I didn’t expect Issue One of this newsletter to feel like anything.

That sounds strange, but I think a lot of people secretly expect a sensation when they start something. I’m a little more reserved, not to psychopath-level, though an ex or two might disagree. Things just don’t surprise me much.

I’m the kid who takes his time getting ready for Christmas morning, strolling into the living room, while the other kids wait, fingers poised over presents, ready like blades in a paper-shredder.

So Issue One? No fireworks. No proof of life. Just a link sitting there, published. I was probably off making coffee.

The first handful of issues were like that. Write. Publish. Silence.

I’d refresh the stats, not with coins in my eyes but because it felt like that’s what you were supposed to do. Like checking a cake that still has hours to bake.

Maybe just to make sure nothing had blown up. Negatively, I mean, not like a good boom meaning it’s a bizness!

It was humbling in a very specific way. Not humiliating. Just quiet. Like sitting in a jazzy Japanese coffee shop during heavy winter snow.

And quiet is dangerous because quiet invites reinterpretation. Maybe this isn’t landing. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe the smart move is to pivot before it gets embarrassing.

But I was in Colombia, far away from anyone who would really be like, to my face, Edward WTF are you doing. The streets of email and content were already crowded. So what the hell. If it’s embarrassing, let’s go with it.

The annoying thing about a weekly newsletter is the days of the week. Don’t. Stop. Coming.

Shouting into the abyss is nowhere near as fun as staring into it.

So the Wednesdays kept showing up. And so did I.

Looking back at the first ten issues is uncomfortable. Too much about me. (I’ll say it before you will: maybe like this one!). My routines. My supplements. That introspection sounds profound at 2 AM but reads like a LinkedIn post by daylight.

And yes, I know I went overboard on the emojis. At the time it was really kinda fun to explore all the clever little emojis. But also, thankfully, that was the wrong move because I would be pulling my hair out right now if I had to go through emojis all the time.

I didn’t know what A Texas Nomas was yet. So I just kept showing up and hoped the doing would teach me what the thinking couldn’t.

Somewhere around Issue Ten, something shifted.

The friends-and-family bump had plateaued. Then someone I’d never met subscribed. And another. Curious, early-adopter types. People with no obligation to be kind.

That changed the pressure. These people didn’t owe me anything, but if they stuck around, I felt like I owed them something.

The next thirty issues were a slow education in what actually lands versus what I think should land.

I’d spend hours on something I was proud of. Post it. Hear nothing.

Then write something raw, almost an afterthought (one of those where the hell did my brain find that one moments) and forget I’d even written it. Suddenly it was spotlighted.

The newsletter was teaching me something uncomfortable: the version of myself I wanted to present wasn’t the version people needed.

Meanwhile, every inbox was still a warzone. Every creator shouting their own version of intentional living or digital nomad wisdom or whatever repackaging of self-help was trending that week.

A Texas Nomad had to find its way into inboxes that were already drowning.

By the time you hit fifty of anything, you learn a few unsexy truths.

Motivation is unreliable. Inspiration is seasonal. The coffee’s long cold by the time the muse arrives, if she comes at all. Even discipline gets tired.

What actually carries things forward is much less cinematic.

It’s tolerance.

Tolerance for repetition. Tolerance for days that feel identical. Tolerance for shoveling dirt when no one’s watching and nothing feels like progress.

This is where people misunderstand grit. They imagine white-knuckled intensity. Suffering and willpower marathons.

That’s not it.

Real grit is almost boring. It’s agreeing to a direction and then refusing to reopen the conversation every time your mood changes.

I know where A Texas Nomad is going this year. More professional as the EdwardEffect business grows alongside it. Better integration with the videos. Still weird. Still hitting those meditation and vitamin beats. But only when it serves the reader.

ATN was never meant to be a certain thing; it was an experiment to see what it would become.

It has been successful in that way.

As we shake off the winter blues (and for those in Medellin dry off from the deluges!), I’m psyched about what the next 50 will bring.

🇪🇸 Spain
Digital Nomad Visa processing remains inconsistent. Income thresholds unchanged, but documentation scrutiny has increased in early 2026.

🇵🇹 Portugal
D8 Digital Nomad Visa income requirements increased for 2026. Housing proof and savings checks are being enforced more tightly.

🇯🇵 Japan
Six-month Digital Nomad Visa remains capped. No renewals or path to residence announced.

Check your target country’s official immigration page for exact income thresholds and application windows. They move quickly.

It takes a bit of grit to get through this psychology tome on high performers, but by the end of it, you’ll have the clearest roadmap to grit I’ve ever encountered. One of the most interesting things is her proposal of the following equation:

talent × effort = skill

skill × effort = achievement.

Angela Duckworth approaches the subject the way a serious researcher should: by studying people who’ve actually stayed in the game. She looks across an unusually wide range of domains, from West Point cadets and National Spelling Bee champions to elite swimmers, scientists, business owners, and professional sports organizations like the Seattle Seahawks.

One example that stood out to me was her work around elite teams at UNC Chapel Hill (shoutout to my alma mater!), including what made some of the most consistently successful women’s soccer programs in the country so durable over time. The lessons are more about culture, practice, and persistence rather than recruiting and talent pipelines.

What Duckworth keeps circling back to is this: talent helps you begin, but it does very little to predict who lasts. Grit, as she defines it, comes down to deliberate practice and the willingness to get back on the horse after failure. Not once. Repeatedly. Over years.

If you’re building something that won’t reward you quickly, like a body, a craft, a business, or a body of work, Grit gives you both the language and the evidence for why endurance matters.

The Smashing Machine is a brutal watch, but the hits hardest to take are not in the ring and not necessarily from Mr. The Rock, who plays true life early mixed martial artist, Mark Kerr. What is harder to survive, the fighting or the addiction. In the ring. I would say the addiction, because in the ring, your opponent agrees to the terms. In the spiral of dependency, you loved ones have not.

This isn’t one of those usual Triumph of the Will sports movies. something you might have expecteed from The Rock, but not the Safdie’s or A24.

Most habits fail because they ask for motivation. Oral care is no exception. Flossing is simple, effective, and routinely skipped. This fixes that.

The Coslus C20 sits on my sink and does one job well. It removes the friction. Thirty seconds, no negotiation. I use it at night when willpower is low and discipline is tired. It’s not glamorous and it doesn’t pretend to be a performance upgrade.

It just works.

Unsexy. Effective. Gets the grit out of your teeth.

Reinvention begins not with where you land, but with what you make.

Every place is a blank page. What you write there? That’s your legacy.

If this newsletter sparked something, pass it on to a friend, a fellow explorer, or anyone rewriting their life.

This community grows through real connection. One story, one share at a time.

If you enjoyed this, share it.

Ask Birdbrain GPT (Powered by Yours Truly, Rio)

See you next week. Don’t Escape. Design.