There are some pretty big things that we cannot change. I will let you make your own list.
And there are also many things which we can change, which is something we sometimes forget, possibly due to the ways we feel about The List of Things We Cannot Change: Impotence, lack of sovereignty, exhaustion, grief.

Often, The List of the Things We Can Change seems unimportant, maybe even silly. “No big deal,” we say. Especially when we compare it to The List of Things We Cannot Change. “It’d be a lot of work,” we say.

I have found that giving up on The List of Things We Can Change is a terrible, terrible idea.
Do you wish your bed were facing the window, but it’s really not that big a deal, especially when compared to ________” AND it feels like a lot of work to even think about it? Do it. It IS a big deal. And the work (likely less than you have been envisaging) will be worth it.

Are you tired of going to the same monthly Book Club, but really it’s not that big a deal, it’s only once a month, AND it feels like a lot of work to extricate yourself from it? Do it. It’s going to be, as my mom used to say, "un mauvais moment à passer” and then you will love the way having said no to something which was no longer a match feels.

Are your underwear saggy and sad, but it’s really not that big a deal? Get new ones, ones you love, even if you are the only one looking at them, even if you throw away ten old ones and only buy three new ones because they are more expensive.

The List of Things We Can Change is an opportunity for no less than a personal revolution. A revolution in what? A revolution in power, sovereignty, energy, and joy.
One change at a time, we meet ourselves again. We meet the place where we CAN. We meet the place where we remember that being delighted IS a big deal.

This is something we need right now.

And this is something which may even allow us to have a new relationship with The List of Things We Cannot Change.

April is a funny month over here.

It is the month when the days warm up (we still have some super lovely cool mornings and nights, made that much lovelier by the knowledge that they can be taken away at any time). It is the month of Semana Santa, when the village gets its last big burst of activity for a while, and it is the month when many of the people who live here part-time get ready to leave towards an easier climate.

And so, the ubiquitous question: Are you staying?

There is something about “staying.”

Staying means we will soon be sweating 24/7, unless we gift ourselves some air conditioning breaks. Air conditioning breaks mean moving indoors, and for those of us who spend most of our time outdoors, or live in indoor-outdoor homes like I do, this in itself is a big shift.

Staying means we will be making some changes to our homes. Humidity and big rain are about to move in with no apology, Nature’s way of reminding us - as it will again and again for the months to come - that we’re not the boss of it. Sealing roofs, painting iron work, moving outdoor furniture, stocking up on some pantry items just in case the rivers are too fast to cross for a couple of days, getting the antidote from the vet against the dog-killing toad, checking for any place where standing water may want to hang out (mosquitoes = dengue) … and more.

In a way, it feels like getting ready for a party. A party where the jungle is going to turn bright green, where anything we plant will grow at a vertiginous pace, the ocean water will be warm, the lychees will arrive, the mangoes will fall from the sky, the village will return to its quiet state of many years ago, there will be laughter as we get caught in the rain and all along a certain knowing that we are kind of bada**es together. There’s a lot of sweetness to it all.

So yes, “Are you staying?” is everywhere.

Last November, I had sworn that I wouldn’t “stay.” My car had spent most of the crazy hot summer at the mechanic’s, and feeling stuck here with the relentless heat had been rough for me. I swore that I wouldn’t do it again. Kind of like we do after giving birth each time. I have three children.

I am watching my friends get ready for their other, cooler life, and I miss them already. I am making calculations on paper to try and find the Sweet Spot where I, too, can be in easier weather at least part of the time. I look at my pups, my cat, and I know that leaving is not as easy as getting on a plane. After the end of May, it is too hot for them to fly. Driving is expensive. Possibly problematic. I need someone to stay in my home if I am not in it. Lots of moving pieces.

And yet. I am thinking …

A close friend has invited all of us to come stay with her in another, cooler state in Mexico. We could certainly drive there, I could paint, and spending time with her sounds lovely. Also, Washington is calling loudly, and so are my kids, who are moving to the Southwest of the United States.

And I love a good adventure.

So for now, I am living this in-between time and feeling its gifts all the way. I am also deeply aware of the blessing of being able to contemplate choices.

This morning I climbed on my roof and painted over my skylights so that we won’t feel like little roasting bugs walking around the kitchen. This is a sweet ritual, and it reminds me each time of how much I love the Essence of Simplicity. No fancy covers, just a coat of paint in the Spring, which gets scraped away in the winter, welcoming the new season.
It’s good. All of it. Questions, explorations, wondering, trusting. And again, options. I try to never ever take options for granted.

I wish you a tender awareness of your daily Gifts - the ones you receive and the ones you share - and an easy transition into the next season, wherever you are.
***
PS: I now have the dates for my next two Esencia Retreats, and you are invited! Four days together meditating, sharing, laughing, and creating in my home in Mexico. This Retreat is great for people who already know that they are artists and those who doubt that they could ever be. For the latter, I am giddily excited about lovingly proving you wrong. November 8-11 and March 12-15.

There have been a few times in the last few weeks when I have asked myself if it was normal to be so content, given that I spend the majority of my hours amongst animals and not humans.

“Is something wrong with me?” is usually how it shows up.
Sometimes followed by “Should I worry?”

And you see, this is exactly WHY I am so content spending all this time around animals: they don’t ever freaking wonder if something is wrong with feeling good.

I promise you that when my cat is lounging under a banana tree, her eyes closed, her belly to the sun, and a light kitty smile on her cute face, she is NOT wondering if something is wrong with her.

When my dogs romp around the beach, taking turns jumping on top of each other at the edge of the waves, they are NOT wondering if maybe they should tone it down and not be so darn happy.

This kooky mind stuff is purely human. Some kind of weird thing we do, and frankly, it’s exhausting.

And so, my theory is that by spending a lot of time around these clearly more highly evolved beings, I catch a bit of their effortless wisdom. They are my teachers and their medicine is one I need. Hence, my choice to hang out with them so much.

Seems simple enough when I put it this way.

This also sheds light on part of the reason why losing them devastates us so deeply. SO deeply.

I have grieved the death of some of my animals in a way that has astounded me. For three years after Roxy died, I could not say her name without crying. Three years. Of course, because I have a kooky human mind, I did wonder, “Is something wrong with me?” Followed by “Should I worry?”

And this brings me to Luna.

Ahh... Luna.

Luna is not mine, she never was, and frankly, our relationship was not an easy one.
At this point in the story, I would like you to quickly hop over here and read a bit about Luna so that you get the full experience of what’s coming.

This is part of what I wrote a couple of years ago about this scruffy little being:
"Meditation or not, I let him know that if his dog attacked mine just one more time, I would ________ and then I draw a blank because even though I remember finishing the sentence, I don't remember the exact words I chose. I know there was something about keeping her on a f**** leash."

Over the last two years, I have walked past Luna’s new home many times. When I do, I send her some silent love. And I remember her dad, who had gone back to the States shortly after. They are part of the multi-colored, ever-growing tapestry of my life down here.

Last night, Lila, Marley, and I went to the beach at sunset. I had had a bit of the flu and hadn’t had the energy to make it to the ocean for a few days, so walking down the little rocky path and smelling the salty air felt extra special, healing.

When we reached the sand, I could see someone hunched over Luna’s grave, carefully arranging a crown of fushia colored bougainvillea in front of it.

This got my attention. Who, in the village, was so close to her that more than two years later they would bring her flowers?

I got a little closer, and the man turned around.

Luna’s dad. His face drenched in tears.

His grief hit me like a hot flame. No longer so raw, it seemed to have morphed into something deeper, something that had moved into him and was likely there to stay. Something familiar and yet, I knew, fully his.

He noticed Marley and asked me about her, and about when she had become part of our family. I asked about him, and he told me that he had gifted himself a week down here in the village so he could be close to Luna for a bit. There weren’t many more words to exchange because none of this lives in the realm of words. Kinda like our relationships with our animals.

When we walked away, he continued arranging the flowers, and then from far away, I saw him lying down in the sand next to his Luna.

There is something about having the honor of sharing our lives with animals that allows us to access both a profound level of contentment and a purity of connection that can devastate us when it ends.

Really, I have to believe that neither of these is a sign that “something is wrong with us.”

Quite the contrary.