Finding Myself in Mexico: Part X

    According to my email confirmations, I have a flight coming up that will steal me away from this life I’ve made here in Mexico, and drop me off into the arid, dirty landscape of LA. At least, that's the first thing I think when I wake in the morning and count one day closer to my departure. I suppose I can’t blame anyone else for the ticket that I mindfully purchased. And really, there is no blame to point. I am looking forward to the return to LA, a return to my friends that I have left behind, a return to the amenities I have been without, a return to my sheets and towel and sunhat and yoga mat and bicycle and hot water and chilled nights and favorite restaurants and familiar beaches. I look forward to packing up the bags and jetting away toward another journey. Escaping up the coast of california, spending a spring week in San Francisco, hiking the hills of Big Sur, standing in awe of the golden coast. Perhaps I will even zoom over to New York to stand in my storage unit and soak in the memories of times past. Relishing the happiness I stored away there and revel in the opportunities leaving it all behind has afforded me. There is nothing I enjoy more than an adventure, and even though it is a return to familiar places and things, an adventure away from the home I have made here in Mexico sounds like exactly what I need right now.

    As these last few days wind down, my experiences here cycle  around in my mind on a merry-go-round of laughter. Talking to the man who drove me around in Puerto Vallarta - his flirtations remaining long after my departure - texts coming through of his adoration for me (how people can so easily fall for another with little to no context, I’ll never understand. But I definitely don’t mind flirting with a handsome stranger). The excitement that worked its way through my nervous system when I arrived in an airport, alone, where I hardly spoke the language. The sigh of release upon returning to Puerto Escondido and feeling it’s welcome embrace. The week I spent chastising myself for traveling during this hot mess our world is in, and the self-doubt I faced in trying to understand who I am. Falling through that whirlwind of emotions to then be yanked out by the beautiful connections I made with the amazing people who inhabit these fresh shores, reviving me from the depths of my self-pity. They remind me how adaptable I am as a person, and how open I am to change, yet still susceptible to my own negative voices that linger in the back of my mind.

    And then there are the little trips out of PE that gave me further glimpses of Mexico’s beauty: The all too common passage through Mazunte and Zipolite, beaches of respite from crowds and clothing. The winding path up into the mountains and town of San Jose del Pacifico to partake in shrooms and traditional temazcal ceremonies. The colorful and rich city of Oaxaca where I fell in love more and more with each restaurant visited, colorful buildings passed, city blocks explored. The sexual explorations that guided me from each town, taking this long-term monogamous man and making him feel like a 21 year old again. And of course the beaches; endless waters lapping at my skin and viciously dunking me under with the heavy pressure of waves and re-birthing me through the frothy break of water, me gasping for life as I would break the surface. So many things that took this high falutin city man - the man who spent an hour each morning skimming off the tops of moisturizers and styling creams, brewing loose leaf tea and measuring out weighted portions of fruit and eggs, marking events and to-do’s off the calendar, and steaming out the days carefully picked clothing - and turning me into the barefoot, sand covered, shirtless, board-short wearing man who feels more cleansed and nourished by the salty waters of the ocean than a regular shower with soap. 

    Through all of this I have constantly been hanging on to the fact that I am running away from the end of a marriage and the depression I sank so deeply into in the states. For months I was trying to face the reality of it, working with a therapist and making healthy changes to my lifestyle. But there was always this nagging feeling to keep moving, a feeling that I thought best to ignore, at first, but eventually gave into, and found my instincts to be sound. Although our journey to better ourselves is a never ending one, the leaps and strides I have made here have saved my soul. The pieces have been picked up and held softly together as the sun melted them back into a semblance of a whole. 

    So now, here I sit, the day before I depart, the last writing session I will have for some time in my favorite rooftop palapa cafe, Dulce Tierra, and I continue to ponder: What will life have waiting for me next? Will the new pieces of me fit into the old lifestyle from before? Will this adventure through Mexico be left behind when I cross that border, and I will return to the lost man I was before? Or perhaps a dip back into the tepid waters of LA and NYC will confirm the changes I have made, and a short visit to the States will be shortened even farther by a hasty exit back to the shady shores of La Punta, crowded sands of Playa Carrizalillo, and boisterous bars of Zicatela.