Our journeys always take us home.

My little giant.

Yesterday was a special day. Izaak, my eldest son, graduated from middle school. There were no caps, no gowns, no big party—but there were plenty of emotions running high during the small ceremony the school held.

In my head, the same thought kept echoing over and over: “My baby isn’t a baby anymore.”

I watched him walk nervously toward the podium, carrying that unique mix of excitement and fear you only feel when a chapter is ending and you’re about to embark on a new journey that will take you far beyond your comfort zone.

As I sat there, I couldn’t help but think back to each of my own graduations. I was always counting the days to finish one stage, with my eyes set on the next. I couldn’t wait to leave for university, to experience city life, meet new people, explore new places. I kept looking toward new horizons, chasing what came next, longing for that grass that always seems greener on the other side of the mountain.

College gives us friends for life.

I grew up between the salt of Guerrero Negro and the sandy paths of Bahía Asunción, and like so many others, I believed real life would begin the day I left.

City lights.

So I left. I tried the city. I lived that fast-paced rhythm where everything is at your fingertips. I was blinded by the lights, the technology, the noise that at first feels so thrilling.

But day by day, I realized something was missing. I began to feel small. The mentality of the people, the traffic, the rush, the way relationships worked… everything felt so different, so cold.

And then I discovered it simply wasn’t for me. One day I just knew I had to come back. My place was here—where the salt sparkles under the sun, where the torote trees bloom and paint the desert pink, and where the sea saves you when you feel like you’re drowning.

The cherry trees of the desert. Photo courtesy of Santoro Fotografía

When I returned, something shifted. Picking up my university studies here, in my hometown, felt like the missing pieces of my puzzle suddenly appeared, as if by magic. I understood that here is my rhythm, my essence, my home. Because in these small towns there is a peace you can’t buy, a calm you won’t find anywhere else.

Because yes… as children we dream of leaving, but sooner or later we miss walking without fear, greeting everyone by name, feeling the salty breeze on our faces, and knowing the sea is always close by. We miss that feeling of belonging that places like Guerrero Negro, Bahía Asunción, La Bocana, Punta Abreojos, and so many other Baja towns give us.

As T.S. Eliot wrote:

“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”

Home is the place my heart always returns to.

And you? Have you ever felt you needed to leave in order to truly appreciate home?

With salt on my skin and my heart here in Baja,

Sirena 🌊✨