When I turned 40, my wife and I took a hard look at our lives in the US. Then, we moved our family to Spain.

• Last year, my wife and I sold our house in Rhode Island and moved our family to Spain.
• Life here feels calmer and more kid-friendly, and our kids are doing well.
• We're still navigating the language barrier and bureaucracy, but the move already feels worth it.

Turning 40 is a milestone that inevitably inspires introspection.

In the months leading up to my 40th birthday, my wife and I found ourselves at a personal and professional crossroads.

The price of day care in our Providence, Rhode Island, suburb would cost more than our mortgage, meaning we'd essentially have to work more to see our kids less. On top of rising grocery and utility prices, the math for us staying here didn't add up.

After several spreadsheets, calculations, and tough conversations, we reconsidered what we really wanted for our family, our careers, and our lives. Ultimately, we decided this was the perfect time to do something adventurous: move abroad.

My wife suggested Alicante, Spain, as a potential landing spot. It's a beautiful city on the Mediterranean where she studied in college. We both enjoyed subsequent visits and remembered the high quality of life and comparatively low cost of living.

Soon, the question "Why?" shifted to "Why not?"

So, instead of shopping for a new convertible, I shifted my perspective from a midlife crisis to a midlife opportunity, and shortly after my 40th birthday, we began packing for a new life in Spain.

We're embracing a slower pace of life, even with its challenges

We arrived in a small, coastal neighborhood of Alicante in early June. The area has a relaxed vibe with low-key cafés, playgrounds, and a fantastic, family-friendly beach — all alongside frequent trams and buses that take us up and down to charming villages within the Costa Blanca region.

In just a few months, we realized how much anxiety we'd been carrying.

In the US, it sometimes felt like children were simply tolerated. But here, they're welcomed — and even celebrated — as part of life. Strangers here are quick to smile, lend a hand with a door, and give up their seats on the bus.

Cafés, public squares, and playgrounds are routinely overrun with laughing and playing kids of all ages, often until late in the evening. Such sights felt much rarer back home.

My children have also begun attending a private, bilingual preschool at about half the cost of day care in the States, and their resiliency has impressed us at every turn.

During this time, my wife and I are taking advantage of the opportunity to pursue freelance and remote work, learn additional skills and languages, and gain new experiences.

Of course, it hasn't been all siestas and sunsets. Although things have gone smoothly overall, there have been some challenges.

As expected, moving to a place without friends or family has not always been easy. We gave up our incredible support system to essentially start from scratch.

We've had to navigate the famously thorny Spanish bureaucracy, tapping deep into our reservoirs of patience — especially as we adjusted to our new, slower way of life.

Turns out, when they tell you "mañana," it doesn't always mean "mañana."

There have also been inherent challenges as we encounter the language barrier. Although my high-school Spanish has come back to me poco a poco, routine tasks like getting a library card or filling a prescription take on an added layer of complexity.

I don't know if we'll stay forever, but I know this was the right choice for now

Ultimately, we recognize that the growing pains we've experienced, and the ones we've yet to face, are well worth this investment.

Just a few months into our three-year visa, it has already been a life-changing experience.

This move has given us the space to pause and reevaluate what truly makes us happy and how we define success. Looking back at my past self through the benefit of hindsight, I realize I was basing my definition of success on my professional status and even how others viewed me.

But now, watching my family blossom with new experiences and learning so much more about each other and the world around us, those status symbols seem trivial.

Although ours was a drastic move — you certainly don't need to sell everything and live abroad to reclaim your life — you should think critically about how you want to spend it.

Mañana may not always mean mañana, but it is never promised.