13 Years in Argentina: Egg Hunts, Existential Crises, and Everything In Between

 This June marks a major milestone for us: 13 years living in Argentina.

It hasn’t been easy. In fact, at times, it’s been a downright nightmare.

I wish I could offer something inspirational for those curious about the psychological side effects of long-term expat life — some tidy quote or takeaway — but the truth is, I don’t have one. Not right now.

If you’ve followed my last dozen posts or so, you’ll know that watching my mother’s health deteriorate — along with my father’s mental decline — has been painful in ways I’m still trying to process. Grief is complicated enough. Add thousands of miles and time zones, and it starts to feel impossible.

At the same time, we’ve been learning how to manage multiple properties here in Argentina. It’s not just about being a landlord; it’s about surviving a legal and financial labyrinth. We've had to educate ourselves on Argentine property law just to avoid being taken advantage of — by tenants, by realtors, by the system itself. The maintenance alone has been a constant drain — financially, emotionally, psychologically.

And in recent years, we’ve found ourselves retreating even further into our home. The rise in urban violence and petty theft has made that decision feel necessary, but the price of that safety has been isolation — and isolation, in turn, has fed depression.

There are days when we ask ourselves, Did we make the right choice moving here?

Sometimes, we don’t know the answer.

But amid all this heaviness, there have been some moments of light.

I’ve grown my online English teaching work steadily over the years. I’ve connected with students around the world, and some of those students have become acquaintances, even friends. And while our circle of close personal friends here has shrunk to just one, that one friendship feels real and reciprocal — without the emotional volatility or baggage we’ve sometimes endured in the past.

At almost 48 years old, I no longer have the energy — or the patience — for performative friendships or people who bring more drama than joy. Neither does my husband.

So we’ve created our own small celebrations. We recently hosted an Easter party — not because we’re religious (we’re not), and not because we’re into bunnies — but because we love chocolate, and we needed something light-hearted. We even had a mini Easter egg hunt.

And we’ve brought back our "Halfway Holidays" — Halfway to Halloween in May, Halfway to Thanksgiving in June (coming up next week), and Halfway to Christmas in July. It might sound silly, but it gives us something to look forward to, something festive in the middle of the year.

I’ll share photos of those once we’ve finished the full set. But here's a preview of what we did during Halfway to Halloween.

And here's an image of our Camp Crystal Lake themed brownie for Friday the 13th.

I’ll share photos of those once we’ve finished the full set.

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In Closing

Thirteen years is a long time to carry both love and doubt for the life you’ve built. The truth is, being an expat doesn’t get easier — not really. You just get better at carrying the weight of what you’ve lost and what you’ve chosen.

If you’re reading this hoping for reassurance, I’m not sure I can give you that. But I can tell you this: we’re still here. We’re still choosing each other. We’re still trying to make joy in small, weird, stubborn ways.

And sometimes, that’s enough.