It all started in England. I was working as a designer — spending my days in front of the screen, creating, refining, collaborating. I liked my work, but somewhere inside, I felt an ongoing push to live more freely.

From the very beginning, I was drawn to remote work. It wasn’t just about convenience — it was about possibility. I was always comfortable working online, managing tools, communicating remotely. It made sense to me.

Eventually, I managed to set up a system that gave me more flexibility. I had an arrangement with my company where I only had to go to the office once a week. That was already a big step. It felt super cool — I had time to focus, space to create — but deep inside, it still wasn’t enough. England, though comfortable, started to feel small. I wanted to experience new cultures, new air, and a different rhythm.

So, I came up with a deal — one I invented myself. I would work in England for three consecutive months, then spend one month abroad, before returning again. When it came to choosing the first destination, the decision came naturally: the Canary Islands. More precisely, Tenerife. I had never been there before, but it felt like the perfect balance — a place where I could work, explore, and reconnect with life outside of the usual routine.

It took me a lot of courage to propose that deal to my company. I knew it was the right thing to do, but still — it felt bold. Luckily, the company was supportive at the time. In fact, I wasn’t showing up in the office very often anyway, so it made sense. My colleagues were respectful and kind about it, but I could sense a small imbalance. They didn’t have the same flexibility I had, and that didn’t feel super fair to them. I understand that now — I was already a bit of an exception, a person who drifted between the office and the online space. It probably looked strange from their perspective. But once they got used to it, things settled. I could finally focus on my plan.

When I got on the plane, everything started to feel real. I had already arranged my accommodation for the month — a hostel I found at a great price because it was the off-season. (By the way, if you ever go to Tenerife, go off-season. It’s still warm, sunny, and beautiful — just without the crowds and high prices.)

As soon as I landed, I was astonished. The air was warm, soft, and full of light. It felt like another world compared to England. I took public transport from the airport — it was easy and smooth — and when I arrived at the hostel, I had no idea what to expect.

What I didn’t know then was that this place would become something like a family. I would end up spending many more months there later on, returning again and again. From the very first moment, people were open, friendly, and relaxed — like everyone was on an endless holiday. I unpacked, cracked open a beer, opened my laptop, and looked around, smiling at where I was. I managed to get some work done that first day — just to prove to myself that this could really work.

Later in the evening, I joined some people outside. There was laughter, stories, music, and that slow island rhythm. Most of them were living a very laid-back life — hanging around the hostel, enjoying the sunshine, not really exploring much. For them, that was enough. But for me — it wasn’t. I wanted to see the island, to move, to feel it. And that was just the beginning.

The first weeks in Tenerife were full of sun, sand, and simple pleasures. I spent hours walking to nearby beaches, soaking up warmth, and enjoying everything that was within walking distance. On the surface, it was perfect — this was the dream I had imagined for so long.

But then the working week began. That’s when a subtle pressure started to creep in. Everyone around me seemed to be on an adventure — planning the day, exploring, living fully. And there I was, tethered to my laptop, sitting to work while the day passed by just outside. At first, it didn’t feel too bad. I reminded myself why I was here, why the work mattered, why the plan made sense.

After a few days, and then weeks, something inside me started to stir. A craving, almost a little restless: I wanted to be part of that life too — moving, experiencing, discovering. The contrast between my work schedule and the lively world outside began to weigh on me in ways I hadn’t expected.

It wasn’t about the people — far from it. The hostel was full of wonderful, relaxed, and welcoming people. The locals were kind, friendly, and open. Tenerife itself was stunning. Nothing spectacular “happened” in terms of events or milestones, but the feeling of the first month was different from what I had imagined.

I had achieved the deal I wanted — the freedom to live and work abroad. Yet, being there, I realized freedom wasn’t just about having the ability to go somewhere. It was about time and space. Space to breathe, to think, to wander without schedules. Time to discover not only the place around me but also what I truly wanted for myself.

That first month taught me that dreams are often more complicated than they seem, and the real adventure is figuring out what you really need.

Freedom, I realized, wasn’t a destination. It was a feeling, cultivated slowly, day by day. And Tenerife — with its sun, people, and slow rhythm — became the perfect mirror for that discovery.