries, and cheese shops, then settle into a café for hours—reading, writing, people-watching—without worrying about the cost of living.
For me, this is a return to a lifestyle I’ve missed since leaving my hometown of Berkeley. Back in the ’80s, as a teenager, I roamed the city on foot, passing historic buildings, overgrown Mediterranean‑style gardens, and fruit‑laden trees. I spent endless afternoons in cafés, browsing independent bookstores and record shops, grabbing fresh meals at inexpensive local eateries, and catching foreign films at local art theatres. These moments became the cornerstones of a lifestyle I hoped to carry with me as I grew older. Looking back, I realize that what I loved most about those years wasn’t just the city itself, but the freedom of a daily life shaped by proximity, serendipity, and time—the same values drawing me toward walkable living abroad now.
Rent prices, however, began to skyrocket in the mid‑’90s, pushing me out of state and by the early 00’s – eroding that vibrant, walkable life. Now, as we prepare for the move, we’re in the thick of downsizing: selling select books, décor, furniture, and other household items we don’t want to spend thousands to ship overseas. It’s a painstaking, slow process—listing everything on Facebook Marketplace, eBay, and Etsy right after the holiday rush feels like an endless chore. Still, I keep boxing up books, posting shelves, and hoping each listing finds a new home.
The minutiae can be overwhelming. I wish I had an easier system, and I’d love for my friends to swing by and buy from me directly. In the weeks leading up to our departure, we’ll host an estate sale, but it would be liberating to clear out as much as possible beforehand.
As tedious as this process is, I try to remember what it’s making room for: mornings that begin with a walk to the market, afternoons spent lingering in cafés, and evenings shaped more by curiosity than exhaustion. Letting go of these objects is the price of reclaiming that rhythm. If I’m patient—and a little ruthless with my belongings—I might finally step back into the kind of everyday life that first taught me how to wander, observe, and create.
