Do you need a pause? Me too.

And here's what I'm learning while I slow down for the first time in a long time.

I'm going through one of the deepest processes of my life and, while it happens, I'm taking notes. Not from theory, but from what I'm actually feeling.

I want to start with something simple: thank you. To everyone who's trusted me from day one, who's been there in the highs and in the silences. Nothing I've built was built alone. There have always been people adding around me.

Today I'm not writing to tell you "what happened." I'm writing about what's happening now.

I'm in a transition I didn't quite plan, but one I now understand I needed. It forced me to stop, to look myself in the eye, and to question the idea that success is just "climbing faster" instead of growing more consciously.

The context

Three months ago I closed my chapter at Globant, the company that acquired mine — a chapter I'll always be grateful for.

Selling to Globant wasn't just a professional shift; it was a life shift. Years of building ad_bid from zero, opening offices in Colombia and Mexico, hiring and leading talented teams, facing challenges that aren't in any book, and living, from start to finish, the long, emotional, and deeply transformative process of selling something I'd built with so much care.

With that exit came Singapore's famous garden leave: three months in which you can't work, can't look for work, and can't move professionally.

On paper it's a legal clause. In real life, it's a pause with serious emotional weight. At first I thought it would be a simple "intermission." Today I know it's much more than that.

That's where all of these lessons are coming from.

1. I'd been in burnout for years… and only now do I see it

When the noise turns off, things you didn't see before start showing up.

No calls, no constant travel, no urgent chats — and I realized I'd been running in burnout mode for a long time. In Latin America we normalize working without stopping. That makes you tough, but it also makes you blind to your own limit.

With more mental space, I saw decisions made out of exhaustion, not strategy. A mind always on, never fully off.

That's when I understood something important: it's not always about doing more. Sometimes you have to let yourself do less to see more clearly.

2. Free time, well used, rearranges you from the inside

Being in Singapore — 13 to 14 hours ahead of almost my entire previous world — means something simple: many hours of the day with no messages, no meetings, no noise.

At first it feels strange. Then you understand it's not emptiness, it's space.

For the first time in years I have hours where I'm not reacting to anything. And in that silence I've been able to hear questions I used to bury under work: what do I want now? what still makes sense? what doesn't anymore?

That free time is giving me something no salary ever bought me: perspective and self-knowledge.

3. Real learning lights your head back up

In that pause, something powerful surfaced: learning. Self-directed learning.

I always wanted to dive deep into tech, programming, AI, infrastructure, product… but the life I was leading didn't let me go deep. It always stayed on the "someday" list.

That "someday" arrived.

Today my days are full of docs, tests, errors, repos, APIs, models, flows, prototypes. I wake up wanting to understand something new, and I fall asleep with my head full of ideas.

It feels like being a teenager obsessed with something good. The lesson is simple: when you really go back to learning, your creativity explodes. You don't just know more — you see more.

4. Starting over is scary… and freeing

Starting from zero when you have nothing is not the same as starting over after you've sold a company, joined a multinational, and built some reputation.

The questions are hard: what if I don't build something that big again? what if my best moment has passed? what if I got it wrong?

I have that fear today, not in the abstract. But looking at it head-on, without makeup, has been putting it in its place.

I'm understanding that starting again doesn't erase what you did. It supports it. And that I'm not just titles, achievements, or roles — I'm everything I learned while living them.

5. Simplifying teaches you what really matters

Living in one of the most expensive countries in the world forces you to revisit your relationship with money and stuff.

I went from having the car I wanted in Mexico to happily riding the bus in Singapore. From buying without thinking to asking myself what I actually use. From accumulating by inertia to filtering: "does this add to my life or just fill a gap?"

When you reduce what's outside, the noise inside drops. And then you see better what adds and what distracts.

6. Changing region breaks a lot of assumptions

Jakarta, Bangkok, Singapore… different food, different rhythms, ways of working and thinking that are very different from what I came pre-loaded with.

I've realized how many biases I had on me: American influence, Latin logic, my schooling, my history.

Being in Asia hasn't been tourism — it's been confrontation. And it's helping me rebuild my own way of seeing the world, with more openness.

7. My body was also asking for change

In the middle of all this, my body spoke too.

My routine changed, my schedule, my way of moving. I started noticing things I used to ignore: real fatigue, the need to sleep better, the effect of food, the impact of moving (or not).

I'm learning to actually listen to it. To understand it's not an infinite resource — it's part of the team.

8. I don't have all the answers… and that's okay

The only thing I'm clear on is this:

I'm going to start something again. I want to build something that combines tech, creativity, AI, and purpose. I want to do it with more calm, more focus, and more humanity.

I don't have a perfect plan or every piece in order. That used to keep me up at night. Today I sit with that uncertainty.

Because I've understood I'm mid-road, not at the end. And life doesn't come in a straight line.

If you're in a "meantime" too, this is for you

If you're in a strange moment — one of those where you feel you're between a chapter that ended and one that hasn't started yet — I get it. It's not a comfortable place, but it's an honest one. And often, it's the one that teaches you the most.

Maybe you're tired, confused, stepping back from something you built for years, rethinking decisions you used to take for granted, or just trying to understand what's next. Nobody celebrates that "meantime," nobody posts about it, nobody explains it… but we all go through it.

And from where I'm standing, I want to tell you something with full honesty:

• You're not failing because you slowed down.
• You're not less for questioning yourself.
• You're not late for not having all the answers.
• You're not weak for feeling lost at times.
• And you're not the only one trying to find yourself again.

Sometimes life slows you down not to punish you, but to give you back vision. So you can see what you couldn't see while you were running.

That "meantime" is not a failure. It's an invitation. An invitation to listen to yourself, to reorder, to question what no longer serves you, to make space for what does, and to build from a more honest, more authentic place.

And even when it doesn't seem like it, in these moments things that have been disordered for a long time finally settle: priorities, energy, expectations, relationships, limits, dreams.

I'm still in this process: I have doubts, fears, very clear days and days where nothing makes sense. But one thing I do know: this time isn't taking anything from me. It's giving a lot back.

Whether you're starting, closing, or reinventing yourself: you can always redesign your next chapter. You're not late. You're not behind. You're not alone. You're changing. And changing is also moving forward.

Sometimes life pauses you to give you back clarity. And from that clarity, what comes next can be bigger and more authentic than you imagined.

Thanks, and what's next

Before I close, thank you for getting all the way here. Thank you for reading, for accompanying this process, and for opening this space with me.

I also want to thank the people who've been my real support in this strange, challenging, transformative year:

Thank you to my family, who have always been my solid ground. Thank you to my parents, who taught me to work with love, to be empathetic, to collaborate, and to pause when needed. Thank you to my real friends — the ones who've been there in the loud days and the quiet ones, in the doubts and the celebrations. Thank you to those who've walked this process with patience, care, and no pressure. And above all, thank you to my wife: my partner and my balance, with whom all of this feels clearer, lighter, and deeper at the same time.

This "meantime" showed me something easy to forget: who's there, who adds, who walks with you, who holds you up. That alone is worth a lifetime.

So what's next?

Not a return — an evolution.

My plan for now is simple: keep learning, keep prototyping, keep healing, keep traveling, and very soon, formalize a new company aligned with who I am today.

I'm not looking to come back to a previous version of myself. I'm building a better one.

Thank you for walking this stretch with me.