My So-Called Life (the Undeniably Brasileira Edition)

Living in Brazil can be quite a headache. Yes, I said it.

I have to deal with a lot of inconsistencies and annoying moments almost on a daily basis, in other words, this country is not for the faint of heart.

For example, it takes forever to get internet, it takes a millennia to get the gas turned on, when you book a professional to deliver or install something, they either ghost entirely, or they stay uncommunicative of when and how they'll make their job happen. And the language barrier is real and alongside the never-ending daily culture shock (on both sides).

Every day, I feel like I’m learning Brazil on the fly—with no manual, no warning, and definitely no tracking number.

And yet… I’m in love. Yes, I also said it (and I mean it).

Every day, I feel like I’m learning Brazil on the fly—with no manual, no warning, and definitely no tracking number.

I’m still in love with this country. I’m still in love with São Paulo.

Here’s an example: I haven’t had internet in my apartment for a month. A full month. My neighbors—who fully understand the monopolistic nightmare that is Vivo—took pity on me and offered to let me tether to their Wi-Fi until some miraculous breakthrough takes root. And because I believe in miracles, I named my network Nossa Senhora do Wi-Fi.

Just to make this happen, I stumbled through my Portuguese with a big smile and a lot of apologizing—but it was my ever-cheerful Brazilian zelador who made the connection between us. And it didn’t stop there: my kind neighbors refused to charge me for access, no matter how many times I insisted.

This is just… generosity. Humanity. A quiet, everyday kind of solidarity.

And it's not just the Wi-Fi. I’ve somehow accumulated 31 houseplants because here in Brazil, exotic plants aren’t exotic. They just grow in this beautiful land. The prices are affordable, and the relationships I’ve built with the local plant shopkeepers are half the joy. We laugh, we joke, and I get to practice my Portuguese while discussing a new monstera or monkey tail cactus. They know me by name now (Alice with a long ‘e’). They even deliver the plants straight to my door, like it’s the 1950s and I’m getting milk on my porch.

It’s just a community thing.

Family and friendship exist here between strangers. I don’t remember seeing anything quite like this in my 39 years in the States.

Before even moving here, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. A couple of years ago, I had an intuitive coach that told me that moving abroad means trading convenience for something deeper. You have to let go of the ease you had in the U.S.—the two-day shipping, the customer service reps who speak your language, the ability to know what in the world is going on at any given moment. Every bit of that goes out the window. And in return? You get the heartbeat of the place you love. And, I'm experiencing exactly that every day.

And I am okay. I’m better than okay. I walk outside and I’m surrounded by beauty: the people, the warmth, the spirit. The sunlight. The palm trees. The cost of living that actually makes space for me to build a business and live.

Even with the difficult language barrier, my interactions with Brazilians are always so fun. While it's only been a few months, people regularly compliment me on my Portuguese—which means so much.

Even better, no one knows where I’m from. Yes, I’m definitely not brasileira (I am until I open my mouth at least), but my Latin American Spanish oozes into my Portuguese and I’m clocked as anything but American and I’m so proud of that.

So while this isn’t Stockholm Syndrome (I swear, I verified this with Google), this really is a deep, genuine, conscious love. The kind that says: I see you, chaos—and I’m still choosing you.

I’m also not alone in this. Anyone who's lived in Brazil long enough will tell you: Everything taking forever? People not showing up? That’s not just you, that’s the whole country laughing in your face and saying, “Relaxa, vai dar certo.” And weirdly—it does.

And so I wait: for my custom sofa to be made from scratch for the herbal studio by local Brazilian artisans, for my wall tapestry from Minas Gerais for the office (which, of course, has a surprise delay), and for the next steps in my kitchen upgrade—patiently negotiated by my former Airbnb host turned housing fairy godmother.

It’s chaos, it’s beauty, it’s Brazil. And I’m exactly where I need to be.