Day 20 After the Layoff, Day 5 in Panama

*Five days into the move abroad, the biggest things hitting me are not discoveries. They are confirmations. And one of them is something I never planned for.*

Today is Day 20 since I was laid off. It is also Day 5 in Panama City. That feels significant.

For the first time since leaving corporate America, I am writing from outside the United States. Not from a temporary vacation mindset, not from a work trip, but from the place my family and I intentionally chose as the first chapter of our move abroad.

And in just five days here, I am already noticing something interesting. Some of the biggest things hitting me are not new discoveries at all. They are confirmations. They are the exact things I researched, talked about, and taught other people for months, except now I am experiencing them in real life. And experiencing something is very different from understanding it intellectually.

The Power of Friction Reduction

One of the reasons I chose Panama in the first place was simple: the ease of transition. Panama uses the US dollar. That sounds like a small detail until you actually land.

Before we came here, my in-laws gifted us 1,000 dollars in cash for the trip, all in US dollars. Normally, I barely carry cash. Then reality hit the moment we entered the country.

We traveled with our 12-year-old, 11-pound Yorkie, and after all the paperwork (the health certificate, the consulate stamp in Miami, the preparation to make sure he could legally enter) we still had to pay two additional fees at customs. Roughly 70 dollars. Cash only. No cards.

That moment stuck with me. The very first thing that happened after crossing the border was someone asking me for money. And luckily, I had it. No ATM scramble, no exchange counter, no mental currency conversion. Just cash in hand.

That moment reminded me of something people underestimate when planning a move abroad: reducing friction matters. The less mental energy you spend converting currencies, figuring out payment systems, and solving small logistical problems, the more energy you preserve for adapting to everything else.

That convenience has shown up everywhere. Uber was already on my phone. No new transportation app, no local payment setup, just open the app and go. A ride from our Airbnb to the local fish market cost around 2 to 3 dollars. That still feels absurd to me coming from South Florida.

The Cost-of-Living Difference Feels Real

I talk constantly about cost-of-living arbitrage. It is easy to reduce that concept to spreadsheets. But then you live it.

We went seafood shopping and bought fresh crab, jumbo lobster, and multiple types of fish. Ocean-caught, fresh, local. The total bill? Around 70 dollars. In the US, that same haul would easily have been double, possibly more.

And what struck me was not just price. It was quality. In many US grocery stores, even in expensive areas, finding genuinely fresh seafood can be harder than people think. Here, freshness feels normal.

That is one of the things I think Americans sometimes misunderstand about lower-cost countries. Cheaper does not automatically mean worse. Sometimes it means the supply chain is shorter. Sometimes it means you are closer to the source. Sometimes it means less packaging, less branding, less markup. The product itself can actually be better.

The Budget Reality

I still need to be honest about the financial side. Panama may or may not be our long-term base. That question remains open.

Before the layoff, our plan looked very different. Losing my remote job changed the math overnight. Our income today is roughly a quarter of what it was when I had my W-2 position. That changes what is sustainable.

So we are still evaluating. Next week we will meet with a realtor and look at properties that are cheaper than what we originally expected. That will tell us a lot. Can we make Panama work long term? Maybe. Maybe not. Vietnam is still very much on the table.

And that brings me to something I did not expect to think about this deeply.

The Thing I Did Not Realize Panama Would Give Me

I have spent much of my adult life standing out. As a Black man with dreadlocks, there are places where I am immediately visible as different. I know that experience well.

I grew up in New Britain, Connecticut, a highly diverse city. I loved that diversity. But because of the school system, my parents sent me to private school. There, I became one of only a handful of Black kids in the entire school. In my graduating class, there were only two of us. That was an early lesson in adaptation, in learning how to navigate spaces where you are very aware of being different.

And adulthood only reinforced that. Career opportunities took me all over the world. Russia. Japan. Brazil. Florida. Each place taught me something. Each place expanded me. But many of those places also came with a familiar feeling: standing out. Being noticed. Being remembered. Sometimes positively, sometimes neutrally, sometimes in ways you cannot quite explain.

Panama has felt different. And I did not fully appreciate how meaningful that would be.

Panama is deeply mixed racially. Brown, Black, Indigenous, White, Mestizo, Afro-Caribbean. Walking around here has felt, for lack of a better word, relaxing. That is the word. Relaxing.

I do not get second looks. I do not feel visually out of place. If I stand out at all, it is because of what I am wearing or how I carry myself as an American. Not because of my skin. Not because of my hair.

There is something deeply calming about not being hyper-visible. I did not realize how much energy visibility can consume until I felt its absence.

A Different Kind of Routine

The other major shift has been time. Not just having more of it. Experiencing it differently.

After the first couple of days of settling in, I started building a new routine. I wake up. Coffee. Walk the dog. Then yoga on the rooftop. And I cannot overstate how different that feels compared to corporate life. No morning inbox. No urgent Slack message. No meeting invite that somehow became your problem overnight. Just breathing. Movement. Space.

Then I work. Client calls. Content. Writing. Building. But now there is something else. Around 10 or 11 in the morning, I stop. I go swim with my wife and daughter. Midday. Not as a reward after surviving the workday. As part of the day. That distinction matters.

The combination of physical health, mental space, and family connection has put me in an unexpectedly good headspace. That does not mean uncertainty is gone. Far from it. There are still huge moving pieces. Income. Housing. Country decisions. Long-term strategy. I still do not know exactly what comes next.

But for the first time in a long time, uncertainty does not automatically feel like danger. Sometimes it feels like possibility.

The Community Piece Matters More Than I Expected

Another thing I did not fully appreciate before arriving was how much community would matter. I love that so many people already in Panama, people I had connected with before ever getting on the plane, reached out and said: “Hey, when you get settled, let’s meet up.”

That means more than people probably realize. Because moving abroad can feel exciting and terrifying at the same time. You are not just changing location. You are uprooting routines, habits, support systems, and everything familiar. So having people who have already walked this path reach back and say, “We have been where you are,” carries real weight.

My wife has felt that too. She has been making content and hearing from women here, locals and other Americans who immigrated, reaching out with practical advice. Places to visit. Kid-friendly activities. Neighborhood recommendations. Small things that do not sound life-changing until you realize those small things are exactly what help a place start feeling livable. She is starting to build a bit of community too. And I can already see what that is doing for both of us.

We still do not know if Panama is our long-term home. That question remains open. But what is becoming clear is that there are people here who understand exactly what this transition feels like. They left the United States for many of the same reasons. They understand what it feels like to rebuild. They understand the uncertainty. They understand what it means to arrive somewhere new and not fully speak the language. And because they have lived it, they are reaching back to help. They are offering the little tips and tricks they learned through experience so we do not have to learn every lesson the hard way.

That has meant a lot to both of us. Especially because, like any major move, not everything has gone perfectly. There have already been hiccups.

I forgot to book an onward ticket before flying. So at the airport, I had to adapt quickly and book a refundable return ticket for August just to satisfy the airline. Thankfully, once we crossed the border and got settled into our Airbnb, I canceled it and got the refund.

Then there was the Airbnb itself. The unit we booked was not actually the one we received. They moved us to another room in the same building. Similar layout, but with one major difference: no king-size bed. That matters when you are traveling as a family. So now we are working through that dispute.

But interestingly, those problems have felt small. Not nonexistent. Just small. Because this Airbnb is temporary. We are only here for a short period before making bigger decisions. So those inconveniences feel manageable.

And that perspective shift has been important. When the big things feel right, the small things feel smaller. For me, the big things are these: Lower cost of living. Less financial pressure. A stronger sense of belonging. And a community that understands the journey. Those things create a kind of relief I have not felt in a long time.

Why I Am Documenting This

So here I am. Making content again. Posting daily short-form videos. Creating long-form content. Writing these posts. And I plan to keep documenting all of it.

Because while the practical tips and tactical advice will always be part of what I do, I also want people to see the journey. Especially the people who have not made the move yet. Because I understand what it feels like to be on the other side of the screen, watching someone else do what you hope to do someday. Researching. Planning. Saving. Waiting. Wondering if it is actually possible.

The truth is, one of the most valuable things for us has been hearing from people who already made the leap. People who shared what they learned. People who offered advice. People who shortened our learning curve. My hope is that this blog can do the same for someone else.

Maybe you are still in the planning phase. Maybe you are six months away. Maybe two years away. Maybe you are scared to begin. That is okay. You do not need every answer before you start. Sometimes you just need enough courage to take the first step.

Right now, I am still early in this journey. I do not know exactly where we will end up. Panama. Vietnam. Somewhere else entirely. I still do not know. But I do know this: leaving gave us something staying no longer could. Space. Perspective. Possibility. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like enough.

*If you are somewhere on this path, planning, saving, or just wondering if it is possible, I would like to hear where you are in the process. Reply and tell me. And if you want the practical side of what I am living through here, the mechanics of documents, banking, cost planning, and choosing a base, the Moving Abroad Guide lays it out step by step, and a one-session consultation is where we work through your specific numbers. Both are linked in my bio. I will keep documenting the rest from here.*

*brightshadow2k.com (http://brightshadow2k.com)*

*~Mr. Shadow*

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Originally published on Substack (https://brightshadow2k.substack.com/p/day-20-after-the-layoff-day-5-in).