mexico – Thinking Over 30

So, I went back to Mexico to see about a boy.

Yeah, I know. I need to stop crossing borders and chasing boys.

But my proclivity to pursue overseas affairs is a direct result of the transient life I’ve chosen to live.

Love, as I know it, has been foreign, feverish and fleeting. Craig the accountant – with all his emotional and financial stability – doesn’t quite have the same appeal as the exotic romances I’ve had the privilege to savor.

And as I sit here looking very blonde, slightly burnt, and a bit broken-hearted, I’m gathering up the lessons learned on yet another one of life’s colorful journeys.

This is the story of my summer in Cabo…chasing love, seeing signs, and closing chapters.

My Boyfriend Bruno

Why are American women so reluctant to say the ‘b’ word?

Easy. We live in a casual, no labels dating culture where declaring someone your boyfriend is such a big deal.

This cultural conditioning did not translate well last year in Mexico when I met Bruno.

You see, the moment a Mexican breathes on you, you’re novios. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Simple as that. So, when I kept coyly referring to B as my “special friend” or “Mexican lover” he took it to heart.

“Was this just a casual thing?” he thought.

The truth is, I was very much in love with Bruno. From the beginning. But, by the time I had the courage to call him my boyfriend, it was time to go.

10 months later, we had a spring break reunion that had me mapping out my move back to Mexico. At least for the summer. You know, to see how things go. To give love a chance. To start nurturing my neglected love life.

So, I showed up. As I do. No matter how illogical my love tends to be. (See, for example, this and this). And this time I was equipped with a few years of therapy, a slew of self love and an arsenal of communication tools that I was aching to put into practice.

But, as a blind and deaf optimist, I tend to only see and hear what fits my vision of the person I’m pursuing. I have faith in people’s potential. I can see how it could all work out. And this summer, my sights were set on a reconnection with Bru.

As it turned out, my vision was blurry. Our connection had long faded and our lives were worlds apart. And for the next few months, my hope for a relationship redo started to unravel.

But before I could throw myself a Mexican pity party, some wonderful blessings came clearly into view…

Three Yellow Birds

After my spiritual awakening in Peru, I’ve been much more attuned to life’s little messages.

One such message came last month, in the form of three yellow birds.

As I contemplated my complicated relationship in Cabo, my celestial friend Christie suggested I ask my guides to show me a specific sign to help me on my way. So, I did.

A yellow bird would mean fly free and go. A red cactus flower would mean stay and grow. Cute, right?

The next morning, as I enjoyed my coffee on the balcony, I heard a commotion in the bush below. Not one, but two yellow birds were joyfully playing and singing, as I did everything I could not to notice them. I looked up, down, left, right. Stared at my arm. Counted my freckles. So, just for good measure, the universe sent a third bird past me in a blaze of yellow to join the others in the bush.

I could imagine my divine guides laughing at me as I decided how much stock I would put in the signs they had sent. Surely, I wasn’t meant to leave yet. I had just arrived. I needed more time to grow.

But, in a country full of cacti, there wasn’t a red flower in sight. Mierda.

Alas, the universe wouldn’t allow me to sulk for long. Instead, she gifted me a gaggle of mortal guides that had my back before I broke down.

Like my empowered and supportive amigas – Martita, Sofia and Fer – who, upon asking if they were in a relationship, replied, “Yes, we are in a relationship with ourselves.” ¡Órale! I’d found my mujeres. (They also happened to be good friends with B. But, let’s just say they wore Team Holly shirts…and sombreros and pom poms and chaquetas and pantalones…).

Then there was Z, my healer. My shamana. Z gifted me with an indigenous massage that literally exorcised my demons, dropped a micro dose of mushroom medicine in my morning water, and nurtured me with wisdom collected from her years in the mountains of Michoacán. And, she’s like, 25.

And then there was my local taco shop where O the owner would serve up the cheapest, freshest fish tacos around, while Lola the resident perro sniffed out my sadness and showered me with emotional support.

And then my five best friends showed up for a Baja adventure of boating, tacos, mescalitas, and life chat.

With all these beautiful distractions, I hardly realized my relationship with B was coming to an end.

The thing I’ve learned about my transient love is that it’s better left preserved in the moment it occurs. I have a tendency to return to try and recreate the magic. And, that’s when I’m usually left deeply disappointed.

But do I ever regret it? Following my heart to the ends of the earth? Of course not.

In fact, I went back to that one time I moved to Australia to see about a boy. And, this is what 29-year-old Holly had to say:

But of all the little life lessons I learned, it comes down to this:

I followed my heart and took a huge risk for something and someone I believed in. It was crazy and irrational and exactly what life is all about. I’ve realized how imperfect love can be, but how much it’s worth fighting for. Worth crossing oceans for.

And even though it didn’t work out the way I had hoped it would, and it hurt a lot, I’m a wiser, more resilient more self-assured me…strengths you only acquire after facing your fears, taking a leap of faith, falling (as gracefully as possible) and getting up to tell the tale.

No regrets.

Yes, you free-spirited queen. No regrets. And no apologies. Just lessons learned, memories made and clarity acquired. Cabo chapter closed.

Now I can get back to being in a relationship with myself.

Cuz, she cute.

Speaking of queens…honorable mention goes out to Beyoncé for dropping the perfect summer breakup song of 2022.

Oh, and this song from Encanto because, right now, we definitely don’t talk about…

Now, excuse me while I release my wiggle.

As I laid in bed in my Mexican condo, beside my Mexican lover, watching Narcos Mexico on my Mexican TV, it finally dawned on me...

Oh yeah. I live in Mexico.

You see, I’d been stuck inside a bubble for the past five months. Granted, this bubble was a multi-million dollar mansion on the Sea of Cortez, equipped with a private chef, butler and anything my little corazón desired.

Everything except…privacy.

That would come after a vaccination and some negotiation.

OK, let me back this bubble story up a bit.

Last September I signed on to be a traveling teacher for a jet-set family. It was a wild and wonderful opportunity that came at an amenable time. The world was still recovering from the pesky pandemic, so why not wait it out in the lap of luxury and pile some pesos while I was at it? It was a no-brainer. I packed my bags and headed to the West Coast.

The caveat was that I’d be living with my employers. Not the worst thing if your employers provide all the aforementioned living amenities. But, for a 35-year-old single woman, this was going to be quite an adjustment.

Nevertheless, I committed.

And for the next five months, I found myself holed up in what I lovingly called the Cabo COVID Convent. I took full advantage of the all-inclusive set-up as I spent every non-working hour plugging away at my 200-page research paper.

If I wasn’t going to have a social life, I would at least finish my dissertation.

And, I was actually starting to get used to this swanky, solitary lifestyle. In fact, I took a solo Christmas sojourn around Baja that turned out to be one of the most blissful trips I’ve ever encountered.

But a social creature like me doesn’t last long alone. And, although I was enjoying my time with the “gente de la casa,” I needed a life outside the gilded gates within which I resided.

So, when the first vaccine shot presented itself to my arm, I gladly took it.

This was my freedom card.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

Oh, Holly. You jumped the gun, girl.

You know that Mexican lover I mentioned? Well, five days after my first shot, he invited me to dinner. The truth is, I sometimes snuck out of my bubble to feel like a pre-COVID person who has drinks with friends.

Now, before you lecture me on how my antibodies wouldn’t have kicked in yet, trust me, I was aware. But, alas. An innocent dinner with an infected friend turned into a 2-week quarantine as I recovered from the virus that has pestered us all for the past year.

F*cking COVID.

I had lived in an airtight bubble for many months, and it finally got me. Perfect timing, too. I had the biggest presentation of my Ph.D. life, and I couldn’t get out of bed. No smell, no taste, no hope. But, with all the time in the world, I powered through and defended my dissertation in the confines of a small, sullied Mexican hotel room.

I celebrated by taking a nap.

You can’t make this shit up.

So, what’s the silver lining?

Well, after my quarantine, I moved into my own condo. I had also started spending more time with the person that put me in quarantine in the first place. We started exploring Cabo in a way that made me feel like I actually lived there. And, I eventually got to spend a glorious week celebrating my graduation with family, friends and so much love.

So, yeah. Another example of life’s little rollercoaster shenanigans that always end in lessons learned and life lived.

And, as I prepare to leave the community I just started to feel comfortable in (we’re only in Cabo for the season, daaaling), I am reflecting hard on what commitment means and relishing my brief time with beautiful new friends.

Stay tuned for notes on my summer in San Diego…