A Walking Contradiction: When Life Throws You a Curveball

I am a walking contradiction. I'm both a meticulous planner and someone who thrives on spontaneity. Definitely not a risk-taker, yet someone who bristles at anything resembling commitment—I always reserve the right to change my mind. The more I think about it, I realize I'm a planner when money or life-changing decisions are involved, but I prefer flexibility in everything else.

Take my move to Merida, for example. It's been meticulously planned. Beyond securing the house, my financial advisor and I have mapped out various income scenarios and calculated exactly what we'll have to work with once I no longer have a traditional day job. I've scoured the internet for budgeting information, created spreadsheets, then created better, more detailed versions of those spreadsheets. Until today, only one question remained unanswered: whether to sell my apartment or rent it to a long-term tenant.

But sometimes my mind works in ways that require me to circle back and provide proper context. So let me rewind.

Recently, a colleague mentioned a conversation she'd had with our boss—she's essentially his second-in-command. He's a planner too, and he was putting the finishing touches on the latest version of his estate plans. Being the kind and considerate man he is, he was thinking about the people he employs and what happens to them after his death. During this conversation, my name came up, and it was suggested that I could run the family foundation.

To some degree, this isn't entirely new territory for me. I've been doing aspects of this work for several years now—an unspoken responsibility that I simply considered part of my job description. Proposals arrive, I read them, but the final funding decisions have always rested with my bosses.

There was someone in this role before me, back when the foundation was more open to considering new funding requests. When she went on leave and the financial crisis hit, our work evolved. It continued evolving until funding became largely formulaic—we'd support the same organizations year after year, almost automatically. This opportunity, however, feels fundamentally different.

When my colleague told me about the conversation, she asked me to think about it. I did think about it, then promptly decided it wasn't something I needed to answer immediately. I figured I had time to discuss it with my financial advisor so we could develop a plan that would satisfy everyone—I want steady income, but I also want to make a meaningful impact.

That timeline evaporated when my boss called one day and asked, "How would you like to be promoted to Executive Director of the Foundation? There will be a lot more money when I die."

How do you respond to a question like that when you haven't given it proper consideration because you've been busy putting it off?

I answered enthusiastically, "YES!"

It was completely impulsive. My heart raced and I felt a surge of panic because this was simultaneously everything I wanted and everything I didn't want. An opportunity had fallen into my lap to do work I genuinely love, but I also know my mental health needs attention and I desperately need to get away from this country.

People who know me would probably describe me as having a good heart—someone who wants to help people, someone who wants to make an impact. All of those things are true. At the same time, I've been negligent. I haven't helped as many people as I should have, haven't given as much as I could have, haven't had as big an impact as I'm capable of. While I say I want to give more, I find myself hoarding money and giving more to political campaigns than to charities. This opportunity, however, opens an entirely new world of possibilities.

I know my values align closely with my boss's and his children's values. In some ways, I think his kids and I are even more closely aligned, which is saying something. I care deeply about issues that matter. I care about equity and opportunity. I care about women's rights and social justice. I care about people and ensuring everyone has equal access to opportunity. If I truly embrace this role—which I've already accepted—I would have the power to direct funding to organizations doing the necessary, vital work in this critical moment.

There's no question I can do this job well. I've never lacked confidence. But I do question what this role looks like for me and how I can merge it with the plans I've already made. Can I work six months in the US and six months in Mexico? Or maybe alternate between two months in each place? What I'm wrestling with, I suppose, is whether I can really have it all.