Finding Myself in Mexico: Part VII

    Sand is only sand when it isn’t wet. When it’s wet: muck. Have you noticed that? We frolic in the plushy forgiveness that volleyball courts and cabanas call home, but find ourselves annoyed when we try to scrape and rinse off the caked-on plaster it can become. It gets into places we don’t want, and it collects in the sheets and carpets that we go home to luxuriate in. So why do we flock? For the water, perhaps. For the breeze off the shore. The minerals in the sea, and the vistas that ensconse it’s borders. The communal feeling of gaiety; that intoxicating neuron-firing chemical that catches like a cold, but through a smile instead of a sneeze.

    And what becomes of it all when the clouds roll in and the sun disappears? I always thought the darker side of the beach - to balance out the bright shining part - was the nighttime. But perhaps it is the stormy days, those where the fog settles in and makes the water too cold for swimming, and the air too thick for relaxing. You see couples huddling together and trying to ride it out under their beach blanket cocoon. Those who revel in the melancholy come dressed in a windbreaker and fisherman’s hat, smiling at the failed beach-day attempts. These grey days are almost more intoxicating to me as the energetic blissful ones; perhaps made important by the balance they provide. 

    I experienced a perfect example of this on my most recent jaunt down to Playa Zipolite in Oaxaca, Mexico. One day was beautiful bliss as I stretched out on the gay beach of Playa del Amor, the sun soaking into every inch of my naked body as I relished in the freeing experience of nude sunbathing, accompanied by the like-minded friends of the LGBT community. The sun set and the full-moon came out to witness our freed bodies dancing its spectral radiance. Our secret cove became a haven for us to swim in the depths of our comfortability and explore each other’s abandonment far into the morning hours. Yet the next day proved to be quite the opposite as a wayward fog rolled onto the shore. It dampened the air into a thickness we all stewed in; the sun’s heat trapped with us. As the day wore on the waves crashed harder into the shores, and thundered into the many bluffs. The gay community, always unperterbued and determined, still gathered in the hidden beach, but some of us began to shiver in the encroaching cold of the evening and layered clothes back on. The muted light of the day cast us all in a monochromatic tableau, but we persisted in shedding off the weight it bore down on us, and we danced for el Dios del sol. Eventually our writhing bodies fought off the mist, just in time for the guaranteed beauty of a west coast sunset, but before that point, I was at home in the downcast mood. 

    Part of that may have to do with the mental energy it takes for me to keep up with others. I travelled down to Mezunte and Zipolite with two companions I had met only weeks prior in Puerto Escondido. While we all shared an unusually quick comfortability with each other - common amongst solo-travelers, so it seems - I am still a loner and introvert at heart, and need time to recover between these excursions of spending time with new people. (Although I must say, it’s always comforting to have someone with you who holds a place of familiarity when experiencing something new, but it can also be a crutch. Relying on them too much takes away the spirit of accomplishing something of your own, and diminishes the chances of spontaneity. But what it adds is companionship, someone to share a memory with, someone to fill in the blanks of that which you probably don't want to be remembered anyhow. It’s a give and take.) On top of the two days I spent in the company of my new friends, I also spent the first night on the gay beach making connections with strangers in the dark. One in particular was even more shy and afraid of making new acquaintances as I. And for some reason, I took on the responsibility to become that cohort who helps to break another out of their shell. I was playing the role of someone I always so desperately need. And perhaps because of that, with my energy depleted, the second night was in need of the same driving force to put me back on my feet. 

    The next morning as I packed to leave, seeing the entirety of my life in two small bags, I had a sense of deja-vu as wants of jumping on a plane and heading back to LA or NY set into my mind. Usually a feeling that is swept away by the winds off the sea, scrubbed off my skin from the exfoliating sands, and burned away in the cleansing rays of the sun. Instead, I was greeted by messages not from my ex-husband, nor by his new boyfriend, but from the ex of the man who has taken my place in that life I use to live. Immediately I was being rolled in the tumultuous, crashing waves of their life, and being tossed onto the shore where I lay in the wet sand, covered by the muck of their relationship. I tried to pick myself up and scrap away those feelings that worked their way into the crevices of my heart and mind, but that muck is forever clinging. As I made my way to Puerto Escondido, I felt a renewed sense of energy coming back to familiar shores and neighborhoods, feeling a sense of home. Yet, when I moved into my new Airbnb and tried to settle in, those wet sands of emotion worked their way around and eventually my disdain covered everything I touched.

    Similar to the blurred ideas of how I want to finish this entry, my concepts of how to move out of these feelings are at a loss. The only thing I can think is to accept that the good is always accompanied by the bad. Like the foggy days on the beach, tumultuous days overflowing with negative emotions will always come rolling in over the horizon. All I can do is relish in the sun filled days and remember that eventually the fog will pass, eventually I will be able to scrape off all that muck, and I can emerge into a new day, clean and ready to accept all the good that may come.