How this started
A Tuesday in July.
On July 14, 2020, a seemingly uneventful day in the sameness of COVID, the email came: my kids would not be going back to school in the fall. I'd been holding onto the idea that school would give them what I hadn't been able to during those first months. Time. Attention. Me.
For as long as I could remember, I was the one who had it under control. I learned the rules early. It was a donut-eating contest, and I was out to win. I won the contests, and the prize for winning was more donuts. After years of them I realized I was tired of donuts. But I had no idea what else I could eat, or what I even liked.
Is this really what I'm supposed to be doing?
That Tuesday, the small voice that had been restless for years, the one I kept squashing with "you have it all, who are you to complain," finally shouted. Two weeks later we had a plan. A year in Oaxaca, Mexico, with my family. I called it an adult gap year because I didn't have a better name for it, and because I wasn't running away from anything. I was going to find out what happens when you actually stop.
