2024 has been a transformative year. To transform, the first step is having the intention to do so, and nothing was more important to me than a shift toward the sustainable, the peaceful, the natural, the primal. It was a transformation both challenging, multifaceted, and profound—exactly what I needed.
This year arrived during the fourth month of what would ultimately be a six-month medical leave. The leave began in September 2023 and ended in February the following year. For years, I’ve been dealing with constant, chronic pain that is both pervasive and diffuse. I can’t recall a single day without discomfort or pain. It’s an inexplicable pain—at least for the dozen doctors, physiotherapists, osteopaths, rheumatologists, chiropractors, psychologists, and other specialists I’ve consulted.
This year arrived during the fourth month of what would ultimately be a six-month medical leave.
To give context, I need to go back to 2023, a year that marked the peak of my pain. Can you imagine not being able to sit for more than 15 minutes without experiencing sharp, acute discomfort? Or being unable to speak due to jaw pain? Waking up every night at 3 a.m. because even lying down feels unbearable, needing to stretch just to fall back asleep? Waking every morning feeling as though a steamroller had flattened you into the pavement? It wasn’t just work that overwhelmed me—life itself was overwhelming.
This wasn’t an overnight development but rather a culmination of years of worsening symptoms. Initially, I attributed it to poor posture, but as the pain escalated, that explanation no longer sufficed. Someone at 28 shouldn’t feel like they’re 80. Once those close to me pointed out that I needed to find a solution, I did something uncharacteristic: I prioritized myself. And so, I took a medical leave.
It wasn’t just work that overwhelmed me—life itself was overwhelming.
During this leave, I began documenting my pain. Reading through those diaries now, I feel both tenderness and compassion for my past self. I wish I could tell him that while the pain won’t disappear (yet), his perception of it will change, and it will be transformed.
I had to confront desperation and the feeling of being cornered by my ailments for my determination to become unshakeable. I’ve always been a proactive fighter, but that relentless struggle was part of the problem. I needed to let go. Not as an act of surrender but of acceptance.
So, without knowing what to build, I decided to rebuild myself. Gym, swimming, climbing, calisthenics, and Pilates became my tools. I started with deadlifts. 60 kg pushed my muscles to their limits. Then it was 80 kg, 100 kg, 120 kg, and eventually 150 kg—twice my body weight. The medication prescribed by my rheumatologist to increase serotonin was complemented by daily meditations, 20–40 minutes a day. As of now, I’ve logged over 80 hours of meditation.
I needed to let go. Not as an act of surrender but of acceptance.
I found a new psychologist, with whom I’ve been working on emotional wounds that, in many ways, are connected to my physical pain. It’s incredible how powerful the mind is—and how I once prized it above all else, forgetting that the mind serves the body, not the other way around.
Though I was never much of a drinker and rarely had soft drinks, I became one of those people who always order sparkling water. I started taking daily walks, soaking up the sun while observing the noise of my thoughts, learning to watch them without judgment and letting them go. I didn’t do everything every day. Some days I allowed myself to fail, but I never let myself fail two days in a row. And then... I started seeing changes.
My mind no longer felt as foggy. I began reconnecting with emotions that were foreign to me, like anger and sadness, having spent years dissociating from them. I began to replace I must with I want. I began to prioritize myself. In these early months of 2024, I made two decisions: I needed to end my relationship and leave the company where I’d worked for seven years as a software developer. These were tough decisions because they were integral to who I was as a person.
I began to replace I must with I want.
I started choosing again—what I wanted and how I wanted it. I poured fresh energy into personal projects like hosting the Colivers Club podcast and writing a book that will be published with a publisher. These projects fill me with purpose and motivation.
I stopped identifying so much with my mind and started living more in my body, reconnecting with dance and Pilates. Movement became a central part of my life. When I move and live more through my body, the pain diminishes.
In March, I moved into a long-awaited apartment near my closest friends. Transforming an empty house into a home was both an arduous and rejuvenating process. I built most of the furniture myself using wood and concrete blocks: the bed frame, nightstands, sofa, and living room shelves. This was a grounding reminder to return to the physical plane rather than staying in the digital one. For the first time, I allowed myself to set roots.
In April, I visited Paris for the first time, rekindling my love for travel and exploration.
I spent several weeks at Chateau Coliving, living with a dozen nomads in a 12th-century castle. I discovered this place thanks to an interview with Katia. Leaving early was bittersweet, but I long for the day I return—it’s truly a magical place.
I delivered a talk at Codemotion Madrid, marking my return to tech speaking. My topic was Atomic Habits, supported by an app I developed to track the routines that have been so useful this year.
In June, I attended my first retreat, where I deconstructed even more of who I thought I was. I documented the experience in this video, which also marked my first steps into video editing and cinematography—new skills I’ve embraced this year.
That same month, I attended the Bansko Nomadfest in Bulgaria, invited by Mapmelon for our collaborations, including the Colivers Club podcast. It was a revelation—I connected with countless amazing souls and gained the energy to continue my journey.
No longer wandering, I began walking forward. I participated in every activity possible, taught a bachata workshop, and even ended up closing the event by performing a dance. It was a week that felt like a lifetime.
No longer wandering, I began walking forward.
I announced during Nomadfest that I was quitting my job. Though I had no clients lined up, I knew I wanted to try freelancing. Bold? Perhaps. Wise? Absolutely. Returning to Spain, I officially resigned and registered as self-employed. My first destination as a freelancer: Czechia.
There I'm very proud to have created this little video. From Czechia, my journey continued to Budapest.
Afterward, I traveled to Sofia, where I gave a talk at BeerJS.
Finally, I settled at Burgas Coliving, where I collaborated to create content, conducted interviews for my podcast, and worked as an ambassador for Mapmelon writting this blogpost about my experience in the coliving.
During my stay, I attended my first Salsa and Bachata congress and danced my heart out. It was an unforgettable, life-enriching experience.
At the coliving space, I focused on finishing my website, creating content, and seeking clients. I sent emails, messages, and wrote posts with minimal results: a few leads, but nothing concrete. Was my freelancing career going to end before it even began? During the final week of my stay, I the founder of Lightspace, a creative agency for digital nomads. The connection was immediate, and we decided to collaborate.
Returning to Spain after the summer, I celebrated my brother Marcos's wedding. This year, I also collaborated with him on building his website and personal brand, including designing his new logo. Together, we created a series of videos where he taught me about cinematography—one of my newfound passions.
I gave talks at GDG Santiago de Compostela and Codemotion Milan.
In October, my apartment flooded. Oh, and somehow I ended up being a prominent figure in my building’s community. I initiated a WhatsApp group with the idea of sharing hobbies and building closer relationships among neighbors. Has it worked? Well, partially, but it’s a work in progress.
In November, I headed to Cádiz for a month at Eco-living Finca la Palmera. This retreat was a much-needed escape, surrounded by nature and intentional living. During my time there, I made significant changes to my diet, cutting out inflammatory foods. I eliminated grains (except quinoa and rice), dairy, sugars (including hidden starches), and ate as “real” as possible. I practiced "digestive calm" in the evenings, aligning my meals with daylight hours, which meant at least 12 hours between dinner (if I had one) and breakfast.
My breakfasts became meals—for example, chicken with vegetables and rice at 9 a.m. I’ve never experienced such sustained and stable energy. Additionally, I complemented my diet with personalized supplements from incredible people who have cared for me like never before.
At the coliving, I created content and practiced with the new DSLR camera my brother gifted me to document my travels. I’m deeply grateful to share this passion with him. During my stay, I made two paellas—two.
Returning to Madrid, I escalated my climbing efforts. I climbed, climbed, climbed. I achieved my first 7A route and designed a routine where urgency doesn’t exist.
My mornings now consist of walking in nature, exercising, and climbing. I began ending my showers with cold water (I’m not brave enough for full cold showers yet) and eliminated screens at night. What’s the goal of all this? To return to the natural. To return to what’s "normal" for humans. I was overwhelmed by stress. And stress inflames. Chronic stress disrupts both the body and mind. I’m committed to reversing this—with calm, empathy, boundaries, and by truly listening to my needs.
How am I doing? I feel good. Not a vague or dissociative "good," nor an attempt to mask pain for others’ comfort. This is a "good" born of awareness, balance, and hope. I’m ready to embrace the world sustainably, prioritizing my health and dedicating my energy to what fulfills me.
To everyone who’s been part of my year with kindness and affection: I see you. Thank you.
How has your year been?
