Finding Myself in Mexico: Part I

     Why, I wonder, do I often find despair when faced with beauty? My second day on the beach of an all-inclusive hotel in a beautiful port of Mexico, and I can’t help but drown in my loneliness and sorrows, instead of getting drunk and drowning in the ocean or the pool. When I first arrived at the hotel (on my birthday, unnoticed by the hotel clerk) the woman checking me in asked what brought me around, and I said - honestly - that I was running away. From what? She asked. I thought: more like whom? So I told her: running from my family, from my responsibilities, from life, but mostly from myself. So you could imagine my surprise upon finding me in this hotel. The joke - perhaps a bad one - went unnoticed by the clerk. Confusion showing in her eyes but hidden behind the well trained customer service smile. And I’m sure lost somewhere in the language barrier, as it has so often been the case for me and ESL people. Well, actually, my humour is usually lost on most. But when someone finally gets it, man are they good! 

    But back to my despair that runs so rampantly. In truth, I did come here to run away. I’ve been running for a while now and it’s a sad truth that I’ve come to realize: I am in fact trying to run from myself. Or towards myself. Somehow they end up being the same thing. But I keep wondering where the changing point is? Eventually I hope I’ve run far enough away that I start running towards something. Perhaps a change in myself. My thought process is that if I completely abandon everything I am, or was, and put myself in situations I would otherwise have thoroughly avoided, I may find some new part of my being that I can strengthen into something more beautiful. Or at least just stronger than this piece of broken glass I feel like.

    Part of these broken shards came from falling out of love and shattering in the process. I was reminded of that as I traveled to the more touristy area of this coastal town; so well known for it’s abundant gay life. I had hopes in mind of running across someone on the beach or in a bar who would marvel at my hidden beauty, and see the shimmer of the sun on the glass confetti that I am at the moment. This a concept that has rarely worked for me, but when it has, man has it felt good. But like most of the world right now, the crowds were scarce and secluded. I was just in time to sit on the beach and watch the sunset, and then I made my way into the streets looking for an opportunity. I wandered the cobblestone roads, exploring the abundant choices of restaurants and bars, while keeping my eyes peeled for gaggles of gays to lead me towards the right rainbow flag marked locations. I eventually found a spot, to sit like a loner and bob my head to the unneccessarily loud music, when I got the stupid idea to messge my ex. I hear of people making these poor decisions after break-ups and I’ve always thought: why? Do you have no self-control? And as it turns out, no, self-control flies out the door at the same time your ex walks through it for good. 

 

    He responded quite immediately, answering my question of if he was ok with a resounding no. And what followed was another lesson in the torture that follows a break-up. So I sat on a curb in the middle of a proliferate gay-cation destination, surrounded by potential “papi”s, and spent my time consoling my former lover, trying to ease a dialogue of persuasion into the phone so he wouldn’t forget that our love is something that can be recaptured. Meanwhile, our 30 minute conversation ended up being the last 30 minutes bars were open, so my night ended with me walking down empty streets, empty handed, and empty-hearted. 

   

    A 20 minute wait later, my taxi finally arrived, and much to my surprise, we somehow got directly onto the topic of exes. And what transpired was something I’ve fantasized about, but with a real understanding that it would probably forever stay as such. Yet out of the blue I found an attractive man in quite a random - if not prosaic - situation who was flirting with me. Our conversation flowed from our origin stories, to why I was traveling alone, to our shared experiences of love lost, and suddenly a date was planned for coffee the next day. I must say, my initial reaction was to say: no thank you, I’m on vacation and leaving in 36 hours. But then I halted my over-critical mind and thought: EVAN, just say yes to the man. Could you imagine, after having spent more time than you would like to admit, waiting for kismet to sneak up on you, and then you turn it away like a salesman at your door? See, my time challenging myself hasn’t been for naught.

   

    Now, who can say if anything more than a coffee and a few hours spent not alone will come from this romp. But taking a chance like this is exactly what I need to get out of the pool of despair I keep swimming in, and out into the sun that I hope will simply kiss my skin, and not burn me. At the least, I hope that it gets my mind off of the same rotating thoughts that distract me from the world and away from phone calls with my ex that close me off to that same world.