I Don’t Want This Life Anymore

There’s a version of me that existed before 2020.

She was living in California, building a life that felt expansive and full of possibility. I had worked as a traveling winemaker for a few years, I had just fhed my master’s degree in viticulture and enology at UC Davis, and had landed my first full-time job. I was figuring out my residency process in the U.S. I had momentum.

I had direction.

I knew who I was.

And then the world shut down.

Like for so many people, everything changed overnight—but for me, it wasn’t just a pause. It was a full stop. I lost my job. I couldn’t renew my visa. And just like that, I had to leave the life I had worked so hard to build and come back to Mexico.

I told myself it would be temporary.

It wasn’t.

Coming back home was not the soft landing I imagined. It was a shock—culturally, professionally, emotionally. The version of me that had made sense abroad suddenly didn’t fit here in the same way.

And the industry I had dedicated my life to?

It didn’t receive me with open arms.

It’s been so fucking hard to find work as a winemaker here. The profession isn’t fully understood or valued in the same way. The gender pay gap is real—and brutal. I’ve witnessed and experienced levels of inequality and abuse that I wasn’t prepared for.

And still, I stayed.

I stayed because wine wasn’t just my job—it was my identity.

I had spent years becoming this person. A winemaker. A woman in a male-dominated industry. Someone who fought for her place, who studied, who moved countries, who built something from scratch.

So I clung to it.

Even when it stopped feeling good.

Even when doors kept closing.

Even when I started my own wine project and kept hitting wall after wall, feeling like I was pushing against something that just wouldn’t move.

Even when I felt completely alone in it.

For five years, I kept trying to make it work. Not just because I loved it—but because I didn’t know who I was without it.

Who am I if I’m not a winemaker?

That question haunted me more than I was willing to admit.

And then last December, everything cracked again.

I lost my job.

At 35. Single. No plan.

No idea what the hell I was supposed to do next.

That was my rock bottom.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way—but in a quiet, heavy, “I genuinely don’t know who I am anymore” kind of way.

So I did the only thing left to do.

I asked for help.

I started therapy earlier this year, and for the first time, I allowed myself to sit with the questions I had been avoiding for years.

Not just “what should I do next?”

But “who the fuck am I, really?”

And the answer?

It’s still unfolding.

Because the truth is—I’m a lot of things.

I’m passionate. Intensely so.

I’m curious.

I’m driven.

I’m someone who doesn’t fit into one box, no matter how hard I try to force it.

And maybe that’s been the problem all along.

I was trying to make my identity small enough to fit into a title.

Winemaker.

As if that one word could hold everything that I am.

But it can’t.

And it never could.

So here’s what I’m learning—slowly, imperfectly:

My profession is not my identity.

Wine, as much as I love it, is not making me happy anymore—not here, not under these conditions, not in this version of the life I’m living right now.

And admitting that? It comes with so much guilt.

Because how do you walk away—or even step back—from something you worked so hard for?

How do you say, “this isn’t it anymore,” without feeling ungrateful?

But I’m starting to understand that changing your mind is not betrayal.

It’s growth.

I’m allowed to want something different.

I’m allowed to pivot.

I’m allowed to redefine what success looks like for me—even if it doesn’t match the version I once dreamed of.

And maybe the most important realization of all:

I can do whatever the hell I set my mind to.

Not because it’s easy—but because I’ve already done hard things. I’ve moved countries, rebuilt my life, started from zero more than once.

I know what it takes.

The difference now is that I’m choosing something that actually feels aligned with who I am—not just who I thought I had to be.

Because through all of this—every country, every version of me, every chapter—there’s been one constant:

Travel.

It’s always been there.

It’s always been the thing that lights me up, that expands me, that reminds me of who I am beyond the noise, beyond expectations, beyond titles.

Travel is where I feel most alive.

And so, instead of forcing myself to stay in something that no longer fits, I’m choosing to return to that.

To build something from it.

To trust it.

To trust myself.

So here I am.

Starting over—again.

But this time, it feels different.

This time, I’m not chasing an identity.

I’m building a life.

One that feels expansive, aligned, and honest.

One that allows me to be all the things I am—not just one.

So… say hello to your new favorite travel advisor.

This isn’t just a career shift.

It’s a reclamation.

Of my voice. My choices. My path.

I don’t have everything figured out.

I’m still in the middle of it. Still healing, still rebuilding, still rediscovering my spark.

But I’m moving.

And that’s enough.

Before anything else, I just want to say thank you.

To my family—who have held me through years of uncertainty, fear, depression, and so many challenges. Your support has been my foundation, even when I didn’t have one within myself.

And to my therapist—thank you for guiding me through this process of unlearning, questioning, and becoming. For helping me see that this isn’t me falling apart.

It’s me coming back together.

Differently.

Stronger.

More me than ever.

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