Getting Old -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

I'm getting old. 

Less adaptable.

Stolid.

With the occasional smidgen of curmudgeonry sneaking its way into my tone and posture.

Or perhaps I'm just becoming more grounded in myself. More aware of my needs. More assertive and proactive in asking for my needs -- and even my wants -- to be met.

Pepe and I joke about being old men, but I really do think I'm in the midst of an abuelo crisis (unreasonable beard envy included).

I've established ways.

A few, here and there.

Ways in which I've become set.

Chorizo tlayudas (god forbid someone should present me with tasajo or pollo).

Peanut products when feeling stressed.

Coffee with loads of milk and half a teaspoon of sugar.

Mornings.

Mornings are sacred to me.

When I was struggling through PTSD in Grand Junction, I really established the sacredness of mornings in my life. I'd wake up at four in the morning, eat a piece of fruit, hop on my bike (a beautiful blue TREK named Astrid) and whizz down the river trail in the dark, brisk Colorado spring mornings. I'd lock Astrid outside the Blockbusters and pop into a hot yoga vinyasa studio for the hour-long flow.

This was the only place I felt safe at that time of my life. On my mat. In that warm, comforting yoga studio. This is the only place I felt comfortable enough to allow my spirit or consciousness or giant panda or whatever it was that had fled my body to settle back inside.

I'd mutter a quick "namaste" or "thanks for the class" on my way out the door, but that was it. I did my best to remain silent and focused on the feeling of me inside my body. I'd unlock Astrid and sort of float over to Roasted, my then favorite coffee shop (because I could get a medium drip coffee for a buck. And the owner had a crush on me, which was sort of cute). I'd sit with my steaming "for here" mug at an outside table and I'd journal.

My thoughts now.

My day yesterday.

I'd analyze the reactions I'd had the day before and try to figure out where they'd come from. Why my first impulse had been to lash out or shut down or snuggle up under a Barbara and sob gobble my way through an entire package of bacon.

Once I'd figured out where the reactions had come from, I was able to let go of them.

I was also (mostly) able to let go of the judgment I felt towards myself for reacting in a way I wouldn't have, had I been in a... well... less traumatized headspace.

You're still healing. It's okay. Give yourself time, Bourget. Give yourself space. But. What mantra can you use to help you focus your energy on making THIS day different? 

I'd sit at Roasted until I felt grounded enough to go to work.

Ever since then, my mornings have been my sacred time.

I process best.

I'm most creative.

I'm most relaxed.

If I don't have mornings to settle into myself, I simply can't function for the rest of the day. I'm always... somewhat... distant.

Which can make me curt, unreasonable and reactive.

Four hours are no longer needed to ground down. But girl needs at least two. To make a pot of coffee. To write her thoughts. To let go of yesterday and create space for today.

I haven't been able to get my two hours at Casa Kei. I teach yoga at 7:00 am and Pepe needs quiet for the guests before six. So I wake up at four thirty (like the abuelo I am), and then lay awake in bed and pine for my cup of coffee and enough light by which to journal.

I'm getting old.

Less adaptable.

Haunted by the feeling that I'm running out of time.

If I'm ever doing something that isn't my passion, the action is underlined with thoughts of, "girl don't got time for this..." 

I want my work to be my passion.

(And I have a fair few passions from which to choose)

Yoga.

Painting.

Massage.

Gardening.

Teaching theatre to munchkins.

Cooking delicious things for families.

Training the random Irish Thoroughbred.

Being a super helpful social butterfly (a somewhat newly discovered passion).

Every action I make goes on my resumé. Am I filling it with what I want to be doing forever or what is most convenient now? I adore Pepe and Casa Kei is one of the most healing, tranquil places in which I've ever been fortunate enough to live... 

But? 

But. 

But wearing treehouse pants is not my passion, so I'm not filling my resumé in a way that puts my feet on the path I want to walk. Also... I'm currently in a headspace where I just need a lot of space. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. All the space. I need a place where I can be sad and not have to wear the happy social butterfly pants if I don't want to. I need a place where I can be confused and don't need to focus on running a guesthouse and being "on" all the time. 

I need a vacation from being adaptable. 

As awful as that sounds. 

And I need my mornings. 

In the last 20 months, the closest thing I've had to consistently having my own space was my month spent living in Cathy's gorgeous spare bedroom.

Which was magic. Pure, unadulterated, bacon, noosa yogurt, afternoon cocktails and hug filled magic.

One month in twenty isn't a lot, though. 

My first trip was eleven months of travel. I returned for a year and had some time to settle into a space. A routine. Establish something that was inside-out, outside-in mine. My second trip was for sixteen months. I returned for two months (months during which I slept in a different bed at least twice a week, went on road trips and had toothbrushes all over the place), and then immediately hightailed it to Mexico.

I didn't have time to ground. I didn't have time to process the sixteen months. I was so busy working/hanging out with family and old friends that I didn't give myself the quiet I needed to understand the lessons I'd learned from my friends and lovers. From hitchhiking through Transylvania. From forcing myself to stay in situations so antithetical to who I am that I... just... stopped. 

Like a wristwatch tossed in a washing machine. 

Tick-tick-tick---

--tick-----tick----

----

tick----

--

Or am I just being selfish? What's the difference between remaining focused on walking a path that fulfills me and just being downright self-centered? 

Fulfilled versus selfish. 

hmmm...

I feel like there's a line here. And I'm not seeing it very clearly yet. 

I also have a better understanding of what the world has to offer me. So I'm perhaps a little ungracious about situations where I feel like more has been offered before.

Hey. Hey there, Bourget. You know where unhappiness comes from, right? 

Comparing shit. 

So stop it. 

Now. 

But... 

Why not use that knowledge to help me better understand my options?

Comparisons that allow us to understand our options versus graciously, gratefully accepting the moment as is. 

Line? 

I'm listening to my yoga playlist #2 right now.

A song by Fiest just started playing.

"so much past inside my present... inside my present... inside my present..."

When my past gives me the knowledge I need in order to live with more wisdom in the present, then... I can totally dig it. But when it's something that just makes me pine for all the things I used to have?

Confusion. ARGH. 

This is why I need a space of my own right now. 

I have so many questions. 

So much confusion. 

So many huge life changes. 

(aka, girl's got a boyfriend and life isn't all about her anymore. Girl can't just up and move to Nepal for chuckles and chortles. Troy would probably like to be consulted before girl ups and moves to Nepal -- super demanding dude that he is)

I need time wherein I'm not adapting myself so I can understand where I am. I need to step off this rocking boat in order to feel the ground beneath my feet. To understand this new balance. This new stage of my journey. 

So although Pepe is the best abuelo buddy of all time ever and there are some peachy avocados that stay at Casa Kei, I think I'm going to find a space that's mine for the remainder of my time in Oaxaca.

Nick. A peachy avocado. 

Brittany. Being excited about all the food fifty pesos can buy in Mexico (she's currently using the Mexican banana to call her friends in Australia to tell them all about the fabulously inexpensive Mexican bananas). 

What will be the new yoga room at Casa Kei. This place just keeps getting more and more beautiful. I can't wait to see how it continues to evolve. 

A parting gift from Minerva that I hung above the checkered table. 

A week of good avocados. 

I'll still be over at Casa Kei as often as Pepe can tolerate this confused, confusing lady/abuelo. 

'Cos this is the kind of fabulousness that ensues at Casa Kei. 

So many good avocados. 

Maestre Reyes building a roof for Pepe. 

Joy found this picture of Facebook and said, "Look. You can see how much I love you in my face." Ahem. Dear, Joy. You. Are one of my favorite people ever. Just being around you makes me so stinkin' happy. We're gonna have some amazing adventures together in Switzerland and in California. Thanks for the good times, the insanely appropriate sound effects you make for everything, for the night you felt my need for space so just gave me your bedroom, and for the love that seems to radiate from your face and heart and hands. 

Another guest at Casa Kei. Artist, surfer and enviable owner of a New Zealand accent (which I want almost as much as Nick's beard). 

You wish you could brush your teeth in a hammock. ;) 

But after visiting with my abuelo friend and the good avocados, I'll go home. 

To a room

That's my own. 

To a room

Where I can wake up

Early

Turn on the light

And settle into my sacred space. 

FYI, this is the first time I'll be paying rent since June, 2011. 

And it'll be three dollars a day. 

It's kind of weird how paying three dollars a day for a private room thirty seconds away from the beach feels like a lot when you haven't paid rent in three and a half years.