From unrefrigerated eggs on grocery shelves to three-hour coffee dates that somehow don't derail the entire economy, my year in Mexico shattered every assumption I had about how daily life "should" work.
Picture this: I'm standing in a Mexican grocery store, staring at a wall of eggs sitting unrefrigerated on a regular shelf, right next to the cereal. My American brain immediately went into panic mode. "That can't be safe," I thought.
But here's the thing. After a year of living in Mexico, those eggs never made me sick. Not once. They were fresher than anything I'd gotten from a refrigerated case back in Austin.
That moment perfectly captures what my year in Mexico taught me. Everything I thought I knew about daily life got flipped on its head. After spending three years in Thailand and thinking I'd seen it all, Mexico still managed to surprise me at every turn.
These aren't your typical travel observations about beautiful beaches or amazing street tacos (though both are absolutely true). These are the everyday realities that nobody tells you about. The stuff that makes you go "Wait, what?" when you're actually living there, not just passing through on vacation.
1. Lunch is the main event, not dinner
Remember how your parents always said breakfast was the most important meal of the day? Well, in Mexico, lunch takes the crown, and it's not even close.
I discovered this the hard way when I tried to grab a quick sandwich at 2 PM and found myself in the middle of what looked like a three-course feast at every restaurant. We're talking soup, main course, sides, dessert, and sometimes even a digestif. All for lunch.
The whole country basically shuts down between 2 and 4 PM for "comida." Business meetings happen over long lunches. Families reunite. Even the guy fixing my internet would disappear for two hours in the afternoon.
At first, I resisted. I kept eating my sad desk salad while everyone else was enjoying proper meals. But eventually, I gave in. And you know what? Taking a real break in the middle of the day to eat slowly and actually taste your food changes everything. My afternoons became more productive, and I stopped that 3 PM energy crash that used to hit me like a truck in Austin.
Dinner, on the other hand, is almost an afterthought. Maybe some quesadillas at 9 PM. Maybe just coffee and pan dulce. It took my stomach months to adjust, but now I can't imagine going back to those heavy American dinners.
2. Nobody's in a rush (and somehow everything still works)
Coming from the land of optimization and productivity hacks, Mexican time nearly broke me. Meetings starting 30 minutes late wasn't rudeness. It was normal. The plumber saying "tomorrow" meant "sometime this week, maybe."
But here's what blew my mind: despite this seemingly chaotic approach to time, stuff still got done. Buildings got built. Businesses thrived. Life moved forward.
I watched my neighbor spend three hours having coffee with a friend who dropped by unannounced. In the States, that would've been scheduled two weeks in advance with a hard stop at 45 minutes. But there, it was just Tuesday.
The phrase "ahorita" became my nemesis and eventually my teacher. It literally means "right now" but actually means anything from five minutes to five hours. Once I stopped fighting it and started flowing with it, my stress levels dropped dramatically.
3. Your neighborhood convenience store is basically your extended pantry
Within a week of moving to Mexico City, I knew the names of everyone working at the three convenience stores on my block. Not because I'm particularly social, but because you literally go there for everything, multiple times a day.
Need eggs for breakfast? Walk downstairs. Forgot to buy beer for tonight? No problem, grab it on your way home. Run out of phone credit? The store's got you. Want to pay your electric bill? Yep, you can do that there too.
These aren't just stores. They're community hubs. I watched business deals happen over the counter, saw relationships bloom in the chip aisle, and witnessed more neighborhood gossip than any telenovela could provide.
Compare that to my life in Austin where I'd do one massive grocery haul every two weeks at some giant supermarket where nobody knows my name. In Mexico, shopping became social. It became human.
4. Street vendors are the real MVPs of daily life
That guy yelling "TAMALES OAXAQUEÑOS" at 7 AM? He's not just selling breakfast. He's providing a service that keeps the entire neighborhood running.
Within a month, I had my regular vendors. The tamale guy knew I liked extra salsa verde. The fruit lady would save the best mangoes for me. The elote man would appear, like clockwork, right when I was craving an afternoon snack.
But it goes deeper than food. There's the knife sharpener who walks around ringing a bell. The guy who'll buy your old electronics. The woman selling cleaning supplies door to door. Even the garbage collectors who'll take your large items for a small tip.
This informal economy runs parallel to everything else, and honestly? It's incredibly efficient. No apps needed. No delivery fees. Just human beings providing what other human beings need, when they need it.
5. Personal space is a foreign concept
After living in Bangkok, I thought I understood crowded spaces. Mexico laughed at that assumption.
It's not just about physical proximity. It's the whole approach to boundaries. Strangers will touch your arm while talking. People will stand close enough that you can smell what they had for breakfast. The concept of a "personal bubble" simply doesn't exist.
At the bank, people would literally look over my shoulder at the ATM. On the metro, bodies pressed together wasn't cause for awkwardness but just Tuesday's commute. Even in conversation, Mexicans get close. Really close.
The American in me initially wanted to back away constantly. But after a few months, I started to get it. This closeness creates connection. It makes the city feel less anonymous, less cold.
6. Relationships trump rules every single time
Want to know the real way things work in Mexico? It's not about what you know. It's about who you know.
Need a permit? Better if your cousin works at the office. Want a table at that booked restaurant? Hope you know someone. Looking for an apartment? Forget online listings. Ask your network.
This drove me crazy at first. Where I come from, we pride ourselves on fairness, on systems, on everything being "by the book." But in Mexico, the book is more like a loose suggestion.
Yet this relationship-based system has its own logic. It builds community. It creates accountability. When your reputation in your network matters more than your Yelp reviews, you tend to treat people better.
7. Formality and warmth exist in perfect harmony
Mexicans will address you as "usted" (formal you) while simultaneously treating you like family. It's this beautiful dance of respect and warmth that doesn't exist in American culture.
Every interaction starts with "buenos días" or "buenas tardes." Not saying it is basically a crime. You greet the entire bus when you get on. You acknowledge every person in the elevator. You say goodbye to the whole restaurant when you leave.
But within all this formality, there's incredible warmth. The same person calling you "licenciado" (a formal title) will also ask about your family, remember your birthday, and probably try to feed you.
8. Resilience is built into the cultural DNA
Finally, what amazed me most was how Mexicans handle adversity. Earthquake? People immediately organize rescue brigades. Economic crisis? Families pull together. Random water shortage? Neighbors share without being asked.
There's this phrase, "sale y vale," which roughly means "it'll work out." It's not passive resignation. It's active resilience. It's finding a way when there seems to be no way.
I watched my building lose water for three days. Instead of panic, neighbors organized a water-sharing system. When the earthquake alarm went off (multiple times), people calmly helped each other evacuate, then checked on the elderly residents.
This resilience comes from facing challenges together, repeatedly, and knowing you'll figure it out because you always have.
Final thoughts
That year in Mexico changed me in ways I'm still discovering. It stripped away my American urgency and replaced it with something richer. Not better or worse, just different.
I learned that efficiency isn't everything. That relationships matter more than rules. That taking two hours for lunch isn't laziness but civilization. That community still exists if you slow down enough to see it.
Back in Austin now, I find myself greeting strangers in elevators (they look at me weird). I buy from local vendors when I can find them. I take actual lunch breaks.
Mexico taught me that there are many ways to live a life. And sometimes the best way isn't the fastest or most optimized. Sometimes it's the one where you know your neighbor's name and take time to actually taste your
