No End Date -- Puerto Escondido, Mexico

I'm starting this post from the light blue hammock in Pepe's garden. It's Three Kings Day (a very popular holiday in Mexico), so fireworks are occasionally set off, blasting through the air and frightening the chickens and dogs.

*SQUAWKBARKHOWLSQUAWKSCREECHBARK!*

The day is somewhat loud. 

The day is also somewhat hot. Sizzling. Scorching. Sweltering. I started sweating at ten am and didn't stop dripping until about five pm. 

Good grief. I can't imagine being here in the summer. I don't want to imagine being here in the summer... I would be reduced to a puddle of hobo. Reeking very strongly of Valentina and tajin. 

It's been difficult to focus on my writing. My brain just feels fuzzy. Like it's suffocating under a waterbed. A waterbed with a truckload of overactive roosters engaging in cock warfare atop the mattress. 

Pepe left to visit his daughter in Oaxaca on the evening of the 5th. 

Girl is currently wearing the treehouse pants (Pepe corrects me every time I call his place a hostel. "Aimee, hostels have bunkbeds! This is a guesthouse." I laugh and tell him, "Fine. It's a treehouse.").

Pepe's treehouse pants are easy to wear. I rake leaves, sweep floors, wash dishes and clean bedrooms. I pick up laundry, fill cisterns (on the two days the city water is turned on), feed the cats and brew  pots of Casa Kei coffee. 

I like the treehouse pants. 

But I also miss spending time with Pepe. And think he should get back from Oaxaca soonishly. 'Cos he takes me to beaches -- 

-- and shows me where to find fabulous food --

-- and has become my tlayuda buddy.

Everyone needs a tlayuda buddy.

Tlayuda cannot be demolished by one man alone. Unless you've just left the Sanctuary and are positively starving. Then it's quite possible to demolish an entire tlayuda. With gusto. 

Liz finished her masterpiece and headed off to Oaxaca in search of fresh canvas on which to create new masterpieces.

I do change my shirt every so often. I swear. 

And a blur of Alison happened.

She arrived at the beginning of the week, left her fingerprints in the form of a beautiful mural, and packed her bag in the middle of the week.

People flow in, people flow out.

Some people's fingerprints are bolder than other's.

But every presence leaves a trace. A ghost. A memory.

The bottle of mezcal on top of the fridge.

The leftover quesillo in the fridge door (this is my favorite ghost).

The bottle of chicatana sauce behind the outdoor stove.

The little postcard thanking Pepe for welcoming them into his treehouse.

What traces will I leave? 

I've been thinking more and more about freedom and flow, as of late. I've mentioned in several posts already (so sorry to beat this very, very dead horse), my life is about being free enough to live in harmony. Harmony of thought, word, action. But I have the terrible tendency to confuse "freedom" with "floating".

And perhaps I sometimes confuse "flow" with "escape".

I don't need to always move to be free.  I don't need to be unrooted to be unattached. And if I bind myself to a life of movement and treat the whole wide world and everyone in it like a giant hot potato, there will be no space left for harmony.

If I'm so tied to my plans -- to my way of living -- I won't hear the quiet voices telling me it's time to change my focus.

I'll be like a little kid banging on the piano, hitting two discordant notes over and over and over again. Or a dedicated student, playing the same scales over and over and over again -- reaching perfection in technique, but failing to find anything remotely related to personal expression.

And if I'm too busy playing scales or banging chords, I won't feel life's subtle tug to pause. To decrescendo or take a rest. To allow a moment of silence. To take a few breaths -- or a few months -- to heal wounded roots so that I can grow into a healthier human being

I'm an outside in sort of person. I believe in practicing yoga asanas because awareness and understanding of the body will help me arrive at awareness and understanding of emotions, then awareness and understanding of the spirit and finally, the ability to extend that awareness and understanding to another human being.

(also because I just like doing arm balances and putting random strangers upside down)

The ability to flow from placement to placement has taught me to move physically from lesson to lesson. But I also need to understand that just as I've freed myself physically, I need to free myself emotionally. To be fully present. To allow myself to experience the lessons life has for me.

I think life is calling me to take a pause.

I've been hot-potato hopping around the world for the last two years -- physically and emotionally. I haven't really allowed myself to enter romantic relationships unless I had a plane ticket in my back pocket and the idea of being tied to a person or a place caused me profound anxiety.

Being in one place for an extended period of time whisks away my identity as a traveller. A hobo. A vagabond. An identity I've come to need very much indeed for my sense of self-worth.

Is there anything worse than a pretentious hobo? 

Umm... yes. Fake cheese and turning spirituality into tourism. But that's about it. 

Being with a romantic partner sans plane ticket is one of the scariest things in the world to me and I've settled into a comfortable rhythm of moving from place to place, from person to person.

Why am I too afraid to grow roots with a person? To build a life with a lover? 

I don't trust people to love me for more than a few months... I don't trust people to want to take care of me for more than a few months. Everyone feels unworthy of love at some point in their life. I think this might be my answer to feeling unloveable. 

Movement. 

Floating above it all. 

Letting my damaged roots dangle in space. 

I've allowed my life to be very much dictated by this fear. By the idea that I have an expiration date... which is something I strive to avoid. Making decisions from a place of fear. 

mmm....

But such a large part of life is about finding and removing the obstacles we've created that prevent us from loving fully. Living fully. And living this kind of life has revealed to me my obstacles. 

Win. 

Now I just have to remove them. 

Oof. 

There was sadness at the end of my time in each home. Heartache with each goodbye kiss.

But also exhilaration that I'd managed to leave before I'd "expired".

Gone off.

This was how my life made sense to me. It was the way I functioned. With my first boyfriend, I had dreams of a film school in Prague (I was accepted into the school, but unable to attend for financial reasons. Like, having zero money). With me second boyfriend, I had a plane ticket to Madrid (even though we maintained a long-distance relationship during my time away). With every lover since, I've forsworn long-term long-distance and have always entered into relationships with the safe out of a plane ticket to a different country.

But now life is asking me to pause. And I'm finally in a place where I can hear. Where I'm secure enough in myself to let go of my hobo identity. And I've finally found a person who makes me feel safe enough to put down roots. 

Troy will visit me in fifteen days.

For four days.

I'm flying back to Grand Junction to visit him in the middle of March.

This was not the plan.

But.

This is freedom without needing to float. This is flowing without needing to escape.

Grand Junction (beating the dead horse again) was a traumatic place for me. I've been floating with damaged roots for years -- although each time I return to Colorado, I experience a bit of healing.

Maybe this is the time to finish the healing process. With a love that makes me feel safe and no plane ticket in my pocket. No end date in mind. 

Hey.

Hey there, trust.