It started with a canceled work assignment.
We were supposed to move to Budapest for my husband’s job. This was a temporary relocation that felt like a long-awaited opportunity to shake things up, show our kids the world, and step outside the routine we had built in Brooklyn.
We were mentally committed to that adventure. We had let ourselves imagine the winding streets, the Danube, and the weekend trips to new cities. But when the pandemic hit, that door slammed shut. Just one more plan lost to 2020.
And yet… the desire didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger. We were burnt out, both of us. I had been running on fumes in my advertising career for years, stuck in a loop of deadlines and meetings that never really led anywhere. Every day felt the same: a constant stream of Slack notifications, creative briefs, pitch decks, and that nagging feeling that I was performing a version of ambition I no longer believed in.
Meanwhile, we were raising two little kids in a Brooklyn-sized apartment during lockdown. The city that once fed our energy now felt like a pressure cooker. I kept looking around and thinking, “Is this really how it has to be?”
We’d been pushing through for so long that we’d forgotten to ask ourselves if the life we had built still fit. And the truth was—it didn’t. Not anymore.
That pandemic pause offered the rarest thing New York never does: space to think. Space to imagine something else.
So, we made a different kind of decision.
One that didn’t rely on a company or a relocation package. One that felt wild and selfish and thrilling. We were going to move abroad, but this time, we were going to do it on our own terms. Not for a temporary assignment. Not for a year. But for us.
Portugal came up in a five-minute conversation. It was one of our favorite places, a country that had everything we were craving—beaches, great food and wine, a slower pace, kind people, safety, sunshine, and a much lower cost of living than what we were used to. It checked all the boxes. But it wasn’t just practical. It felt… possible.
We didn’t speak the language, and we didn’t have a detailed plan. But we had momentum. And a kind of quiet confidence that we could figure it out.
By January 1st, we were in motion. The visas. The apartment search. The conversations with our families that began with “we’re thinking of making a big move” and ended with “no, not for a year—maybe forever.” That’s when it started to feel real.
We were chasing something bigger than a new location. We were chasing a different way of being. We didn’t know what life in Portugal would look like exactly. But we knew we couldn’t go back to the way things were, after everything the world had just shown us.
We weren’t just dreaming about a different life—we were building it.
We landed in Portugal, and everything was different in the best possible way. The pace was slower. The air was cleaner. The pressure was dialed down in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. There was no commute, no back-to-back Zoom meetings, and no hustle culture looming over every waking moment.
I could breathe.
For the first time in years, I felt light. Free…
Sincerely,
Allison Baxley
Contributor, Overseas Living Letter
