Coming in for a Landing

The waves rise and curl like walls of green glass then crash on the shore in a million tiny pieces.  

It’s a Jueves – tomorrow will be a week since my touchdown in the prop plane onto the tiny runway of Puerto Escondido airport. And honestly, this is the first moment I’ve stopped to pause, feel the weight down in my spine, feel my feet in the sand, exhale profoundly and stare my eyeballs out at the raucous Pacific.

But I’ve been busy landing, getting situated, finding an apartment, buying provisions like this notebook to write in, a bar of soap to wash with, fruit and bread and coffee for breakfast, a mini-mocajete to crush spices and make salsas in. I have a studio apartment with a balcony overlooking the sea and a little kitchenette – I’m two blocks to the beach – so I’m doing daily sunset runs, trying to rebuild, rejuvenate, recuperate my strength.

And it occurs to me in this moment:  I could stay.  How hard could that be?  Not hard.  I could shoot an email to cousin Matt and see if he wouldn’t mind holding down the Park Road fort for another few months until I’m done, I’m fried, I’m all beached and traveled-out and desperate to re-enter life in the fast-lane.

This is a possibility.

My fish is overcooked and glued to the skewers – this too is always a possibility.  Mealy shrimp and floppy peppers at the El Greko. But the French fires are tasty – French fries are always good – hard to screw-up a fry.

It’s not so easy to transition – shift from the demands of the Sustainability to-do list that seems like you'll never get through it and make it out alive, trudging up heartbreak hill, breaking through the ribbon...then what?  Suddenly there's no one to see, nothing to do, no emails to send or trips to make to the dusty pueblito. Just this space. 

It's what I wanted, what I envisions for myself, just exactly this nothingness.
 

But I'm antsy. The doll house is all setup – and I don’t feel like playing.  Play.  Fall asleep in a lough chair under a palapa to the rhythm of the sea.