I’ve been avoiding you again, you see how I am? I’m ok, just still going through a lot emotionally and physically.
I’m still looking forward to to participating inInternational Free Hugs Day this Saturday, July 3. Hopefully some others will join me, but if not, I’m still going to go make an ass of myself and do it. Here are the details for the Playa del Carmen contingent:
What: International Free Hugs Day (“C’mon, people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together and try to love one another…blah blah blah”) Where: Meet at Carboncitos Restaurant, Calle 4 between avenidas 5 and 10 When: 3 pm, this Saturday, July 3 How: Dress comfortably and bring your “Free Hugs/Abrazos Gratis” signs, or the materials to quickly make them as we enjoy 2×1 Margaritas to loosen us up enough to hug perfect strangers and spread good feelings, love, and affection Why: Today is a bad day to ask why, as I’ve had a rotten day. Today I’d be more likely to participate in “Free Black Eye Day.” Let’s hope I’m feeling more my loving self by Saturday.
All jokes aside, I’m looking forward to this reminder of what is really important in life: Human connections and love. See you then!
One of the main reasons I have been posting so sporadically on my blog for the last 2+ years is something I have not wanted to really talk about publicly: Major debilitating depression. While I’ve struggled with depression on and off through much of my life, the period of time between late 2007 and mid 2009 was exceptionally bleak, to a degree I had never experienced and did not know how to handle.
I didn’t want to blog about it for a number of reasons. First, I didn’t want to scare people who love me. Second, with a fledgling business, I did not want to alienate potential or current clients who might stumble across this blog and not want to work with me. Although I have always done what I can to keep my professional life OFF this blog, I’m not obtuse enough not to know how easy it is to find me with a google search. Finally, the worthlessness and despair I felt was so complete as to render any attempts at trying to make sense of it moot, and I could not then and still cannot find the words to describe how bad I felt.
Long time readers of this blog already know that in the last year, I’ve made a number of major life changes, with extremely positive results. I am, and have been for almost a year, the happiest I have ever been. While I still struggle from time to time with depression, I recognize the signs now and can quickly mend the things that are amiss and change my thought patterns to feel better. Recently, it occurred to me that for the first time in my life, I know myself to be a happy person who sometimes gets sad, and not a sad person who is only occasionally happy. The incredibly positive change this self-realization has effected in my life cannot be overstated.
All of this said, in the last month I have struggled mightily with insomnia, which for me is often a precursor to slipping into a depression. Several nights ago, when it was five am and I still had not been able to close my eyes without being visited by the Shrieking Weasels of Impending Doom, I decided to do some research on a life-affirming movement I’d heard about a few years ago: The Free Hugs Campaign.
In 2004, a man who identifies himself as Juan Mann found himself in his hometown of Sydney, Australia, after a number of years living in another country. He arrived back “home” with only a suitcase of clothes, a world of cares, and a sense of disconnection with the life he’d once lived there. Landing at the airport with no one to greet him, he found himself looking longingly at other travelers around him who were laughing and hugging their arriving loved ones. He wished he had someone to hug him.
In this moment of isolation and despair was born a revolutionary idea. Juan Mann “set up shop” in a busy Sydney outdoor mall, holding aloft a large, hand-lettered sign that said “FREE HUGS.” Then he just waited for someone to take him up on his offer. At first, people laughed at him, stared, and whispered. Eventually, an older woman came up, told him she was having a terrible day as her dog had just died that morning, on the first anniversary of her daughter’s death. She needed a hug, and Juan had a hug to give. It didn’t take long for others to follow suit, and naturally such a subversive idea (What?? You’re not selling anything? There’s no catch, just a free hug?) caught people’s attention.
A local band, Sick Puppies, was moved by Juan’s mission and presented him with a video they’d made of his Free Hug footage set to one of their songs. This video became an internet sensation, spawning Free Hug Campaigns in dozens of countries all over the world.
Here you can watch the “original” Free Hugs video:
And here is one of my favorites of the “copycat” Free Hugs Campaigns, in New York City:
What does all of this have to do with me and my story of depression? Perhaps nothing more than an epiphany that we are all more alike than we are different, and that it is vitally important that we connect with each other and help each other get through lives that can at times be difficult, lonely, or filled with hopelessness. We must be there for one another both in sadness and in joy.
Every year, International Free Hugs Day is held on the first Saturday in July. This year, it is July 3, which is incidentally the day before my 6 year anniversary of living in Mexico. I will be showing my gratitude and love for my adopted country by participating in Free Hugs Day in Playa del Carmen on July 3, offering free hugs to Mexican locals, ex-pats, and international tourists alike.
I would love it if some of my friends would join me, but if they won’t, I will go it alone. If you can’t be in Playa del Carmen on July 3, consider participating in the Free Hugs Campaign in your own town.
Anyone from Cancun, Playa del Carmen, or Tulum (or anywhere in the area!) who’d like to give out some free hugs with me on July 3 can contact me via this website. My email address is under the “About Me” tab.
I realize it’s been months since I wrote a blog and this one is not the one I had in mind as my great re-entry into this sphere, but the muse is a fickle bitch and tells me what she wants to say. There will be blogs to follow, full of excuses, recriminations, rationalizations, all of that, so you’ll have that to look forward to, but for now, I just have to say this:
I love you.
Today I went in search of a song to make some sense of the grief and sorrow I have been feeling the last few days on behalf of a good friend, and this song appeared; like Jack’s magic beans it grew a beanstalk that I was able to climb up high to get the bigger picture.
“Do you Realize” by The Flaming Lips
This song reminded me that “life goes fast,” and that rather than wait until it’s almost over to tell people how I feel, I should let them know all along, in the midst of life and for no other reason and with no other agenda apart from letting them know they are loved.
And so I am here to tell you that I love you.
If you have wiped a child’s runny nose, mooed when driving past cows, sung a song in public to your best friend even though you have the world’s worst singing voice, or given up a seat on a bus to a pregnant woman, I love you.
If you have ever made a fool of yourself dancing at a wedding reception, used the word “emancipated” in place of of “emaciated,” or written an entire record of songs to win back the love of your life, I love you.
If you have accidentally farted in church or in class, slipped on ice and fallen down, realized at the end of the day that your shirt is on inside out, or gotten caught picking your nose, I love you.
If you have cried in movies, patiently listened to an elderly person’s story though you’ve already heard it many times, stood up to a bully, or admitted you were wrong when you were wrong, I love you.
If you have looked into the cancer-ravaged, age-spotted face of your grandmother and told her she was beautiful, and really did find her beautiful, I love you.
If you have worn a hideous sweater your mom gave you because you don’t have the heart to tell her how much you hate it, I love you.
If you have complimented a stranger for no reason, I love you.
If you have ever loved a dog so much you knew when it was time to let her go, even if you weren’t yet ready, I love you.
While I was outside cleaning the terrace in the main unit the other day, preparing for a new guest’s arrival, I heard, OVER the Ipod music blaring in my ears, the kind of fake, high-pitched girlie-girl laughter one might hear in a bad soft-core porn movie.
I looked down toward the beach in front of the neighbor’s house and saw four fully naked, attractive young women laughing their fake laughter and building a giant sand penis. Then I saw one older, unattractive bald man FILMING them.
I admit, I couldn’t help watching. The scene was just bizarre…first, it has been unseasonably cold here, and this day was no exception. The sun was out, but STILL, it was far too chilly for full on nakedness. Second, while Tulum attracts the nudies and the hippies, this scene was just so unnatural and forced that it stood out much more than seeing some random crunchy-granola hairy man walking down the beach.
As I went back to my work, two of the women were hugging up on the unattractive man, giggling and running their french-manicured acrylics up and down his chest. My imagination portrays this man as a wealthy old perv with a skewed sense of the sexy from many years of watching porn, but I admit my own bias has the heaviest hand in painting that portrait. I’m not averse to pornography and think it has its place in a healthy sex life, but prefer scenes that feature people who look like people engaging in relatively normal activities. Not, say, four naked women building a giant sand penis while a man old enough to be their father films them. But that’s me.
One thing is certain, I’ve never seen anything this interesting in Playa del Carmen. I don’t know if they were all staying in the rental home next door, but at 2am, there was a lot of shouting and slamming of doors over there. Trouble in paradise?
It’s two days before Christmas. Everyone’s status updates on Facebook are all about Christmas comings and goings, family plans, snowfall, and shopping/present wrapping. Without even a Christmas tree here at my little Casita-By-The-Sea, this “holiday” is pretty much a non-event and tonight I started feeling just the teensiest bit sorry for myself.
Since I’m so full of self-pity, I took myself on a little shopping excursion around the internets for stuff I want in an attempt to cheer myself up. Here goes, in no particular order.
Urban Decay makeup, preferably a lifetime supply. Because yes, I’m going to still be wearing glitter when I’m 70. What’s it to you, bitches?
My mouth is totally watering, looking at these friggin’ pickles.
Vintage aluminum Christmas tree with working color wheel
New York Times Crossword Puzzle book, brand new, that I don’t have to share. With ANYONE.
I have wanted a Cuisinart since the minute I popped out of my mom’s vag. No kidding.
Frye boots. OMG, size 9 please.
A super passionate kiss from someone who is as insanely in love with me as I am with him
So cute it hurts my heart. Can be bought at Broken Cherry Boutique in Chicago. Just saying.
Growing up in the orphanage, they wouldn’t allow us to have toys. So I want this dollhouse now, ok?
Total spa day…massage, facial, manicure, pedicure. Everything except where they wrap you up like a mummy because that sucks.
Full set of zombie dishes. I refuse to die until I get these.
Hello, adorable little sterling star earrings.
Dig if you will the picture: Me in my cute pink rainboots and a pink helmet on this little baby.
Ice Cubes chocolates. I haven’t seen these since I was a kid.
Louboutin leopard print peep toe pumps. I just stopped breathing.
Le Creuset. I’d be a much better cook with these pots.
I detonated 2 live grenades when I was in the Army and I fell in love with the feeling forEVER.
More than anything else, I wish that tomorrow I could be at my Uncle Terry and Aunt Carolyn’s house with my entire beautifully insane family, eating Italian beefs and ham and Uncle Skip’s brats and sauerkraut and Aunt Sharon’s pink cherry salad and disgusting Luxumberger sausage and making inappropriate jokes while sitting on Santa’s lap (who, let’s face it, is probably related to me) and watching old home movies and fighting over who Grandma gave the ugliest pajamas and then afterward, playing Trivial Pursuit until we laugh our sides sore.
Merry Christmas to those who do get to be with their families at the holidays, and a great big hug to those who don’t. I’m so very happy and blessed and I hope you are, too.
My new solitary life has in some ways seemed like a medication prescribed by a doctor to heal things that were “not quite right” in my psyche. Like any medication, side effects are common; the most common side effects I’ve experienced so far have been an occasional twinge of loneliness and an uncontrollable excess of thought.
Whenever I am feeling unmoored, I naturally return to the books and memories that have resonated in me throughout my life, searching for new insights or drawing familiar comfort from things that have already proved valuable.
As I was endlessly raking and cleaning the land last week, I could not stop thinking of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery, one of my favorite books (and for the record, only the Katherine Woods English-language translation from the original French passes muster with me. Don’t even talk to me about the new one). This illustration, in particular, would not leave my mind:
This illustration is from a part of the book in which the Little Prince is describing the danger in not carefully tending to his planet to rid it of the dangerous Baobab seed before it has a chance to grow into a big tree with huge, damaging roots. While the Baobab is young, it is easy to tend to and remove, but the longer one allows the Baobab to grow, the more dangerous it becomes. Here is what could happen if one is lazy and allows the Baobabs to grow unchecked:
This lesson is a new one for me. My Baobabs have always been ignored or unnoticed, growing larger and larger until they have finally split my planet apart. How many of my love relationships have been doomed by the quiet roots of the Baobab growing? By the jealousy, the resentment, the little slights I don’t mention until it’s too late, until my love has died?
As I raked, pulled weeds, and carted away dead palm fronds , I found myself strangely comforted by the work. My care for the land was tangible, and at the end of the day I stood and looked at what I had done and thought: “Nope, no Baobabs here.”
Now that I fully understand the risks, I mean to skirt the danger of the Baobab forever. Don’t forget to mind your Baobabs, too, friends.
In the two weeks I’ve been living my new life as an on-site “manager” at a private villa in Tulum, I have faced a number of challenges.
First, in the span of a week I decided to pack up and leave Playa for Tulum. And then I actually packed up and left Playa for Tulum, just like that; no fanfare, no crying, no going-away parties. Mostly I think this is because I don’t really feel as if I went away—it’s not like I moved to the moon, or whatever. The majority of my business is still Playa-related and I’ll see my friends often enough. My friends don’t even really like me that much, anyway. Plus, with the internet and Facebook, I’m able to keep in touch with them about as well as I kept up with them when I lived in Playa.
Second, I have had to learn to live completely alone. While I’ve always been a bit of a reclusive person, enjoying my alone time to an embarrassing degree, I’ve never been in a position where there was absolutely no chance that I could be with another human if I wanted to be. I live and work on this property and cannot leave it unattended, so without someone to relieve me, I don’t leave. Days could go by without my ever stepping foot off this land or seeing any people other than those who stroll by on the beach. What I find most interesting about this aspect of my new life is how well it suits me. I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m not the Kaczynski-hermit type who’s going to go mad someday and either stalk some D-list sitcom star no one cares about or mail shoe bombs to ex-lovers (oh, who are we kidding. Like I’d waste a perfectly good shoe.). People who once met me at a party will say, “Wow, well, I always knew she was a little different from other people, but I sure didn’t see this coming.”
Finally, I’ve had to tweak my desperately-held desire to view myself as a delicate little flower. Go ahead and laugh—I’m a 5’9” big girl with shoulders a HS linebacker would covet, so this desire to appear feminine is a tall order, especially when it’s totally incongruous with the stubborn mule in me who refuses to admit she needs help or that there’s something she can’t do. For at least the last 15 to 20 years, I’ve presented myself as both a giggly, know-nothing girl who can’t fix things or program her DVD player without the help of a man and an inordinately strong ox of a woman who can carry a refrigerator on her back and can change her own tire, thankyouverymuch.
What has been the best part of this dual-personality? I have historically been able to call in the girlie-girl when I just haven’t felt like doing something “guy-related.” But now, here in Tulum, I have to do it myself. The palm trees don’t give a shit if I don’t feel like hauling all those fronds over to the burn pile and the gasoline can isn’t going to weigh less and not be so spilly just because I sink to the ground and squeeze out a couple of girlie tears.
So basically, I’ve had to learn to suck it up, and in the process, I’m learning how much I can do. I’m afraid of heights, but I have climbed up a ladder onto the roof many times. I don’t like reading boring-ass equipment manuals, but I had to when faced with the initially-daunting prospect of running the generator and the water pump. Did you know that if I have to, I can move mattresses by myself? And that I can go an entire week without looking in a mirror? And that my hands smelling like gasoline doesn’t even phase me?
All of this has reminded me that this isn’t the first time I’ve been out of my comfort zone and succeeded. I was once a high school cheerleader and pageant queen who joined the Army, where I became my platoon’s machine-gunner, grenade aficionado, and competitive-as-fuck Soldier of the month.
Living here has put me back in touch with that fierce girl determined to show everyone what I am capable of, but at the same time, I refuse to coarsen my soft, flowery side. So while I’ll dress up pretty for you, cook you dinner, and give you a massage, it is at your peril to forget that I was also trained to kill. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.
Now, would someone please buy me this stuff for Christmas?
Bust my buttons if I’m not just chock FULL O’ surprises. Where have I been, you ask? WHERE IN GOD’S GREAT NAME have I BEEN? Well, I’ll tell you where I’ve been: Tulum. I moved to Tulum two weeks ago
(pregnant pause for effect)
…yeah, you heard me right. I moved out of Playa del Carmen, where I have lived and worked and sweated and played and cried for the last 5 and a half years or so, and now I live in a place on the beach in Tulum that is so secluded, if I see 4 people in a day I’m feeling overscheduled.
Dollfaces, the short version is this: I was offered an incredible opportunity to live on and care for a gorgeous beachfront property in Tulum while still fulfilling my other work-related obligations. How could I say no?
The months following the end of my relationship in PdC proved to be an interesting snapshot of what life in a “small” town can be (and by interesting, I mean “petty” and “pathetic”). Rumors abounded, as rumors will, and I found myself dreaming of a simpler life. Gentle readers, I have found it.
I wake up at 6.30 am or so and am in bed by 10.30 pm or 11. I rake, clean up fallen coconuts and dead palm fronds. The sound of the waves crashing onto shore has become the audio equivalent of a screensaver.
There is much more to tell, but since this opportunity/decision came on so suddenly, I’ve not yet sufficiently regained my footing to tell the tale. I’m caught in a huge wave, loving the roar of the surf and the sensation of weightlessness, but unsure yet I’ll be able to right myself like a cork on the sea’s surface. Stay tuned to see the outcome.
Oh, here is what I’ve got to look at every day. Disgusting, right?
