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A statue of IxChel, the goddess of Isla Mujeres, at Punta Sur.
I turned 34 a few days ago and have been doing a lot of reflecting on 33, sometimes known as the "Jesus" year, which certainly embodied the spirit of death and rebirth. Much of this reinvention has been around my desires, priorities and certainly my career. The most tangible part of this (ongoing) process has been my decision to trade a snowy and frigid New York City winter for a lush, tropical, beachy winter in Isla Mujeres, Mexico. Well played, self.
I’ve gotten a lot of questions: how did I make it happen, why Isla Mujeres, when am I coming back to New York, where's your stuff?! A lot of serendipitous things happened really quickly and before I knew it, I was on a plane to Cancun literally leaving the snow behind.
Okay, so like what?
Picture it. The sticks, Flatbush Brooklyn, October 2013.
Life was pretty normal. Normal at that point meant spreading myself too thin, as freelancers often do when work is (thankfully) busy. I got a nasty cold that laid me out at the top of the month. Once I slept it off for a couple of days straight, I was again “ready” to handle my PR projects, prepare for a burlesque road trip to DC and be a present board member. Even though these were/are things I enjoyed and chose to do, I couldn’t ignore my physical and mental yearning to do things differently. I was unhappy and faking the funk.
I wanted a new career where I didn’t have to be immersed in everyone else’s opinions or feminist bickering. I wanted to feel the joy of being an artist again without the stress of selling out shows and writing media advisories. I wanted to have idle time to bullshit. Time to lay around with my dude watching Netflix without worrying about missing an email. Time to play Wii with my goddaughter and BFFs without thinking I should be out networking. Time to enjoy the wisdom of my parents and my aunties, and to laugh and play with my cousins.
As much as I yearned for this, my actions were in complete contrast. I was on the hamster wheel and saw no way to get off. My body had the answer. Illness. One that attacked my skin vanity so I’d really listen.
That weird cold I got in early October never really went away. Then I got an intense case of eczema with itchy, oozing, scaly sores all over my face, neck and breasts that weren’t healing. It was miserable. I’ve never had it before but found out that stress is a main cause. While I wasn’t surprised, I vowed that I would never again stress myself out to the point of being sick.
My apartment lease was ending as well. Although I moved 3 times in the last 2 years, I no longer wanted to live far from a train in Middle Earth, Brooklyn in a perfectly-priced but poorly maintained apartment. I wasn’t feeling sticking around for another summer fly infestation. The idea of looking for another apartment in NYC gave me agita. I couldn’t process that idea of shelling out my savings for another crapshoot. Plus there was nowhere that I wanted to live…even if money wasn’t an option. Burnout.com.
At some point in my pus-filled feverish frustration, I reached out to a friend I met in Isla Mujeres at the 2013 We Move Forward conference to ask about living there. She’s an American gal on a similar journey that had been living in Isla for a while and suddenly it felt like a real possibility. It was exactly what I needed to get out of the rat race and to commit myself to myself. Within 3 days, I had an apartment sublet in Isla Mujeres for December and January, and a one-way ticket out of dodge.
As I was prepping to leave, I got better by eating a relatively strict vegan diet (with a couple of highly-recommended colonics) along with setting boundaries with work and life expectations. I put myself first. It’s not about being selfish but self-care and honoring own our needs. And most importantly, taking the time to identify those needs. It’s simpler to shirk personal responsibility and to let life happen to you. I realized that I’m the creator of my life and that being a martyr is not my responsibility. It is an ongoing life lesson.
I moved out, put my stuff in storage and prepared myself for a new chapter and new adventures. Now I’m in Isla Mujeres. It’s the greatest act of self-care that I could have ever gifted myself with.
The assumption is that I’m living it up, beaching all day and partying all night. In fact, I do pretty much the same stuff I do in NYC: answer e-mail, binge-watch TV shows online, talk on Twitter, grab a drink or bite with friends, take long walks. You've seen me on Facebook. I’m just in a naturally gorgeous island with a cheaper cost of living and slower pace. It is allowing me to regroup and rebuild without the pressures of big city life. I put in my work but trust, I do get my beach time in and I am LIVING. I am blessed.
I will be back in New York in the early spring. I miss my boos. My quick birthday trip back confirmed that “home” for me is about being around my true blue family and friends. I can enjoy any place as long as I am with my community. The friends I’ve made here in Isla are for a lifetime, no doubt, and have given me “home” here. But now I also know that within New York’s relentless motion there exists a world where I am comfortable and connected.
Other lessons:
It’s easy to blow money anywhere. Pandora.com doesn’t work down here. I depend on the Internet a lot for entertainment. Pan dulce with queso Philadelphia is Isla’s equivalent of a bagel with cream cheese. I make a lot of judgments about people. Bumber cars in Spanish is “carros chacones.” Most importantly, I am a writer and always have been.
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