There’s something almost comical about how bad winter gets in New York, until the comedy becomes personal. You start the season pretending it’s charming. A little snow, a mug of something hot, maybe some jazz in the background. Fast forward two weeks, and you’re in full-body armor, praying your boots don’t betray you on black ice as sideways sleet violates your will to live. Every walk becomes a gauntlet. Your face freezes. 

Your thoughts freeze. You’re paying thousands of dollars a month to endure a climate that feels like a punishment. You question your sanity while waiting for an Uber that never arrives, and all for the “privilege” of being a New Yorker. After decades of surviving this arctic-themed obstacle course, I finally started asking myself the forbidden question: what if I just... didn’t do this anymore? What if I stopped celebrating endurance and started choosing comfort, sunshine, and sanity?

Every winter, New Yorkers engage in a ritual known as the getaway. It sounds glamorous until you realize it’s just a temporary ceasefire in a war you’ve already lost. You pack like you're heading to base camp Everest, wrestle JFK traffic in an ice storm, and pray your flight isn’t delayed by “unexpected weather events,” which is code for, “We forgot winter happens every year.” 

You arrive at some overpriced beach resort surrounded by other freezing refugees from the tri-state area, and for 72 hours, you pretend this is normal. Then you go back to your life of salt-stained boots and overpriced Seamless orders that take 90 minutes to arrive. This isn’t a vacation, it’s a Band-Aid. And one February, stuck in traffic en route to an overcrowded Jersey beach that looked more like a parking lot than a tropical escape, I realized something deeply logical: I could just live where people go to unwind.

Puerto Rico doesn’t have to sell itself; it just exists in a better climate. Waking up here means walking outside without layers. The sun shows up without fail. The breeze doesn’t slap you in the face. And you don’t have to fight for a patch of sand like you’re in a beach edition of Hunger Games. There are no surprise hailstorms, no frantic weather app checks, and definitely no snowplows grinding by at 5 a.m. 

What’s more, your money goes further. No state income tax. Real estate that doesn’t require sacrificing your soul or your second-born. Local fruit that doesn’t cost $9 a mango. The rhythm of life is balanced, not frantic. You still work hard, still chase ideas, but you do it without feeling like nature itself is trying to break you. Moving here didn’t mean giving up ambition. It meant giving up the absurdity of paying $4,500 a month to be miserable in February.

New York made me who I am. It’s where I spent 30 years in technology, beginning as one of the first commercial website designers on a groundbreaking WYSIWYG platform, when designing a site was still considered wizardry. I evolved into software development, systems thinking, and strategy long before the LinkedIn crowd started using “digital transformation” in every other sentence. 

Along the way, I led projects, built brands, and led the effort to secure a $60 million exclusive contract to operate bike rentals in Central Park and all Manhattan parks for six years. No one could rent a bike unless it went through us. It was a big win, and a two-and-a-half-year project that showcased everything I’d learned about negotiation, innovation, and leadership. But even with that kind of momentum, I couldn’t out-innovate the weather. The cold was unrelenting. The costs kept climbing. And eventually, the math stopped making sense. Not just financial math, life math. What’s the ROI on your happiness?

Some people think leaving New York is a retreat. For me, it was a move rooted in logic, perspective, and a deep hunger for better living. Puerto Rico isn’t just a paradise for vacations; it’s a practical, fully livable environment for people who still want to build things, create, contribute, and connect. 

I didn’t give up on New York’s ambition. I brought it with me to a place where it thrives without the frostbite. I live in a warm climate that actually supports my well-being, my creativity, and my goals. I didn’t flee. I realigned. And now, when I wake up and step into the sun, coffee in hand, with the ocean breeze floating through my thoughts, I don’t miss the cold one bit. If you’re reading this while waiting for a delayed subway in 14-degree wind chill, consider this your nudge: life doesn’t have to be a survival game. Sometimes, it just makes sense to move somewhere that feels good… every single day of the year.