What Sixteen Years in Morelia Taught One American About Home

There are an overwhelming number of videos, articles, and podcasts about moving to Mexico. Most begin with lower costs, beautiful weather, scenic views, retirement, or the dream of escaping a faster, more expensive life.

Very few begin with belonging.

And that’s because belonging can’t be purchased with a plane ticket, a residency card, or a house in a beautiful colonial city. It isn’t inherited simply because you decided to stay. It isn’t built in a weekend, and it absolutely isn’t something another country owes you.

Belonging is earned.

It is built one conversation at a time, one awkward language mistake at a time, one community event, one opened shop, one friendship at a time.

And that’s what I really came to understand while sitting across from Wayne, an American entrepreneur who has spent more than sixteen years building a life in Morelia, Michoacán. His time, sense of adventure, and perspective on the importance ofintegration into the culture around you kept pulling me back to one very clear idea, that “home” isn’t found, it’s built.

Drawn into Love

Long before he packed a moving truck or thought that he could have a life in Mexico, his heart had been captivated by something deeper and much harder to explain: the people, the possibility, the feeling that perhaps there was another life waiting for him.

And, then the tides of life set his sails in that specific direction. 

“The recession retired me,” he said with a smile of sweet reflection across his face. The recession in the United States forced a decision much earlier than expected but he already knew what direction he wanted to take next. Instead of seeing Mexico as a place to escape to someday, it became the place where he would begin again.

When I asked why Morelia, his answer wasn’t about economics, investment opportunities, cheap prices, or even the weather. He simply remembered arriving one evening and seeing the city’s pink cantera buildings illuminated against the night sky.

“It felt like Europe…and it was magical.” 

He knew this was where he wanted to live.

Some places speak to our souls. They reach out, grab us and tell us this place, this city, these people, this is where you’re meant to be. That’s what I felt when I arrived in Guadalajara, and that’s what I was hearing from Wayne now. Neither of us stayed during our first visits, instead we heeded the call when we felt we could start building a home there to pass some ordinary Tuesday in January. 

A Place is More than the Buildings That Inhabit It

But it wasn’t the European feel that pulled at his heart and toward a future in a country and culture foreign to him. Wayne’s answer became much simpler. It was the people.

He told stories about flat tires, unexpected emergencies, strangers stopping to help, his neighbors delivering bread, people picking one another up after falling on the street. Small moments that made a huge impact on his experiences. The kind of kindness that isn’t planned and isn’t rewarded. Actions that exposed a beautiful side of humanity and the culture he was opening his eyes to. 

“They didn’t need to do that,” he said, “but they did.”

I think this is something foreigners need to understand about really experiencing Mexico and understanding how truly captivating it is. Sure, Mexico can be described through its landmarks, beaches, nightlife, or vacations in the sun. But the people who stay, who integrate and want to live their lives as a part of this country, they describe it through its relationships. 

Wayne’s stories didn’t revolve around cathedrals, restaurants, or tourist locations. They were centered on the human beings he connected with in his daily life. 

The people who inspire him and make him feel like he belongs.

There’s Always a Cost

Social media sometimes presents moving abroad as though life simply improves and becomes a daily exotic adventure of fresh fruit and both urban and rural exploration. But there is always a price starting a new life, and 90’s rock band Supersonic comes to mind when they said, “every new beginning is another beginning’s end” 

For Wayne, that cost has always been family: children, grandchildren, birthdays, holidays. It’s missing family gatherings that he has to watch from another country. It’s experiencing your own family from a distance while living in a country where family is paramount. Video calls have made distance easier than it once was, but it hasn’t erased the hardship of being away from home.

“It’s still the hardest thing and I do struggle with this occasionally,” he admitted, ”there are family get-togethers you’re not part of and you do feel left out. You know? And you’re missing them.”

Leaving a place you once built a life around doesn’t erase the love you have for the community and family you once called home. Belonging somewhere new doesn’t put a screen over your love for where, or who, you came from. And there’s a real grief there that can’t, and shouldn’t be ignored.

Sacrifices and Keeping Who You Are

And I reflected on my own experience moving here. I thought about the sacrifice and the work that I’ve put into building my own home in a country that was once foreign to me. So I asked him if he’d ever questioned his decision.

And he laughed.

“No.”

Not because every day had been easy, but because every day reaffirmed the choice.

“I’ve never second guessed myself on that, ever. I just keep plunging in and I make a goal and I strive to meet that goal every day. And my decision to move here is reaffirmed every day.” 

He loaded up a moving truck and has built a home here. Nearly all of the furniture in his home came with him from the United States.

“It’s who I am,” he said.

Roots of his own, placed down in a city that he chose to actively embrace. Reminders that building a new life doesn’t require erasing the old one. Some people imagine belonging as a complete transformation and letting go of everything you had and were in the previous life.

Maybe it’s something gentler than that. Maybe it’s actively allowing the whole of who you are to simply exist and thrive in a new space.

Community Doesn’t Happen By Accident

And how do you build belonging? 

Wayne’s answer wasn’t philosophical. It was practical and almost comically simple. It’s through building friendships, maintaining relationships, running into familiar faces around town, learning the language, and participating instead of observing.

And this presents a challenge that he experienced and wanted to help others with. So, Morelia United was born out of the realization that space and community wasn’t always easy for everyone and he wanted to offer opportunities where people could gather together.

It began almost accidentally. He organized a Halloween party for a visiting friend. Thirty people showed up. It was fun. And then someone suggested they do it again. Sixteen years later, that single evening has grown into a community that has helped countless newcomers connect with one another.

Belonging, it turns out, often begins with simply inviting people into the same room.

His Advice to Newcomers

One section of our conversation will probably generate the most discussion.

Wayne spoke passionately about newcomers who arrive expecting Mexico to become a version of the United States. He described overhearing visitors in San Miguel de Allende telling Mexican employees they should speak English because “this is an English-speaking town.”

He left disturbed.

These comments show a heavier reality to immigrating to another country. This wasn’t about one town, or one person, or even one language. It’s about humility. It’s about understanding that foreigners are guests. 

Guests don’t reshape someone else’s home to match the one they left behind. They care for it. They learn it. They adapt to it. We work to show gratitude and return the kindness for being welcomed into someone else’s space.

Learning to Be Uncomfortable

In this same regard, Wayne offered one piece of advice before almost anything else.

Learn Spanish.

Not because you’ll become fluent overnight. Not because you have a goal of reading 100 Years of Solitude in its native language. But because trying matters. Connecting matters.

He laughed remembering how terrible his Spanish was in the beginning. He has made mistakes that would cause anyone to blush. But he simply refused to be embarrassed.

“I was never afraid even though my language skills were horrible. You just keep trying until you get it right.”

As someone still learning Spanish myself, I found that deeply encouraging. Language isn’t only communication.

It’s another act of humility.

It’s a clear way to tell the people around you that, “I know what I’m saying isn’t perfect, but I care enough about our connection to try to meet you where you are.” 

Mexico Isn’t Paradise nor Headline.

And in his 16 years living in Morelia, I’m sure he had found his own ideas of the dangers many of us are accustomed to seeing in the headlines. What did he think about cartels, corruption, safety? 

Wayne didn’t pretend those problems don’t exist. He acknowledged them directly. This is the reality that Mexico faces, and the victims are often Mexicans. 

But he also refused to let that become the entire story of a country that has given him friendships, purpose, neighbors who bring bread and avocados, community, and sixteen years of everyday life.

Mexico isn’t perfect. Neither is the United States.

The mistake would be believing either country can be understood through headlines alone.

Humanity

As the afternoon came a close, I asked Wayne what he’d learned about Mexico that simply couldn’t be understood from the outside.

“Humanity, kindness,” His answer came immediately.

The neighbor who brings over avocados. The loaf of bread that appears at your door without being asked for. The countless small gestures that rarely make the news but quietly shape a life.

And that’s what this story is really about. Belonging.

Often, we think belonging is something we’re searching for. If Wayne’s story highlights anything, it’s that belonging is built. With a cost, a love, a lot errors, and a little patience. Conversation by conversation. Relationships by relationship. One Halloween party. One neighbor. One Paloma. One ordinary Tuesday that slowly becomes home.

“We are so lucky to live here.”

Perhaps that’s what sixteen years of belonging sounds like.