Musings

I’m ditching poetry today in favor of spilling my guts about challenging decisions, aging, and being alone. Apologies for not being uplifting, dear friends. I’m thinking of that adage, “Wherever you go, there you are” ─ I think Jon Kabat Zinn coined it. That is, you bring yourself, with all its beauty and blemishes, all its lifetimes and karmic debt ─ some paid off if you’ve worked for it ─ to Oaxaca or Tuscany or Berkeley or wherever you are. And so I found myself up at 3:30 a.m. drinking hot soy milk (leche sin lactosa) with honey and wondering how it would be to move, retire, age here ...

Walking ─ a favorite pastime ─ is an art here and not for sissies. Cobblestone streets ─ some old, some newer ─ are always uneven. And because there is no money to fix infrastructure or it’s directed elsewhere, most sidewalks have a hole you could step into, trees with roots that can trip you, or garage entryways slanted at 45-degree angles. Pedestrian right-of way is unheard of ─ a very occasional kind soul will let you walk. And by the time you figure out if a stoplight is red or yellow or green, it is red. I don’t feel invincible now that I’m past 60 …

With my job gone, I see now that I’m thinking not only of moving, but “retiring.” I thought not working would be a no-brainer, but ─ some of you know this ─ it’s not. So the prospect of creating a new kind of life is one challenge; doing it in Oaxaca is quite another. Surely there could be more to life than strolling around town and having late-afternoon comida with friends ...

Being alone ─ well … it gets lonely sometimes. When I’m not with friends, little Gardenia (right) and I walk these streets together, doing our best.

To be continued ... maybe poetry next time.