I haven’t even died yet, and people are already telling me why I mattered. What began as an announcement about death with dignity has become something stranger: a living wake, a practical reckoning, and an argument with pain over how much time is still worth buying.

While I have spent more than a year now living in Colombia, I know better than to ever think that my Colombia is Colombia. My Colombia has porters screening visitors at the front door. An elevator, grocery delivery, doctors I pay out of pocket, friends who translate, young men who appear via WhatsApp with impossible…

I have decided to pursue Death with Dignity in Colombia. It’s weird as fuck, but it also feels right. For me. Michael and I are still trying to go home, though no longer in the same way. There is more to tell, and I don’t want to make this trip alone. You are invited to come along.

Would I do it again? I would not duplicate it. I would budget better, prepare differently and trust more carefully. But that still doesn’t answer the question I thought I was asking.

A Typical Pain Day: What You Don’t See on Social Media I’d like to think that much of the time, with a few exceptions, when you see me in a video or read something I have posted, you are seeing me during the more functional part of my day. Even that has become a vulnerable,…