It’s been a long two weeks. I had my phone stolen twice in two weeks, in ways I knew to defend against. Stress and exaustion from the trip, I guess. The funny thing is that my pride is hurt. I didn’t know I cared. It’s a simple thing to let go of. It’s just a phone. The first time I thought of it as the guy doing me a favor. That phone was starting to glitch and give me trouble recharging. The second time was on my way into Tulum, which tainted everything about that place.
When I went there, I wanted someplace easy, someplace I could rest and recover. The beach is three miles from town and there is a foot of dead seaweed at the shoreline. There is no surfing to be had. Everything good requires a cab or a bus to get to. The city itself looks like Ensenada, without the aggressive sales people. Not a bad place, but not what I needed. The ruins close by aren’t bad, but nothing compared to the pyramids in Mexico City. Not a bad place, but my state of mind was shot.
Moving everything into the trucks was hard, driving through 120 degree heat in Texas wasn’t as bad, and working on moving it out of the truck on the other end was interrupted by the rain. This is life, I suppose. It was more work than I would have liked, but not quite as much as I expected. Woodstock seems like a nice place also, but I was worn out by the end of it all. What I needed was a rest.
Tulum would probably be awesome to visit again, but the forced isolation of not having a phone is hard. I like being alone, usually. I can rest, think, let my mind wander, but it’s different when you have no choice. Normally I could talk to family, friends, send pictures, connect with people while I am a world away. The heat in the city killed my voice too, so talking to strangers was difficult at best. It must have been different when people had to leave everything to travel, not hang by a thread to a life that used to be.
I think that’s the hardest thing. Traveling alone is hard, but when you can pretend you still are part of the old world it makes it easier. I had one friend tell me after six months that it was like I had never left. I noticed the time because I was alone, but still connected. Now I notice it every time I want to reach out to the world that was. I can feel the weight of it, and there is no going back.
San Diego is the home that was. I could probably go back and find a place there, but with my family gone there is less reason to. Home is where the heart is, but my heart is torn. I don’t want to end up in Woodstock. It’s a nice place, but the only person there I connected with was the Italian man who owned a restaurant near the house. It’s too homogenized, like Eastlake back home. Cookie cutter houses and predictable lives.
I don’t know that I want San Diego any more either. I know that life, and there are things I want there, but what do I have to sacrifice to get them? How much more is there to the world outside? I’m making contacts all over the world, and that was my goal, to see the world. Italy, Taiwan, China, Vietnam, Russia, there is no place I can think of that I don’t want to visit, if not live there. What more does the world have to offer, what secrets does it hide?
I don’t want to stay in Mexico either. It’s not a bad place to live for a while, but there is a lot that is coming to the surface here. Violence, injustice, rebellion, corruption. I don’t really want to be around when the revolution happens, even if it will be interesting to see. It’s up to the Bard to tell the stories, but that means I have to survive them. The problem with wanting to see the world as it is, is that there are a lot of dark corners and shadows. My mom wants me to get a tattoo of who to call in case of emergency. I’m actually considering it.
I know I won’t always travel alone. I don’t know where the end will be. I know this is just another test, a place everyone hits where they look back and wonder what could have been. What could have been isn’t, but it affects everything to come. My karma, the places I have been and the things I have done. The fears I still hold on to, and the ones I thought were gone.
The storm is raging outside, as it always does this time of year in the mountains. It’s still inside too, but I can be content in the storm for a while. I chose to live my life following the currents, and sometimes they will take me to places I’d rather not be. Karma, if nothing else, teaches us that everything has a cost, and that cost will end, if you let it. If you fight the storm, you may never escape it. I’m just trying to find a way through without sinking. Rain in my face, lightning in the sky, and laughter in my heart.