Sometimes, I think I’m not cut out for North America. I’m not competitive enough, I’m too subversive and I don’t care that much about money—these are unforgivable flaws.

After packing, finishing a last-minute badly timed work assignment and eating dinner, I decide to lie in bed for a couple of hours. It’s already almost 3 a.m., will I hear the alarm at 5:30 a.m.? Is it even worth sleeping?

There are Latino mysteries that still keep me awake at night—things I noticed in Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina and Chile that don’t make much sense to me.

I showed up with my passport and the email confirmation. I was half-expecting to be turned away—Chile is pretty bureaucratic, maybe I was missing a crucial document, some authorization, a piece of ID—but after a close passport inspection, the guard let me in.

I’m alone, I interact with people in Spanish and it looks like I know where I’m going, so most tourists assume I’m a local.

When I moved into the studio I’m renting in Santiago, I noticed several shopping carts parked by the elevator, in the lobby of the residential high-rise building. Every night, the shopping carts were gone for a few hours, and they would reappear the next morning.

I could do Valparaíso even better than last time, I thought. I would find a good map, brainstorm an efficient and scenic way to get from point A to point B and see everything I wanted to see.

You take off your clothes and lie there, half-naked, waiting.Your friends and plenty of women’s magazines told you it might hurt the first time.You’re not quite sure what to expect, but you’re ready.

Every time I go from one place to another, I feel like I’m hurling myself out into thin air. Taking a leap of faith out of whatever comfort zone you created into the unknown is scary but terribly addictive.