The good-byes are coming to a close.  We’ve spent the last six weeks with family and friends and somehow, the connections have been more intense and full of flavor than I could have ever imagined.  Like a shot of great tequila without the margarita mix.  Straight up.  No rocks.  The very idea of this new adventure McDean and I are going on seems to add a slow burning intensity to the air between us as we talk about it. 

“You’re going to Mexico?!  To live?  Permanently?!  Wow?!  I wish I were that brave!  What a fantastic adventure!!  I’m so jealous!!  I wish I could just pick up and go do that!!”  And a far away look comes into their eyes as they envision getting on a plane and flying off to an adventure full of surprises and no responsibilities.  At least the ones they’re familiar with.

Open-ended adventures are intoxicating as well as terrifying. No question about it.  Just the idea of it seems to capture people’s imagination.  But there’s something comforting to me in at least knowing where the next step is going to be. 

Mexico.  Just the name conjures up visions of warm, welcoming people, a slower, more laid back lifestyle, time to discover, to write, to think, to immerse myself in living instead of in a job.  And after a lot of time with Mrs. Google, reading and talking with people who are more experienced travelers than we are, we’ve settled on the lakeside village of Ajijic, just thirty minutes south of Guadalajara.  Now we can hardly wait to get there and start exploring. Knowing that we’re leaving the country somehow changes the flavor of the good-byes, too.

Sitting with my mom out on the summer porch in the shade, there’s such a sweetness in connecting with her.  As if I’m somehow connecting with a deep, intimate part of myself.  Open, honest, no-holds-barred talks with the one who knows me in a way no other human does. She’s my mom.  It feels really good to say that, and there’s an almost unbearable sweetness in being able to look her in the eyes when I say, “I really love you, Mom.”

During this six week odyssey I’ve learned wheelbarrows full of things about family and close friends, and about the ties that hold us together.  Things that are part of the bones of our lives.

One of my brothers, whom I hadn’t seen in years, gave me a wakeup call as only a brother can.  As we were talking, the first words out of my mouth were, “Wow, I’ve missed you!!  I think about you all the time!”  He looked at me with that brutally honest, loving way he has and said, “Geeze, sis.  When did you get this shallow?  If you thought of me all the time it wouldn’t have been over two years since we’ve talked.”  He was very serious.  And he was right.

It hit me like a gut punch how much I’ve absorbed, almost into my DNA, the PR/Market Speak I’ve learned to be so good at in my career for so many years.  A PR professional I used to know prided herself in saying, “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.”  I was always repulsed when I heard her say it, and vowed I would never do that.  Not ever.  If it’s not honest, I don’t want to be part of it.  My brother gave me a wakeup call on that vow. I’ve got a lot more detoxing to do than I realized.  Thank goodness for little brothers. 

What will the distance of living in another country do to all of these connections?  Most of it depends on me, I know.  On how much time I invest in keeping the connections alive and vital.  It takes that no matter whether it’s another country or next door.  The power we have in creating our own reality doesn’t change because of any physical boundaries.  It’s other boundaries – ones we erect.  Our hunger for privacy, wanting to look good when we’re actually feeling vulnerable or foolish. To be respected, if nothing else, for our hard work and accomplishments when, sometimes, we feel unacceptable, not good enough.  Maybe even admired a little.  Just a little.  What insecurities we have…

I heard a saying just after my divorce, before I met McDean.  “Living well is the best revenge.”  Personally, I think revenge is a waste of life, but I do want to live well.  What does that mean?  What does it look like?  Living well.  Gratefully, we each get to choose what that means and looks like for us.  We usually don’t have much of a clue about that power though – its possibilities, nor its implications. 

I knew that…  When did I forget?  When did I get so shallow?  Wake up calls. I count on them.  Thanks, little bro’.