So Long, Amazon and Dairy-Free Creamer

Written on Oct 2, 2026

With one month left until I depart for Guatemala, the realization that I’m actually moving there to live for two years has begun to sink in. I’m sure a carousel of self-preservation thoughts have been holding me together thus far, but as the time draws nearer, the noise begins to quiet and time becomes more precious. Reality is setting in.

Items on the to-do list are dwindling. Appointments are coming to an end. Monthly commitments are slowly tapering off, and the days remaining at work have become a countdown as a serious case of senioritis kicks in.

One of the doctors I work with is also retiring soon after I leave. Although we’re headed in different directions, he toward great golf courses and I toward Indigenous communities, I find myself moving in rhythm with him. There is gratitude for a job well done in the medical field here in the U.S., mixed with an inexplicable lack of motivation to keep fighting for change within the inefficient work world around us. It is simply time for the season to change, and my heart, as I’m sure his has too, has already begun to move on.

That isn’t to say this transition will be without heartbreak.

There is, of course, the inevitable, heart-wrenching loss… of Amazon.

How did this once-small online retailer manage to wriggle its way into the very fabric of our lives? I remember when the big, bad Walmart reared its head around town and communities were up in arms over the plight of small businesses. People rallied together to boycott its seductive low prices and convenient offerings. I was part of that rally because I had a deep and genuine love for our community.

Then Amazon came along, temptress that she was, and offered so much more, including a marketplace for both large and small businesses. She offered convenience and variety and made our lives easier for such a small cost. Trinkets, basics, luxuries, you name it. She had it.

And she could get it to your door by 8:00 tomorrow morning!

One of the most meaningful things she offered was community: a place where people could share their collective experiences with the products that improved their lives and warn others about the ones best avoided, preserving both wallets and sanity.

While I’m very much looking forward to a simpler life with fewer choices and material things, I will genuinely miss exploring and discovering the latest offerings alongside that online community. Perhaps, though, this will turn out to be a blessing in disguise.

Instead of testing things from afar and sharing our verdicts online, I’ll get to live and try new things alongside people in our homes. We’ll experience them in real time, with real laughter, real discoveries, and real letdowns. The beautiful thing is that we’ll get to do it together.

Speaking of testing things together, my sister-in-law Erin and I took up sourdough bread making this past summer. I remember when sourdough was all the rage during the COVID years. I heard how difficult it was and wondered why anyone would waste so much time and energy making something they could buy at the store for $4.45. It simply didn’t compute.

Then I visited San Cristóbal, Guatemala, this past February and discovered that I couldn’t buy sourdough bread there.

As someone who has struggled with gut issues over the years, sourdough has become a staple in my diet, just like the nondairy staples I began relying on after learning that I was lactose intolerant. Of all the incredible things I’ve been grateful for while living in the U.S., simple things like almond-based yogurt, milk, and creamer have been genuinely life-giving and energy-sustaining for me.

To my relief, almond milk is available in San Cristóbal, so I won’t have to part with that staple entirely. But the joy of eating dairy-free yogurt or ice cream with friends is something I will sincerely miss. There is a particular delight in knowing that something can taste delicious without leaving me in pain and discomfort afterward.

I’m willingly giving up some of that familiarity. In its place is curiosity. What new things will I discover?

What will become my new staples? How will my body respond?

Since my nervous system can handle only so much curiosity at once, I decided I should learn how to make something. Sourdough it was, with mixed results, of course.

In the process, I discovered something both humbling and reassuring: even when I followed the same steps, the outcome wasn’t entirely mine to control. And something didn’t have to turn out exactly as planned to still turn out well.

So much of life is spent trying to maintain the illusion of control. We test and try things daily, weekly, and seasonally, searching for just the right rhythm, pattern, or method that will give us peace with the finished product. Maybe it’s learning to cook, parent, or garden. Maybe it’s figuring out how to buy a car, have a difficult conversation, or make an edible loaf of bread.

And yet, how many times have we found ourselves better off because life surprised us?

We’re surprised by something a child says, something we never intentionally taught them but they somehow picked up from us. We run all the numbers to find the perfect car, only to have a different one generously offered to us at half the price through the kindness of another person.

Sometimes, I believe we rob ourselves of the unexpected beauty of life by refusing to release what we have always held so tightly. Surrender is a struggle because we cannot see what will take its place.

But maybe, just maybe, what we receive in return could be truer, more meaningful, and more perfect than anything we could have imagined.