My buddy and I went to Brazil this weekend. It’ll be tough to encapsulate every experience and insight I gained in those 48 hours but I’ll do my best.

We…

Took an early flight on one-ish hour of sleep.

Stood in silence gazing at the most impressive spectacle of nature I’ve ever seen.

Finally found good pizza in Argentina.

Got spooked by some South American raccoons (coatis).

Found some more falls.

Swam in those falls.

Made friends with a Swiss, a Brit, and a German.

Got dinner with them.

Drank yerba mate next to the Paraná River—overlooking the three fronts of Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil.

This weekend made me feel like I was 20 again.

Fearlessly asking strangers if they wanted to be friends simply because we spoke the same language. Jumping into strange waters. Staying up all night drinking beer and speaking Spanish.

I thought of the immature, blissful kid version of me who lived in Germany in 2014. This weekend I felt those same feelings of adventure and openness but in the mind of a 29-year-old with a business and his shit together.

^^This guy was having the time of his life. But he was lost inside.

^^This guy is also having the time of his life. But he’s continuing to ask and answer some important questions.

Here are three questions I’ve been unpacking since I’ve been living down here in Buenos Aires.

What have I gotten most out of my time in Argentina?

In short: a ton of confidence.

Doing difficult things is a universally fulfilling feeling. Things like strenuous exercise, starting a business, or learning a foreign language.

Most of us can agree in conversation that doing this stuff would likely lead to an interesting and rewarding life. But it’s so unbelievably easy to not do them. Because well…they’re uncomfortable.

I’m reminded of this Alex Hormozi tweet:

It’s fun to tell people you’re moving to South America. It’s also fun to write blogs about your time there and to share photos of waterfalls that look fake.

What’s less fun is working tirelessly to get better at Spanish, maintaining relationships as fellow travelers come and go, and falling for someone you only have two weeks left with.

Starting is fun. Doing the daily work is hard.

In the last two months, I’ve…

• cowered in my apartment for fear of speaking Spanish
• cried from gratitude for my life
• laughed until I cackled
• built relationships I’ll have for a lifetime
• become more of who I actually am: silly, adventurous, connected

The big lessons come from putting yourself in daily, unfamiliar, and awkward situations and seeing what you’re truly made of. Will you embrace this unease or shy away from it? Will you continue doing the grinding and unforgiving work when no one is watching?

The confidence I’ve earned has come from proving to myself week after week that I am in fact the kind of person who follows through.

“You don’t become confident by shouting affirmations in the mirror, but by having a stack of undeniable proof that you are who you say you are.” – also Alex Hormozi lol.

Why do well-traveled people seem to act 5-10 years older?

Between 18-22, I was a man-boy with long hair running around my college and beach towns getting wasted and trying to hook up with women.

When I meet 18-22-year-olds who’ve been living in different countries, it feels like I’m talking to a seasoned 30-something. That’s because, as I mentioned in the previous question, this person is seasoned.

They’ve been on their own. Truly on their own. They’ve been forced to solve their own problems, find their own meals, and build their own communities.

I didn’t know how to do any of that consistently until I hit rock bottom at 23 and started taking control of my life. Because up until that point, all my problems had been solved for me.

High school was a joke. I gave minimal effort and passed just fine.

My mother is a saint and an incredible mom. But she took it a bit too far during my formative years by constantly cleaning up after my messes. She made the phone calls I put off. She requested extensions on deadlines I missed. She made sure I was always taken care of.

I sound ungrateful for complaining about it, but looking back I wish she had let me suffer more. You didn’t send in your application in time? Damn, guess you’re not going this semester. You didn’t call the doctor to set up your physical? Damn, guess you’re not playing soccer this season.

It sucks, but it’s through the suffering and the consequences that we learn a fundamental truth.

No one’s coming.

When you’re running a business, getting in shape, or traveling to a new country…Nobody is going to ride in on their white stallion and carry you to the promised land. No one will wave a magic wand and grant you clients, subscribers, friends, skills, a girlfriend, or abs.

It’s all on you. You have to stack the bricks to build the house. You have to find the raw materials. You have to build relationships and ask for help.

Growing up, I didn’t believe this to be true. I never told myself, “No one’s coming.” For me, it was, “My mom will probably take care of this.”

That didn’t sustain itself for very long.

I always cringe when I hear celebrities or athletes say their goal is for their children to never work a day in their lives. What an awful thing to do to a kid.

A better alternative would be to drop them in the middle of South America with a backpack, a passport, and $500. Then find them a year later and beam at their wisdom and grace.

I worry about the younger generation as I watch my little sister grow up.

GenZ is the first generation to be on social media before puberty. Preteen and teenage girls are experiencing skyrocketing levels of anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation. Young boys are aging with increased levels of antisocial behavior.

I’m no expert, but I imagine spending 8-13 hours a day on a smartphone is not helpful. Constant stimulus. Food delivered in minutes. Infinite entertainment. Communication with anyone else who happens to be on their phone.

If we so choose, we never have to be bored ever again. We never have to wait ever again. It’s never necessary to be completely alone. We can open TikTok or YouTube and watch it from 8am to 2am.

When I stood gazing at the falls, I had completely forgotten what Youtube was. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than my friend and the water in front of me.

Anyway, I have no idea if traveling is actually making me a wiser person. But I certainly feel more aligned, more present, and more capable of handling whatever comes my way.

And finally…

Am I ready to go back to the United States?

Easy answer: absolutely not.

I mean no insult to my friends and family back in the States. I’m thrilled at the thought of hugging them and being in the same room as them.

But I’m dreading my flight in nine days.

People have been asking me how I feel about going home. Here’s how I feel:

When we flew back from Brazil this weekend, I told my buddy, “Man, it’s good to be home.” I smiled as I walked the cobblestoned streets to get to my apartment.

My return flight to the States feels like I’m just taking another trip to a foreign country. It feels premature.

But I have no choice. I have commitments. And all chapters, all seasons, have their end. Some are more graceful and seamless than others.

It’s been a season of Yes these past two months. I’ve agreed to practically everything.

• dinners
• people
• wine
• trips
• cappuccinos
• dates
• barbecues

It’s led to more memories and insights than I had in the previous 12 months combined. And it will certainly go down as one of the most formative eras in my life’s library.

But I’m about to enter a season of No.

I’ll unpack this more in the next blog. But besides major events like weddings and bachelor parties, this summer there will be no:

• alcohol
• dating
• coffee
• late nights
• distractions

I’m going full monk mode. My priorities will be growing the podcast, spending time with family, and publishing my book. Nothing else.

I have until September. Then I’ll most likely move back down to South America.

Then I’ll be back…home.

I’ve been living here for a little over a week now. Here are a few things I’ve done.

• started Spanish lessons
• done jiujitsu
• started two meetups: one for working out/meditation, one for chess
• made friends from Argentina, Sweden, and China
• gone on two dates
• partied Argentine style until 6am
• got shat on by a pigeon (on my way to meet a woman)
• gained 85 YouTube subscribers in the last 30 days
• had one of my videos go viral
• bought my first fanny pack

I thought I would like it here in Buenos Aires. But I don’t.

I absolutely love it. I already feel sad that I’m leaving in a couple months.

It’s everything I’ve wanted from living in a city. Yet my living expenses are around $500 per month.

I’ve made friends here I already don’t want to leave behind.

The adventure continues…

My main goal in these blogs is to be completely transparent. Day 1 of my living in Argentina absolutely terrified me.

I spent hours with an American buddy who showed me the ropes and that was awesome. But once we parted ways, I felt like a child lost without his parents.

The sole reason for this fear: my Spanish isn’t good enough to carry on conversations yet.

I felt too timid to go to a restaurant or store on my own. What if someone tries to talk to me? What if they throw things at me? What if la policia take me away because my Spanish isn’t good enough?

I’m ashamed to say that my first night was spent in my apartment trying to figure out how to get food delivered. None of the apps would accept my debit card, so I just didn’t eat.

I know. It pains me to admit that. I was even telling myself at the time, “Dude. You came here to get uncomfortable. What the hell are you doing sitting here in this room?” I began questioning how I’d make it a week let alone several months.

On top of that, I live right next to a major nightlife hub—La Plaza Serrano. Every Thursday to Sunday, the nights are loud and long.

I barely slept.

If every night was like that, I certainly wouldn’t make it. But then day 2 began.

I woke up saying out loud, “Fuck this. You do scary things. Go outside.”

So I put on my finest pair of crocs and went grocery shopping. The simple act of walking around my neighborhood made me feel 100x better. These people aren’t here to kill me.

In fact, I’ve never been around so many openly kind and social people in my life. Anyone anywhere will stop and talk to you if you ask questions or spark conversation. They might even invite you to dinner.

I got lost on purpose so I had an excuse to walk the many cobblestoned streets. I met two backpackers from San Francisco while waiting in line to exchange cash. I walked past some of the most stunningly beautiful women I’ve ever seen.

Then I bought some groceries. This whole batch cost $6.50. I could get used to this.

I also found a jiujitsu gym and rock climbing gym, both within walking distance. The BJJ gym has plenty of weights and equipment too so that takes care of where I’ll work out during the weeks.

In the evening, I attended a “workout and meditation” meetup. The organizer’s plan was to exercise and chat goals every Monday to start the week off right. I had to walk through the heart of my neighborhood of Palermo to get there.

I was in awe. I tried to balance basking in my surroundings with not looking too much like a gringo tourist. Not trying to get robbed, ya know?

Palm trees. Botanical gardens. Zero honking cars.

This place is beautiful. The people. The buildings. The weather…

I got to the park where the meetup was. There I met Edward and Mili.

Edward is a Swedish web designer traveling the world with his golden retriever Louie. Mili is an Argentinian product manager who wants to quit her job and work on her own startup.

We got along instantly.

After 40 minutes of an intense HIIT workout, we sat and meditated and visualized our perfect week. Edward would ask guided questions like:

• Who do you want to be this week?
• What do your mornings look like?
• What does the best version of yourself spend time doing (and not doing)?

I pictured myself going to more events, rock climbing, doing jiujitsu, meeting more people. I made an internal agreement that I wasn’t allowed to stay in my apartment simply because of fear. I had to be working or resting or something intentional. No avoidance.

After all that, the three of us just sat there chatting for another two hours. We talked entrepreneurship, they asked about my podcast, and I was picking their brains about things to do in Buenos Aires. It was sitting there, legs sore and mind 100% present, when all my anxieties and doubts simply faded and disappeared.

We eventually started walking back. Mili and I hugged and kissed each other on the cheek (a cultural greeting I’m still getting used to). Then Edward and I continued walking with Louie.

He and I discussed finding clients, hiring people, and self-improvement. We share a mutual love for Joe Rogan. We exchanged book recommendations. He told me he wanted to try Brazilian jiu-jitsu.

I made a friend.

I’m taking him to class with me tomorrow. Mili and I are getting dinner and beers this weekend.

I feel at peace typing these words on my balcony. It’s 23 degrees (73 degrees Fahrenheit for you uncultured swines).

Now I’m going to go get breakfast a few blocks away, walk to my new coworking space, and meet a dude for coffee I met online.

A lot can happen in 24 hours.

Too bad. I made it here safely and smoothly.

(My trip to Vancouver Island was more action-packed.)

I got into Buenos Aires this morning at 5:30. Zero hours of sleep on the plane. Anticipation and anxiety. Dropping my luggage and laying in the apartment bed was as blissful as I imagined.

After a two-hour power nap, I met up with a dude I connected with on Zoom. He showed me around my neighborhood, bought me lunch, and helped me get a public transit card and exchange cash.

He was basically my guardian angel. I thanked him profusely for helping me land on my feet in this foreign city. He told me he was just paying forward all the guidance he got from people before him.

Now I’m sitting on my balcony typing away as I listen to pedestrians walk by saying things I can’t understand. Three men are playing hang drums and accordion. My space is small and peaceful.

I feel far away, which is exactly what I wanted. My two main goals in being here were:

1. to give my life a cold shower, and
2. to remove access to my friends and family so I could focus on my work and health.

Here are the first things I noticed today…

• The women are gorgeous here.
• Life is quite different when you’re the foreigner (when you don’t speak the language and when most people don’t look like you).
• I haven’t felt this adventurous since I lived in Germany when I was 20.

I’m off tomorrow. The to-dos are: jiujitsu class in the morning, finding a coworking space, and getting a membership at a rock climbing gym.

Onward.

Tomorrow is my flight to Argentina. It’s also my grandpa’s birthday who passed away in December.

Last night, I had a travel nightmare. I tend to get those before big excursions.

I was sitting at my gate waiting to board the plane. There were about 30 minutes to go before I realized I had forgotten to get my boarding pass and check my bag.

Panic ensued. How did I make it through the terminal without accomplishing those essential tasks?

And that’s really at the heart of why travel makes me so stressed out: the fear of being incompetent.

My friend put it perfectly. She told me the story of immediately losing her backpack and passport when she went to Poland. She laughingly told me, “At that moment I felt like I was too stupid to be traveling alone.”

That’s exactly right. If I miss a flight, if I get confused by foreign public transportation, if I can’t find my way…my deep fear is that other people could figure it out but I’m too stupid to.

Yesterday was emotionally taxing. I said goodbye to some close friends, hung out with my family, and came home and crashed at 9pm. Today I’m armed with my first full night’s sleep in a week. Some work to do. Rock climbing with a buddy. Packing. Hanging with besties.

The next time you get an email from me will be from my apartment in Buenos Aires. All I have to do is make it there alive.

See you then.

I shared a few days ago that my passport got delayed, along with thousands of other Americans.

The problem? I’m supposed to get on a plane today at 2:40pm and fly to Buenos Aires, Argentina.

For weeks, my passport application status just said, “In Process.” I tried calling their toll-free number to set up an appointment at an in-person passport office. The closest ones to me are in DC, Philly, and the northeast.

95% of the time, my calls didn’t go through. It either went straight to a dead line, or the automated messaging system spewed these words that are ingrained in my head: “Thank you for calling the US Passport’s Automated System. Your call is very important to us. Due to high call volumes, we are unable to take your call at this time. We recommend you call back at a different time. Goodbye…*click*”

But every now and then, my call would go through. And it felt like I won a prize. Bursting with glee, I’d have to calm myself down and remind myself that the war was far from over.

Monday was the first time I got to speak to a human being. Her name was Lori. “That’s my mom’s name,” I said, hoping that would create a cosmic bond between us and force her to send me a new passport that day.

“I don’t give a shit,” Lori replied. Just kidding.

But she told me my only option was to make an appointment. If I showed up to an office without one, they wouldn’t even let me in the building.

“There aren’t any appointments available in DC between now and Thursday,” she sighed.

“I’m willing to drive,” I said. “Are there any openings in nearby states?”

After clicking away at her keyboard, she said the closest one was in…Buffalo, New York. Wednesday afternoon. Seven hours away.

“Book it,” I said without hesitation. She entered my unique code and phone number. I would’ve driven 15 hours. I just wanted a God damn passport.

“Oh shoot,” Lori whispered.

Oh shoot? Oh shoot??? Clearly she means, ‘Oh shoot,’ looks like we’ve actually made a huge mistake and your passport is being hand-delivered to you by Joe Biden along with a new MacBook Pro and free Chipotle for life.

Unfortunately, that’s not what she meant. “Someone just grabbed that appointment,” she explained. “They come and go pretty quick.”

Then immediately, “Oh wait! One just opened up in DC for Wednesday morning,” she cheered.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph, Lori book it!! Do it now! Send it!!!” I was elated.

“…It went away,” Lori said dejectedly.

My emotional state was being kicked around like a hacky sack. It felt like Lori was my only ally and at the same time trying to sabotage me.

“O..okay,” I muttered. Like a defeated and confused child who just wants more waffles but there aren’t any left in the freezer. Lori apologized and I thanked her for her efforts.

That day and the day after were two of the most stressful and anxiety-ridden days I’ve experienced in years. It was kind of a wake-up call.

I never really get stressed. My life is quite simple and highly rewarding. I mean, the thing that has brought me the most mental suffering in years is not being able to fly to a beautiful foreign country on time. What a glorious problem to have.

But I was still feeling it. There was sluggishness in my eyes. It was harder to laugh. I was tired when there was no reason to be.

This whole government passport system is slow and inefficient. But this whole ordeal was my fault.

I knew when my passport expired last year. I had all the time in the world to be proactive and just get a new one. But I waited until I actually had an international flight planned. I take full responsibility. Poor Lori was just doing her job and answering the thousandth phone call from some flustered American trying to leave the country.

New plan: I was just going to take the next open appointment within the next two weeks, then move my flight to whatever day came after that.

On Wednesday morning, I came down to this temporary office space in my friends’ basement. Coffee in hand, I opened up the travel.gov page I’d been visiting every day. I typed in my info to check the status of my passport and get my unique locator number to give to the eventual person I’d speak with.

“MAILED.”

Big bold letters. My passport was approved, completed, and shipped.

A wave of peace flushed over my body. All was right in the world.

I called the airline to reschedule my flight. Her name was Sandra. She was super professional and had a lovely Hispanic accent. She told me that since I got the cheapest option, I’d have to just cancel it and buy an entirely new flight.

“Is that the absolute best option for me,” I asked like a sad puppy.

“Let me see what I can do,” Sandra replied. She put me on hold for 10 minutes.

When she returned, she told me she would break the rules and just move my flight. I’ve never felt more grateful for a stranger’s kindness.

My new flight is next Saturday. Nine days from now.

Thank you, Lori. Thank you, Sandra. My guardian angels.

Until then, my close friends are kind enough to let me continue living with them. So long as I scrub the mold and vacuum the ceilings.

I’ll let you know when I get to my destination. ✌️

I’m flying down to Argentina this Thursday afternoon. Or so I thought.

I renewed my passport in January and paid for expedited shipping. My new one was supposed to come in the mail last week.

It didn’t.

Apparently, passports are a hot commodity right now. The state department is getting slammed with requests and the nation is experiencing massive delays.

I spent hours on the phone last week trying to get through to someone. The calls either didn’t go through or they would go through and then the automated system would hang up after 30 seconds.

First world problem? Yes.

Incredibly stressful and unsettling? Very much so.

My sole mission today is to figure out how to get this stupid little blue book before Thursday. I’m going to the DC passport office. Even though my passport is being processed by the LA office. And you can’t just show up to an office without making an appointment. But you can only make an appointment over the phone. But there’s no way to get through on the phone.

So I’m going to take a shot in the dark and explain my situation. Maybe they’ll throw me in jail. Maybe I’ll get put on the No Fly List.

Whatever it takes. Stay tuned.