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“Either do something worth writing or write something worth reading.” -Benjamin Franklin The words echoed in my head, along with the sound of waves crashing on the shore. A thin strip of reddish-gold blended the sea with the sky, where stars had already begun to appear. The breeze that carried the saline smell of the ocean brought back memories with it, and as the sky darkened leaving no trace of dusk, I thought about how my life had changed in such a short time. Words led me miles away from home, to a journey with no return. I´ve always been a reader, the kind who constantly longs for adventure. Books filled my mind with stories and places far more interesting than the small town I grew up in, igniting in me an eager desire for traveling around the globe. Nonetheless, for most of my existence, my adventures consisted solely of facing the daily routine. Each day my being, adventuresome by nature, was drowning in reality. This would´ve never changed had it not been for the words written by Benjamin Franklin. When I first read them, they carved themselves upon the labyrinthine alleys of my mind, and I promptly shared them with friends and family. Their reactions startled me and made me completely reconsider the direction of my life. You may wonder how some trivial judgments about a simple quote could change my world so drastically. The answer is simple: When I´d finished pronouncing the last syllable, no matter who I was talking with, I received a similar answer: "You could write something worth reading"; followed by an identical, premeditated expression: "Because you could never do something worth writing." I resolved to leave. I left my work and my family in pursuit of an unassured life. Demented, they told me. And perhaps I was. I can barely recollect packing some clothes in my father's old backpack, the hurried farewell, and the eternal night flight into a different life. I arrived at a small town called San Jose del Cabo in Baja California, Mexico. A rusty, ramshackle bus took me wandering across numerous neighborhoods to the place where I was to spend the night, an almost invisible house in the middle of nowhere surrounded by cacti and sand. Although the area of Los Cabos is mostly known for its amazing seasides and vivacious spring-breakers, the community of San Jose isn´t left far behind—at least in terms of appeal. Located one mile from the ocean, this picturesque site(small if compared to the hugeness of Cabo San Lucas city, also located in the district) is one of the country´s principal tourist attractions. Its parish dates from the 18th century, and the main square takes you back in time to an ancient, long-time forgotten Mexico, with colonial architecture and cobbled alleys that remain unaware of the passage of time. Walking through history, several artisans gather every week in the plaza to display their crafts in a one-night crowded festival full of music and gastronomy. I was fortunate enough to meet skillful artists that could paint impressive portraits in minutes using just their fingers. The main port attracts hundreds of sailors and travelers during the year, and I was no exception, for I arrived just in time to witness humpback whales waving their tails beneath the ocean surface, a glimpse of nature which can only be seen from December to March since the water is warm enough for the whales to mate and give birth before returning to colder waters in Canada. In the famous Arch of Los Cabos, lies a secret in the rocks amidst; imperceptible if you don´t know what you are seeking. At sea, for a brief second; an almost unnoticeable, tiny gap is visible, carved into the rock reaching the other side, a small fraction of sky above the surface. After regarding these wonders, one night as some words faded, I realized I wouldn't return, for my voyage had just started. Since then, I´ve done many things I would´ve never even imagined, I´ve seen places I had only read about before. I´ve been living. To where am I going? I don´t know yet. But I´ll try to live a life worth writing.