In 1998, I decided to move to Mexico and accept a position teaching English to kindergartners. I gave up a good job, proximity to my family and friends, and a nice car in the search for adventure.
When I arrived in Pachuca, Mexico, I realized several things. I was making about $100 American a month, rent paid. My new school had about a fourth the money of my old school, and my class sizes were about twice as large. I could barely speak enough Spanish to successfully shop, let alone make friends. And anyone who even remotely cared about me was two thousand miles away. I had no phone, and 1998 Mexican internet service was spotty at best.
It would have been easy to give up, go back home, and write the whole thing off as a bad idea. But two things stopped me:
1) I'd been planning for this for years. I could not give up just because things were hard.
2) I'd have to move back in with my parents.
So I decided to honor my two-year contract, or at least get through the school year.
I ended up staying for three years. I only left because I was afraid I'd end up staying forever.
I make friends. I taught children. I fell in love. Got hurt in love.
I guess my point is sometimes everything seems hopeless. I know I've felt pretty depressed, since, I dunno, the past two months.
Just remember that sometimes the only one who can get you through a a rough time is the person in the mirror.
Her name is Dolores. She has no eyes and only appears in the glass when you say her name backward three times.