One year in portugal: choosing freedom over the golden cage
on anger, fear, and the practice that changed everything
Good morning from the hills of portugal.
as i sit here and look back on the year since we packed our life into boxes and left holland with our little crew, i feel this heavy warmth in my chest - thankfulness. like, deep, honest gratitude. i’m proud of us. not because it was tidy or perfect, but because we chose freedom and uncertainty over the safety net of money, routine, and the surface identity i wore to fit in.
that identity wasn’t mine. it was a well-designed mask (creative director, global cx/ux lead, worship leader) roles i’m still grateful for, but also a costume that stopped me from hearing my own voice.
here’s what surprised me: in twelve months of landing in a new culture, starting a business from scratch, stumbling through portuguese bureaucracy, and helping my family root in foreign soil, i grew more as an entrepreneur and as a human than i did in ten years of “big titles” at Marc o’polo, Esprit, Ecco, or leading rooms full of people at church. more truth. more edges. more me.
the biggest lesson?
feel it all, and don’t make it your name.
for most of this year my survival system was loud. frustration. tears. fear. overwhelm. there were days i wanted to trade it all back for the predictable calendar i knew how to win at.
but i started doing something simple and hard: when anger, sadness, or fear showed up, i stopped running. i sat. i breathed. i put a hand on my chest and one on my gut and stayed with it until it moved. no story. no justification. just breath and presence. sometimes three minutes. sometimes thirty. sometimes i needed to shout into a pillow, cry in the car, or dance it out in the kitchen. each time i did, something unclenched.
and slowly, what had been stress turned into lightness. fear softened into hope. anger became clean, usable passion. deep sadness alchemised into gratitude.
i see it most at the lunch table. three daughters laughing, sauce everywhere, our rescue pup trying very hard not to be obvious as he begs under the bench, my wife outside with the chickens, sun slipping through the vines. it’s messy and ordinary and somehow sacred. the part of me that used to need a bigger stage just… exhales.
this is what i know now:
the “golden cage” pays well and starves the soul.
freedom is not a concept. it’s a nervous system you train.
identity is not a job title. identity is the quiet that remains when you put all your costumes down.
and if you’re reading this on your first week back at work after summer - remembering why you needed that holiday, already bargaining with yourself for “one more quarter” - i want you to know i see you. i know how loud the mind gets: be sensible. wait for the bonus. don’t rock the boat. i also know the body keeps whispering: this isn’t it.
if that’s you, here’s the honest, human version of my “how” - not theory, just what actually helped:
1. start with facts, not the story.
when the spiral starts, i write two columns: facts i can verify and stories i’m telling myself. it’s humbling. it’s freeing. decisions made from facts are clean. stories get handled later, in the body.
2. let the body finish its sentence.
anger first, sadness underneath, fear hiding at the root. i give each one space. breathe. move. sound. no fixing. no self-help buzzer words. just completion. when it passes, clarity follows without me forcing it.
3. build a tiny stake in the ground.
not a 5-year plan. one daily promise to myself that signals who i’m becoming. a walk at sunrise. one outreach message. fifteen minutes of stillness. keep it small and sacred. identity shifts through repetition, not heroics.
4. choose accountability that feels like love, not punishment.
when i’m about to hide, i message someone who knows the gap i’m closing. not to be scolded - to be witnessed. we don’t transform in isolation; we perform there.
5. keep asking the only question that matters.
does this lead me toward aliveness or away from it? answer with your body, not your brand.
i won’t romanticise this. freedom has a bill. there were confusing weeks, slow months, and the kind of admin that makes you want to throw your laptop into the atlantic. but i wouldn’t trade any of it. because underneath the noise, my life finally sounds like me.
if you’re on the edge right now - staring at that calendar, feeling the cage, rehearsing reasons to wait - here’s your sign: you don’t need another year of “later.” you need a plan that honors your nervous system while you walk out. small steps. honest support. clear vision. real responsibility. it’s all doable. you’re not broken; you’re just ready.
with love from portugal,
dan, eve & the girl tribe
ps - if this landed and you want a hand building your way out of the golden cage (without losing your mind or your joy), hit reply and just write “freedom.” i’ll send you what i wish someone had sent me: a simple, human plan to start today.