I noticed when writing a journal entry today in my personal journal, that I tackled this exact same issue one month ago today. I wrote: "New month, new page, new perspectives! It's hard to believe it's already been 2 months. Somehow I feel like I still don't know Isla at all. It's amazing how you can live in a shell sometimes--like a little hermit crab. I suppose, like a crab, it's a protective measure, but I think I could loosen it up a bit here. it's a strange place though, like many tourist destinations, it's hard to know what's real and what's the marketing. It's also hard to shake the feeling on slow days, that you are missing something--I mean, people spend thousands of dollars to come here--what are they seeing that I'm not (or, perhaps the more profound question is what do I see that they don't)? I see the poor parts, or the slow parts, the mechanisms of going through a day here without the expectations of entertainment. This isn't a complaint--it's what I came for, after all. After you've lived in any place for awhile, the nuts and bolts of daily living become your primaries: where to eat, change money, etc. It's unfortunate that only here and there do we look up and remember what else is around. If anything, I'm concerned that I'll come away with a sense of entitlement to the things people so appreciate here."
It's discouraging to realize that I was going through the same issues of lack of appreciation a month ago that I've recently faced. At the same time, I guess there's hope in the fact that gratefulness is a recurring theme in my life in whatever sense. All of this to say, now is yet another time I'd like to stop and look around at my blessings.
One of the recent events that prompted this was a conversation with a good friend of mine. He was telling me how his advice was sought by an upcoming college graduate, who was looking to break into his field of work. Though I don't recall his exact words, for this friend it was a moment that struck him and made him ask "When did I arrive?" When had he attained his goal and become not the advice seeker but the sage? I've been struck by a similar sensation recently. Though I'm not being sought for any particular advice, I have recently realized that I have somehow become the person I wanted to be when I was a little girl--I have "arrived." I always wanted to be well-traveled, and to speak several languages, and to have good friends all over the world, amongst other things. Though none of these goals are such that I can't improve on them (become more well-traveled, speak said languages infinitely better, make more friends), they are still things which I think I have had the blessings to do and do well. And, wow, that's really amazing! Not to suggest that I have done these things alone--it's been with the support of family, friends, and mentors. Just another reason to be all the more grateful for these accomplishments, all the people wrapped up in their attainment.
I guess the reason this is so important to me right now is that we are so rarely told to stop and look around at what we've already attained. Instead, we are (especially in a place like Washington DC!) compelled to be ambitious, to strive, always to strive. But why always strive, especially if you've already attained? Shouldn't we take some time to appreciate where we are and who we are at different points in our lives?
Perhaps one of the greatest difficulties for me in transitioning from Washington to Isla Mujeres is that striving is akin to "traveling"--you are moving in a linear direction toward some point; not just any point, however, but your "destination." Washington is a city where everyone is constantly striving, or traveling. Isla Mujeres, however, is a quintessential destination. This is where you plop down in your hammock and drink from your coconut with a straw. The general mentalities of the two places are so different! Though it's not hard to imagine the Washington striver laying out in the hammock, it IS hard to imagine him or her doing it for more than 3 hours without frantically searching for the Blackberry and the latest e-mail messages. Switching between the two perspectives has been a challenge, and I'm still looking for the happy medium between obsessive e-mail checking and lack of ambition. For all the hiccups, however, Isla Mujeres has been very effective at slowing down the over-ambitious tendencies. I am so very grateful for all the opportunities it's given me to live in the moment.
Another reminder of the importance of living in the moment is Dia de los Muertos, or "Day of the Dead" ("Hanal Pixan" in Mayan), the famous Mexican holiday during which the dead are remembered, and are often thought to return to earth to partake of offerings made to them on altars. We are officially celebrating this holiday today and tomorrow, though preparations have long been underway for some. A few nights ago, a group on the island put together a display of altars, dedicated to the memory of real people, for the community to vote on (based on presentation, decorations, etc.). The air was heavy with thick incense, and people milled about in their best huipils, traditional Mayan dress. Altars were laid out in a semi-circular pattern on the concrete, covered with thick branching of palm fronds, and with family members or friends sitting around nearby. They were all laid out in a traditional 3-tiered pattern, and each one held a different photograph in the center, showcasing the dead. Though one might imagine the faces of the family members and friends circling these altars would be sorrowful, they were anything but. Children were posed in front of the altars, smiling, while their parents snapped photos. Video cameras recorded (in Spanish and Mayan) the stories of each altar as the participants described how and why they had laid out the mementos in the fashion they had. "Disfruta los altares!" or "Enjoy the altars!" admonished one of the organizers of the event. I've always admired the open attitude toward death in Mexican culture, and there's really nothing like confronting the idea of death so openly to make you grateful for the very moment you are living in, for the very breath you are breathing. Just a few photos to follow:
Candles and a cross of lime (the chemical compound, not the fruit) guide the path back to earth for the spirit during this special holiday.
The dead's favorite things, virtue or vice, are remembered on the altar. This boy was only 20 when he died, and his Sabritas (potato chips), Coke, and Sol (lower drinking age here) are all remembered fondly.
A parent ensuring that the candles at his baby's altar are staying lit. To be party to these personal remembrances was an incredibly moving experience.
To hang above the mirror in my room, I've found a fantastic, brightly colored shadowbox of "La Catrina," a famous Mexican etching of a skeleton in a frilly hat. Above her head, it cries "Viva la Vida!" How appropriate to hear it from her. Viva la vida indeed, and muchisima gracias to all of you, both living and dead, who give me so much to be thankful for.
La vaya bien hasta la proxima vez!
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