Medellín, Antioquia, Colombia
September 20, 2015

I <3 Medellin

I've fallen in love. And just like love, I have a hard time explaining it to other people in a way that makes sense.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Last Wednesday, I left Puerto Escondido, Mexico, on my way to Colombia. Almost immediately, things went went wrong - and I learned something amazing.

At one point, I ran the entire length of the Mexico City airport, trying to keep up with a man with a yellow reflective vest. You know that polite sort of fast-walk/jog we all do when we "run" to catch something? This was not that. This was full-on chased-by-a-puma running. Sweaty, ragged breathing, everyone-is-staring sprinting. Then came more close calls. Then the sketchiest taxi ride of my life.

Eventually, I made it to Colombia. I woke up the next day, went out to my balcony, and took a deep inhale of the city. It was instant. We clicked.

I've been out every day, feet pressing pavement and dirt paths and exquisite marble floors. It's a city unlike anywhere else I've ever been, sort of like Spain had a baby 400 years ago, dropped it in the mountains of Colombia, and it grew up on its own. Familiar and foreign at once. Tantalizing.

For reasons I can't wrap my brain around, Medellin gets your heart pumping. Asks more out of you. Gives more from itself. It is generous and dangerous, all at once.

It is a city with style and art. One where it is illegal to hang your clothes on the balcony.

I love it.

Having two months here already doesn't feel like enough.

But most of all, Medellín has reset the central stories I tell about myself. Nudging gently:

You are capable of more than you think. C'mon. Let's go.

May you have a week filled with moments where you reach beyond yourself - and find more you, waiting.

Until next week,


p.s. The best thing I saw all week was the glittering golden canyonside of Medellin's west side. But since I can't really share that, here's a powerful, human, thought-provoking piece about Jo Aubin. He has Alzheimer's. He's 38.

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