This Life: It Asks for So Much, and It Gives So Much.

It is a wonderfully cool morning and the day’s plans just got fully upended.

Today was to be Marly-at-the-vet day, which means Marley on an empty stomach day - which she decided was not a good way to start her day. She chose instead to somehow get out of the yard and help herself to whatever breakfast delight she might find in a neighbor’s pile.

My big city list is still on the wooden table and I know there is no other option but to pirouette. I call the vet, I rearrange things in my mind, feel the familiar blend of frustration and trust that something better was in store all along, and I breathe. I watch the dogs who are so good at pirouetting, physically and mentally. We don’t go here? Let’s go there! It may be really fun there! And I forgot where we were going in the first place! Let’s go!
I try. My human mind is so much stiffer.

And then I remember words I read yesterday in an article about living in Mexico. The article was provocatively called Letting go of US-style efficiency .

"Living here requires patience and flexibility. It can be hard to adapt to this way of life when you are accustomed to always rushing to the next big thing. Meanwhile you miss so many little things.” - Kerry Watson

Patience and Flexibility. The author’s words resonate with me. These are two of the main tools. Such good ones, too. And they require ongoing practice, which Mama Mexico is always happy to provide.

Yesterday was rich in opportunities.

Let me tell you about it:

The sun is barely awake and while my Market Spice tea is brewing, I notice a message from one of my neighbors letting me know that I will need to move my electric cable which has been living above his roof for the last year.

There is a whole chapter to write about my relationship with the electricity and one day I will do just that. For now, it is enough to know that at 7 am I am told that this big scary-to-me cable needs to find a new home, preferably way up in the air and that it needs to happen quickly - as in this week.

How? How the heck do I do this? Who will help me? How much will it cost? Is it even possible? My calm morning mind has been hijacked and I can feel the tightness moving in. I don’t like it. Deep down I know it will be okay and not so deep down, I give in to the stress. Once my tea is ready I sit with it, holding the hot clay mug in my hands and remembering my own two pillars, learned over the last four years of living here:

1. No one cares about my timeline. Not people, not the universe, no one.
2. It always works out.
   
   

These two pillars create a powerful dance together, they ask a lot of us, and they give so very much. They have never failed me and even as I squirm, they hold me like a wise parent holding a toddler overcome by a tantrum.

It always works out.

I have a big day ahead with many pieces, and I look forward to it. One more sip of tea. It always works out. I get dressed, take the girls on a short walk in the country, and before I leave, I notice Marley passionately chewing on something which I know I did not give her. I lean down to look and not recognizing it, I take it from her. As I hold the dainty bone in my hand, my mind and stomach join together in brewing in me a mix of repulsion and horror: the bone has fur on it. I immediately want to know and also I want to never know. I can feel my brain having all kinds of comments about this little bone and I want to hear none of them.

It is not yet 9 am. I add the bone to my small bag of garbage, get on my quad and ride to town, shook up in a visceral way.

The day is full and by the time we are watching the sun set over the ocean hours later, I am once again rich of another day spent in a place I love, a place that asks for a lot and gives even more.

A quick stop at the local OXXO for a white chocolate ice cream bar makes me smile as I notice the clock above the cashier assuredly announcing that it is 4:15 pm. It is dark out. A round piece of plastic ticking away while reminding us not to get too attached to this whole time concept. See pillar #1.

I am ready to go home and slip into bed.

Onto the dusty road, through the jungle and on our way to the house, I find out that nope, not so fast.

Ahead of the car, in the clearing where my house and now several more houses have sprouted over the last couple of years, I see fire. More exactly I see fires. Several of them, bright orange. It has not rained for months. Is the field on fire? Is my house ok? Lila had stayed home, is she ok? There is much smoke ahead of the car and between my worry and the smoke, I turn too early and instead of arriving on the small road to my home I am now smack into the river bed. The very sandy river bed.

I swear in French, which always helps, I put the car in reverse, the wheels spin, I get deeper into the sand, there is so much smoke, is my house burning, is Lila ok?

It took forever to get out, meaning probably less than a minute, and when I finally arrived home, the house and the banana tress were standing, Lila was happy and I learned that all the fires were intentional, some sort of weed control and that “it is always good to burn when it’s dry and before the rain comes.” I ask my mind to please leave this one alone.

So yes, Patience, Flexbilty - and Trust.

Marley will go to the vet next week, I am sure there will be many things to discover until then, new ways to let go, to create, to dance with this life that asks for so much, and gives so much.