I’m an American Living in Mexico. I’ve Been Met With Confusion Lately.

As a travel writer, I’ve always been up for an adventure. People know that I don’t shy away from taking a risk.

So when I told my friends and family that I was moving to Mexico full-time after years of doing the digital nomad thing, their first question was, “Is it safe?” (Sidebar: It is.) But following the November 2024 election, their reaction is now more along the lines of, “I want to do that, too.”

Call it burnout, inflation, politics — whatever it is, it seems like everyone I talk to is at least flirting with the idea of relocating south of the border, perhaps exhausted by US news and the uncertainty of what’s going to happen over the next few years.

Around 1.6 million Americans live in Mexico. As someone who’s lived here for several years — first as a frequent traveler, now as a legal resident in the Costalegre, a remote area south of Puerto Vallarta — I can say that living in Mexico as an American is complex, humbling, and full of lessons, especially when you’re trying to maintain a full-time remote career.

What it’s really like to work remotely from rural Mexico

Working from a small coastal town in Mexico comes with challenges. The wifi is a constant source of stress — video calls drop, power goes out, and upload speeds fluctuate wildly depending on the weather. I’ve learned to have a backup plan, like making friends who have Starlink or using my phone as a hot spot.

Then there’s the bureaucracy. I’m a legal resident of Mexico (a process with many hoops in itself), which you’d think would make things like buying a car or getting license plates easier. It doesn’t. I’ve stood in government offices for hours, paperwork in hand, only to find out I needed a copy of something else, and that the copy shop closed an hour ago.

Bureaucracy is frustrating in any country, but navigating it in a different language and culture is its own special form of character-building.

The shift in how people talk to me about America

I’ve traveled around the world for years, and being American has always come with some baggage. Sometimes it’s a joke about our portion sizes; sometimes it’s a polite, probing question about our gun laws or healthcare system.

Since the November election, though, the tone has shifted. As an American in Mexico, I feel quite welcome; nothing has changed about how I’m treated by my Mexican friends or the people I interact with daily. What I do notice is more curiosity and even confusion.

Both fellow travelers and locals want to know what’s going on with US immigration, tariffs, and the rising cost of living. I’ve met many Canadian snowbirds who are feeling the direct effects of Trump’s immigration and tariff policies.

People balk when I tell them about the cost of eggs, New York rent, or gas in California. (They balked at those costs before Trump was president, too.) My Mexican friends joke about Greenland and Canada, asking me why Trump doesn’t want to also make Mexico part of his “empire” — always said with a laugh and an eye roll.

Maybe they feel comfortable joking with me because I’m never shy about making it known that I didn’t vote for Trump. That tends to diffuse any tension and opens the door to a broader, more honest conversation about the world in general — women’s rights, healthcare, LGBTQ+ policies, and whether we love or hate ChatGPT.

Most of the people I meet share a similar mindset: We’re all just trying to live peacefully, expand our horizons, and (for many) work remotely while doing so.

What I gain from living and working in Mexico

I start my morning with yoga or a walk along the ocean and take a midday break to practice my Spanish with my neighbors. I’ve traded after-work drinks for beach margaritas and community music night in town.

Work — deadlines, meetings, and the occasional late-night scramble — is the same, but my surroundings make the day more meaningful. My work-life balance often comes directly from inconveniences like WiFi outages — when there’s nothing you can do about the situation, why not take a leisure walk on the beach until things are up and running again?

Living abroad also immerses me in a different way of thinking. In Mexico, people don’t seem to live to work — they’d rather collect their paycheck as a means to enjoy time with family or to travel. That attitude is contagious, and I’ve become more intentional about how I spend my time.

I’ve also become more patient, flexible, and creative — skills I’ve found to be incredibly valuable in my professional life. Rejection letters don’t sting quite as badly these days; I’ve come to believe that when one door closes, it means another is about to open.

Financially, it goes without saying that the US dollar stretches much further in Mexico. I pay $2,000 a month for a four-bedroom house with a yard and a pool. Monthly grocery bills cost what weekly grocery bills do in the US. Working as a freelancer, I don’t have to hustle quite as hard.

I miss some things about the States and may go back someday

It’s not perfect. There are days when I miss takeout, the efficiency of public transportation, or being able to call customer service and speak to someone in my native language. I miss the simplicity of online purchases and definitely certain foods (hello, New York pizza).

I’ve also had to adjust to a general approach to time that is much more flexible than I’m used to — which feels liberating, until you’re trying to figure out when your water and gas are delivered and how to flag down the truck that brings them.

I accept those tradeoffs as part of the deal. You can’t move to another country and expect it to bend to your way of doing things. The longer I live here, the more comfortable I get.

I haven’t ruled out returning to the US. There are parts of the country I love, and I wouldn’t mind being closer to family. But it would have to be on my terms; I won’t go back to a cubicle. And I certainly don’t want to go back full-time before 2028.