Finding Myself in Mexico: Part V

    Recently I’ve been waking in the morning with the same question in my head: What the fuck are you doing? And of course, the answer is simple: I don’t know. Because I answer as such, with it being the first thing to think in the morning, it trickles into the rest of the choices in my day and I question everything I do. Why that restaurant? Why eat right now? Why leave the apartment? Why go to the beach? Why ride the bicycle? Why try to meet a new partner? Why attempt to better yourself? Why even try? Well… I don’t know. 

    Now, let’s couple that with my crippling indecisiveness fueled by a need to always make the right choice. I live with a constant fear of “what if” and even if I do manage to pick my head up and take action in the day, I am constantly battling with the idea that the grass may have been greener on the other side. But if I can’t go back and relive that alternate universe where the other decision was made, then what's the point of making any decisions? So I sit here and continue to ask myself: What the fuck are you doing? Well… I don’t know. 

    Today I startled myself by jumping out of bed and getting out into the world without thinking about it first. Didn’t even take a shower or brush my teeth, I just said go. Bumping down the road on my moped is when the questions started. Where are you going? Are you sure you want to do that? Is this a waste of your time? What could you be doing instead that would better your life? I’ve lived this way for an arduous 10 months; having had way too much time on my hands, I suddenly had no idea what to do with it. My life before was kept rolling forward by the mundane tasks that filled my day: work, grocery shopping, laundry, reading, cooking, catching up on my partners day. Then sleep, shower, rinse, and repeat. So when all that was taken away, I realized I was a 30 year old gay man with no purpose in life other than to be self-loathing and depressed. With no will to change that, or the courage to do so because of my fear of making a decision, I have spent the last 10 months completely losing my mind. Just hoping that someone will come around and make a decision for me that will utterly and completely change my life. But guess what? That doesn’t happen. 

    A good example of this could be seen in a previous night's unfoldings. I attempted to find a hidden trail to take out onto an overlook above the ocean and was stymied by locked gates and overgrown forests. Instead I made my way down to the beach and gave in to my better judgement of spending too much money on an umbrella shaded beach chair accompanied by endless margaritas. I sipped on the expertly crafted iced lime juice with a hint of mezcal for a few hours and whiled away another afternoon watching the sun climb down from the sky and tuck itself into the waves of the ocean. Minutes later, I made eyes with a man I had met earlier in the week, but never exchanged contacts with.

    We feigned surprise at recognizing each other and said our hello, officially sharing our IG accounts and making loose plans for the night. Here it is, I thought, the opportunity to use someone else’s contagious energy to make my lonely life a tad more bearable. Yet you know what I ended up doing? Waiting in my hotel room for 3 hours until the partying hour hit and the man finally texted me. And what’s even sadder, is I fell asleep in the process and didn’t see his message until far too late into the night after my body had already made the decision it wouldn’t be moving for another 7 hours. A friday night in a party town; wasted. And all because I was waiting on someone else to make the plans, make the decisions, take the responsibility out of my hands and give me something more than the meager moments I’ve been able to fill these weeks with. Lesson learned? Well it’s not the first time it happened, so, probably not.

    My response to things like this, as I have stated before, is to try and force myself into situations where I am confronted to change my normal attitude and behavior. But just now, I've decided to give in. I'm moving to a quieter part of the city where I won't feel guilty for not stepping outside and partaking in the copious adventures awaiting every turn. Instead, I can feel at peace with relaxing in my quarters and feeling no urgency to get out into the hustle. Already I can feel the anxiety building that I will be wasting my time. But no matter. Let it be what it will be.

    To mark my stay at Casa Piedra, let's ruminate on the experience. I sat on the rooftop palapa and journaled during my last 30 minutes, I took note of what I was grateful for: The rooftop, where my room overlooked the space, was stunningly beautiful; surrounded by the ethereal green of the palm trees and piercing blue of the ocean. The gigantic barrel waves crashed on the distant beach and sent roars through the little town. Hills rose all around and each inch was covered with tropical hints of flora and fauna, tiki rooftops, and pastel buildings. Chatter of the denizens permeated every nook and cranny; with no escape into solitude, you always felt like part of a community on-the-go. The neighbor-like guests of the hotel would spend many a nights in the shared kitchen, dribbling wine on the glass table top as they rollicked with laughter, clashing dishes into the sink, and creating a cacophony of metal utensils scraping away at their shared smorgasbord. During the days I would open my window and the breeze sent my curtains dancing on the positive vibes rolling through the block. While I spent quite a few sleepless hours struggling through the calamity of nighttime noise, the days sparkled in a way to make all those dark hours shine more brightly. It truly was a beautiful hotel and I'm grateful it was the one I could call home for a short week. 

    And now off to a more tranquil escape from my escape that I'm trying to escape. (Now do you understand why I ask myself what the fuck I'm doing?)