My Journey to The Corner Pitch

Beyond the walls of my beloved Mexico, my heart always knew there was something else waiting for me. Not because I didn’t love my home—my country is soul-deep, layered with flavors, noise, color, and magic—but because my spirit kept humming to a melody I hadn’t yet danced to. As a little girl, I didn’t know the lyrics, but I could feel the rhythm pulling me toward a life that didn’t quite fit inside the streets I knew. So I followed it. There I was—this pint-sized dreamer sitting in my grandparents’ stairwell, confidently “learning” English (aka babbling to myself like a possessed baby bird), sure that one day I’d crack the code of this other world. And you know what? I kind of did.

Music was always there—an echo, a lifeline. I had a voice, and not to brag, but it was a good one. I even made it to a competition once, and guess what? I was this close to signing a contract. But the dream slipped through my fingers. Why? Because I couldn’t understand a word of English (yes, even with all my stairwell babbling), and also... my mom. Bless her, she didn’t mean harm, but she definitely had some say in shutting that door. (It’s fine. I’ve forgiven her. Mostly. Lol.)

Even so, the joy of singing never left. It still fills my chest and spills out when I least expect it. I do sing in front of crowds, I really do—but what used to crush me was the feeling of being put on a pedestal. I couldn’t take the praise. I didn’t feel worthy of it. How could I? My self-esteem had more cracks than a piñata after a birthday party. That wound? I see it now. I’ve named it. And I'm finally doing the healing work it’s been asking for all along.

Art kept finding me in every form, so I studied graphic design. During university, I met the man I’d later marry—my ex-husband. He is a dentist and a musician (I know, right?). We connected fast, heart-first. I told him from the start: My path doesn’t end here. And if he wasn’t on board with chasing that new life somewhere far away, he should find his own road. But he stayed, and we dreamed together.

Life took a turn—no, life flipped the table and said, “plot twist.” We chased immigration to Canada. At one point, we even considered Australia. Australia, y’all. But I have to be honest: As stunning as it sounds, I’m not built for giant spiders or sweaty everything. I like my soul stirred, not sautéed. Cancun came next. Paradise? Yes. Humidity? Satan’s armpit. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for the Cenotes, the ocean, the memories—but spiritually, I was stuck. I craved more than mojitos and sunsets. I needed layers. Movement. The kind of cold that makes you reflect, not just sweat.

Let me pause here and say: My country is everything. Every flavor, every “CHINGA,” every joyful, sarcastic, poetic insult has weight and art behind it. As Salma Hayek once beautifully put it, Mexican swearing is practically a love language. It’s got spice, sass, and perfect f**ing timing*. Sometimes, it’s poetry. Sometimes, it’s therapy. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that gets the point across. And you know what? She’s right. Our culture breathes drama, humor, and sensuality in a way that’s both chaotic and gorgeously intentional. “And of course—the food! Every ingredient bursting with flavor, every dish is crafted with soul, and our bakery? Let’s just say one bite of a warm concha is like getting a hug from your abuelita—ay, gordita, qué delicia!”

But… (yup, here comes the “but”) safety became a luxury we could no longer afford. And that’s a hard truth to carry. No drama here, just facts.

So we landed in California—another chapter, another transformation. That place softened me and woke me up at the same time. Grateful doesn’t even cut it. It helped me begin the process of becoming.

Then—Nova Scotia. Oh, Nova Scotia. Nova Scotia. Two years of rejection, delays, and bad advice from “experts” (don’t get me started), until one day—a literal Facebook angel saw our post and led us to the right person. Nine months of holding our breath, and suddenly… Fast-forward to our arrival in Truro, Nova Scotia. And oh! My heart. I’ve never been so warmly welcomed in my life. We had nothing but a small apartment, second-hand furniture, two kids, and a mountain of hope — and that was more than enough. There was love in every corner. And snow. And deer. And my beloved cardinal, who shows up exactly when I need a reminder that I’m protected. (more on that connection later — it’s deep).

So here I am now.

Rooted in gratitude, growing in a place that finally lets me expand. The Corner Pitch is more than a business—it’s my soul in brick-and-mortar (or flour and café de olla). It’s the art, the music, the healing, the magic, and the community I’ve always dreamed of.

And though my ex and I are no longer together, I’m still deeply grateful we walked this journey side by side. We built something brave together. I wouldn’t trade it, because from it came the greatest treasures of my life: my two beautiful babies—one a teen, the other right in that magical space of not-too-old, not-too-young—and a thousand lessons that only this beautiful country could’ve taught me.

Nova Scotia has given me more than a place to land—it’s given me peace, perspective, and people. From a great man who entered my life with kindness and presence to the incredible women who’ve held me, seen me, inspired me—and most of all, to the one woman I hadn’t yet met: MYSELF.

She’s strong. She’s soft. She’s funny. She’s a little spicy and a little wild. And she’s finally coming home.

That’s what The Corner Pitch is really about.

A little corner where everything I love finally meets: music, art, healing, creativity, and community. It’s a place to be real. To laugh. To be a little lost and a lot curious. To find warmth in a cup of café de olla or a soft, sugary concha. And maybe—just maybe—your purpose too.

And we’re just getting started.