To My Folks,
Today is my 49th day in Merida, Mexico. I thought when I got here, I would take a picture by the big colorful Merida sign. I thought I would write something thoughtfully crafted with splashes of humor. Instead, when I took my first steps on Mayan soil, I felt like I’d escaped. I felt like a runaway slave. Now, I’m certainly not equating getting on a jet plane, spending three days in an all-inclusive Cancun resort, and being driven by private transport to Merida, to that of the perils of my ancestors. However, I do believe that feeling trapped and scared for my life every time I left my house, and at times while inside my house, as all relative. I don’t miss much of anything from where I left. Everything in my life had run its course. I needed to be renewed in order to survive.
Becoming newly orphaned at the age of 60 was both devastating and exhilarating. I’ve always wanted to be free. The thought of not having to consult anyone on the decisions I make for myself has been a recurring daydream, a fantasy, and the ultimate definition of what freedom would be for me. However, as I bathed in the alternating currents of my newfound freedom, the realization that I had no one to lean on except myself, was also paralyzing at times.
My dad was my foundational trampoline. I could jump as high as I wanted to go, without fear of hitting the ground or taking a tumble. I knew my dad would, without hesitation, be there. He would be there just in time to catch me or pick me up and brush me off with words that felt like hugs and kisses. I miss that dude. He taught me how to push and pull, how to lead and support, how to create and build, and how to walk away. I really miss that dude.
Much Love,
