Finding Clarity Along the Way

People have emailed me lately. They are asking if I am OK and why I have not been writing much for this blog.

I am fine, and all is well here in Yucatán.

Travel, unexpected events, lots to do and my changing interests all have contributed to the infrequent appearance of new posts on An Alaskan in Yucatan.

My recollections of the first half of 2013 are a fog. I am not sure where the time went, but I was busy. Too busy. I don't like the kind of "busyness" after which I can't seem to recall what I accomplished, but that's how I spent some months, dealing with details, riding on trains, buses and airplanes, putting out small fires, and waiting around for others to get things done.

I have had plenty of ideas for blog posts. Just now I looked at my drafts, and see that I have started seven different posts since I last actually published one. I keep being interrupted and distracted and can't seem to finish them.

I thought about this as I spent hours in the pueblo of Mucuyche a week and a half ago, waiting for help with my broken-down car, which with eleven years and 100,000 kilometers of use has begun to experience typical problems of age. It was very hot when the car stalled, but fortunately it died in the shade of a small tree near a friendly tienda which sells cold drinks and snacks.

The day started out with the good idea of visiting some friends in Abalá and having lunch with them on Fathers Day. It's a long story, but in a nutshell, we burned a couple of hours waiting for one mechanic who never showed up. Finally we reached the very agreeable and friendly llantero, tire repairman, from Abalá who drove over in his broken-down car with a bucket of tools to see what he could do. Appropriately named Santos (Saints), he was knowledgeable enough to help me figure out that the problem was an electrical short that could not easily be repaired alongside the road. Santos went back to the pueblo and borrowed a long rope (the tether for someone's cow), and very kindly pulled my car at slow speeds all the way to the house of my friends in Abalá. Although we were not able to fix the car, at least it was in a place where it would be secure until I could get someone to look at it the next day.

And that brings us to the young parrot pictured above, which greeted us when we arrived tardy at the house in Abalá. Actually the bird is one of a pair rescued after a nest was knocked down, either by winds or a predator, some weeks ago.

I spent the nicest time I had in several weeks simply observing and feeding this delightful bird, and then eating a home-cooked Fathers Day meal with my good friends in Abalá. Near sundown Santos gave us a lift the four kilometers out to the highway, where we caught a bus back to Mérida in the evening.

It was this day of forced down time spent alongside the road and tranquil hours with friends that helped clarify the facts. Some of my "busyness" is necessary and unavoidable and I'll just have to deal with it. But a fair portion of my cluttered lifestyle is of my own making. I moved to Yucatán in search of a simpler and more fulfilling life, and I have made long strides in that direction. But old tendencies are hard to change and after eight years of becoming very comfortble here I find myself falling into some of the old patterns.

I've been restless and pondering these things for some time, but during this Fathers Day interlude I realized that I am ready to work on changes. I have had in mind this quote from an unknown author:

"Sometimes in the winds of change we find our true direction"

Change is in the wind, and it's hurricane season in Yucatán.

Details to come.


Other related posts:

Contentment: Inspired by the Birds
Contentment: You Get What You Need

A Nasty Week; Happy to Be Here

I haven't posted for awhile. It's just been one of those months. Topped of by a week that I'd gracefully describe as one of the most stressful I've had in some time.

Details aren't important, but it's been sort of like this...

I have been waiting for Immigration (Instituto Nacional de Migración) to approve and deliver my new permanent resident visa, which I must possess in order to leave and return to Mexico. In January and February I have met with the same friendly and helpful personnel in Migración who've annually processed my paperwork. I have had no problems with the process. It's just that this year they are working under brand new federal laws, and the system has slowed down somewhat while they implement new procedures.

Since the new visa was in process, I've been putting off a planned February visit to the States to see my elderly father. Finally a week ago when I found I would not have my new resident visa ID card for a couple more weeks, I decided to apply for a special letter of permission that will allow me to leave and return in lieu of my regular visa. This involved going in at 7:00AM a couple of mornings this week to be near the front of line when Migración opens its doors at 9:00AM.

At the same time I've had some business dealings go awry. A check I received and deposited was returned due to a spelling error, causing me technically to default on a payment I'd promised to make the following day. Resolving this problem necessitated consultations with my lawyer, careful diplomacy with the person to whom I'd promised the money, various visits, calls and emails to banks, and jumps through a few other hoops. It's all working out, but it has been time-consuming, tiring and stressful, because of the need to resolve all the problems by Friday or end up paying out quite a bit in losses and fees.

And I have a ticket to go see Dad on Monday. He's been expecting me for a month.

To slather sour icing on this already-rotten cake, I ate something that disagreed with me Sunday night, and have slogged all this week through a dense haze of fever, lethargy and nausea. Being stubborn and thinking I'd deal with it on my own (not to mention being really busy), I waited a couple of days to see the doctor. I could not sleep and became dehydrated; instead of feeling better, as all this transpired I felt steadily worse.

There was a lot more, but that's the basic outline. It's been a pretty nasty week, truthfully. But it looks as if I've made it.

The good news is that when finally I called my doctor he saw me within the hour, and two hours after my call I was back home, medicated, and on the road to recovery.

And this morning after my last meeting, knowing now that everything is on the right track, I went home for a break. I threw off the shoes and business costume and stepped into the garden. The sky was bright blue and the morning breeze was warm but not yet hot. Heliconias are in full bloom as are some orchids. I thought gratefully about several Mérida people who stepped in this week to help me feel better, smooth over problems and make it all work out.

And I felt very happy to be here.

Contentment: You Get What You Need

No matter how you plan and try, life never works out the way you thought it would. And that's what makes it so fascinating.

Some time ago I was talking with my friend Hammockman on the topic of planning for security later in life. What he observed is that it doesn't pay to plan excessively because things will never work out the way we think. Security is all an illusion, he said. And I agree with him.

I don't make new year resolutions any longer, but I do find that the beginning of a new year is a good time to think about what I can focus on that will be meaningful to me in the year ahead. I have found that if I keep moving toward what gives a sense of purpose to my life and eliminate all that is unnecessary and distracting, although I may not get what I want (in the words of the Rolling Stones song), I get what I need.

For example, for decades I thought I would live out my life in Juneau, Alaska, living in the old wood-frame gold miner's house I owned on Starr Hill. I couldn't imagine spending my days anywhere else. However I pursued my interests, and eventually landed in Yucatán, a region that in important ways resembles the Alaska of my childhood, an Alaska that barely exists any more. I maintain strong ties with my roots, but am happy in this new place.

I never imagined that career ambition and "accomplishment" would seem so unimportant. In fact, I've come to view much of what I once would have considered constructive or successful as precisely the opposite.

I would not have guessed that I'd be interested in agriculture, but now find myself fascinated by planting and growing things (not to mention eating what I produce).

I find meaning in dealing well with the most difficult problems. I never imagined I would have the capacity to be so patient.

I love people and love life in ways and with an intensity I had never expected would be possible.

I believe my best years are ahead of me. That is because I accept that we can't know what to expect, and therefore I feel prepared for whatever happens. I feel a steady force pulling me towards a future that is satisfying and meaningful.

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want

You can't always get what you want

But if you try sometimes you just might find

You just might find

You get what you need



If this topic interests you, I recommend this thought-provoking book.

Contentment: Fishing Days

When my longtime friend and fishing buddy Brian invited me to go wet a line during my recent visit to Juneau, I expected to write about it. Of all the activities that engaged me during a lifetime in Alaska, a day of fishing is one that bears closest resemblance to the kind of day I work toward having more and more of now in Yucatán.

Why? Fresh salmon is soul food to me, but the experience is more about having a day than getting a fish. In fact, Brian and I have a way of talking about going out fishing. We don't say we're going to go out and catch a bunch of fish. We just casually say that we ought to go and "have a look around."

Years ago I heard various Alaska Native elders talk about going out hunting. In some cultures tradition says that the hunter needs to be humble, because the animals sense human arrogance and will not give themselves to someone who is not respectful, not "right" in heart and mind. The hunter who says something like, "I'm going out to have a look around," or, "I'll just take a walk down river," might come back with meat for his family. Someone who offends nature -- "let's kill us some fish" -- will come back empty handed.

So we have a routine: I bring all the food, Brian gasses up his boat, and we head out for the day and start "looking around," with carefully-prepared bait trailing in the depths behind us, of course. 

And there is always plenty to look at: varieties of birds, fish, innumerable eagles, seals, sea lions, and often lots of whales. Interesting things float by. It is a day in which moment succeeds moment. 

The wind shifts, and we're in a chilly mist. I am sipping coffee as the tide ebbs. The sky changes and the day evolves. Clouds thicken and briefly a shower drenches us; the sun finds an opening and highlights the snow-capped Chilkat mountains and a distant glacier.

As the overcast dissipates, I warm up and begin to shed layers: raincoat, halibut jacket, wool shirt. I trail my hand in the water, and taste it as it drips from my fingers.

The peace and calm of observing nature and weather is punctuated occasionally by the quiver of a fishing pole, and sometimes that leads to the capture of a nice salmon or halibut. But more often than not, bait is snatched away and something down there has got a free meal on us, or we carefully release an undersized or unwanted fish. 

Or nothing at all happens.

Although not always a lot of it, there's talk. After about twenty-five years of fishing together we've shared a lot of experiences, so at times we retell old fishing stories: long hauls in his small skiff before Brian got the bigger boat; getting caught in bad weather; monster fish that got away; the time we hooked halibut and several species of salmon all in one day. We laugh about the time I got seasick on the brand-new boat and my trip to the ER with a hook in my thumb. The conversations range through many other subjects. Talk flows easily.

There's also the music, always jazz or rock oldies. And food. I habitually bring fat prepared sandwiches from the deli counter of a local store, apples, other snacks, drinks and Snickers bars. It's become a tradition. I only eat them when fishing, but for fishing you've gotta have Snickers. 

Breaking out the food used to be a good luck charm. It seemed that for years, no sooner would we have all the lunch goodies spread out than we would hook something. Inevitably some of the food would end up dropped and trampled on the deck, a casualty of the action. We've continued to try the "get out the sandwiches" ploy when fish aren't biting, even though it hasn't worked in years. Fishermen, like baseball players, are superstitious. Speaking of superstitions, there's my fishing hat, but that's another story.

We don't always connect with fish, but as things went on this recent day, we were watching some "rock jockeys," beach fishermen on North Douglas Island, when suddenly one of the poles started vibrating. It wasn't long before we reeled in a magnificent gift from Mother Nature in the form of a medium-sized King. As I looked into its eye and felt its fat but sleek body I felt truly blessed to be who and where I was and in the company of a good friend. 

I could not have wished then to be any other place nor to be doing anything else on earth. What more could one possibly ask from a day than that?

Every fishing day is different, but each "look around" is also a nostalgic repetition of something that could not be improved upon and that I wouldn't change in any way. Catching fish is not the main point. For a whole list of other reasons, every fishing day is a perfect day.

Year's End: Appreciation

It's been a busy year and not the most enjoyable, due to a series of family medical crises. I found myself coming and going frequently, and forced to deal at length with some of the very aspects of life back in the U.S. that I moved to Yucatán specifically to avoid. It was exhausting in all senses of the word.

On the surface it was not the best year of my life, but I think that because of the difficulties it has been a year of great personal growth. In mid-November, arriving back from my latest trip north and with most of our family concerns dealt with for now, I looked forward to getting back into a normal routine. What I felt upon arriving home, though, was that every movement seemed difficult, as though my limbs were encased in hardening concrete, every thought cloudy, fogged. I decided to give myself a break, and for a while not to attempt anything I didn't want to do. I haven't gone out a lot, haven't published much on this blog, and the house could use an energetic cleaning.

What I found myself doing these past weeks was enjoying the birds and plants in the back yard, lying on the roof at night to watch the stars, reading, taking more time to talk with my neighbors, and hanging out with my closest friends. I also had plenty of time to sip coffee and think.

What did I think about?

I appreciate my family. We are a lot closer now. We pulled together to manage a difficult situation and I don't think we let the stress hurt our relationships.

I appreciate my friends. It's an old saying that you find out who your friends are when you most need them. How true. Real friendships are rare, and I feel privileged to have a number. Friends like Victor, who took care of the house, paid my bills, and always has time and the interest to listen when I need someone to talk to. Friends like my neighbor Margarita, with whom I have not always seen eye-to-eye, but who insisted upon dropping me off and picking me up at the Mérida end as I made twelve trips through airports this year. Friends like Paul, who let me take breaks on his houseboat when I was in Seattle for two months while my mother underwent exams and then the daily grind of radiation therapy. And quite a few other great friends who accept me just as I am and who really care about people.

I appreciate lessons learned from the sick and the old, the dying and the dead. I wrote about two of these people (Alberto and Alejandro) earlier this year. I spent a lot of 2010 in hospitals and nursing homes, around people suffering from a variety of serious illnesses and who lost loved ones. Witnessing as they managed their lives, interacted with their families and got on with living in spite of everything is inspiring and makes me grateful for all I have. They remind me that the only things that make for true happiness (assuming one has the basic necessities of diet, shelter and health) are the wonders of faith and the spirit, the beauties of nature and human creativity, and the love of friends and family. These are the main things that really matter when it comes to happiness. The rest, a huge proportion of the economy that people worship, "need" and worry about, is just stuff that gets in the way.

I appreciate the peace and civility of the Yucatán. It's not perfect and once in awhile, even after many years here, I still feel like a fish out of water, but it's a supremely secure, friendly and wonderful place to live.

Thinking about all this has helped me to plan for the future and hopefully be prepared to accept gracefully what's to come.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Photos:

Top, a yellow and red poinsettia, known in Mexico as nochebuena. Above, Joseph and the Baby Jesus, by the Yucatecan painter Alberto Castillo Ku, 1920 - 2010.

Getting into Mañana

I wrote last week about thoughts that came to mind when a neighbor passed away. He was a pretty happy and successful guy, mostly due to his attitude and priorities, as far as I can see. Well, I posted that piece on the blog here nine days ago, and two days ago started stressing because I am not meeting my self-imposed schedule of one blog post per week.

There's lots of other stuff on my to-do list that isn't getting done, either, and I find myself worrying about it. It's part of my upbringing to meet deadlines, stay on schedule and accomplish things. This attitude is part of American culture, and one of the reasons that the United States has been highly successful in the world doing certain kinds of things. At any rate, lately for a variety of reasons, my days have been full but the long to-do list doesn't get smaller.

Let's see, yesterday, instead of folding a mountain of laundry that's been there since Monday, and buying glass for a new window, I spent a couple hours going over drafts of poetry translations for my friend Jonathan, and then spent a couple more hours, when he stopped by later, talking about them, drinking beer and eating spaghetti.

Today, when the guy who I pay to sweep and mop floors couldn't make it to work, I spent five minutes hitting the bad spots and decided the rest of the mess can wait until next week. Then I climbed on the roof. I have been planning for some time to re-coat the roof this month because this is the height of the dry season, the best time of year to do it. Trouble is, starting a couple of weeks ago, just when I was ready to scrape, clean, patch, and put down a new coating of waterproofing, or impermeabilizante, it started to rain. You can't coat a damp roof, so after it rains it's best to wait a few days. Each time I thought things had dried out enough to start work, it rained again.

This morning I was all ready when the temperature dropped and the sun disappeared behind gray clouds. Time to punt. I finished all of my preparation, quickly put a light coating of impermeabilzante on a couple of trouble spots, and left it for another day. I'll be optimistic and make the rain work for me. One more rain will wash away the last bit of dust up there, making the perfect clean surface for the new waterproof coating.

So today, I also have errands, banking, the blog...

Oops! I just got a call from Padre Luis, the beekeeping priest in Manì. He's starting his honey harvest in the morning, and invited me and a friend to come down and stay over a night or two to observe and help. This is something I have been looking forward to since meeting him last month. I've got to get clothes, hammocks and a few other things organized, and put gas in the car for a very early start tomorrow. And Jonathan told me he is looking for a ride out to the hacienda. That means picking him up bright and early and dropping him in Tekit on the way to Manì. The next three days are full. Looks like not much else will get done around here until next week.

One thing, though, I have something like 35 ripe tomatoes from the backyard garden and I can't keep up with them. I bet I have time to make a batch of spaghetti sauce this evening and put it in the freezer. I have onions and garlic. Good. That's important.

So today, laundry, window glass, errands, banking, the blog. Hmmm. The blog. Well, the topic I'd planned for this week will take quite a bit of time; I'd need to organize photos and my thoughts, and spend a couple hours at the computer. No time for that, so here is this week's post.

The rest of the things on my list? I'll have to get around to them mañana. And actually it looks as if mañana will stretch into late next week.

People: Goodbye, Neighbor, and Thanks

My neighbor Alejandro died last week. I was out of town when it happened, and busy away from the house when I got back, so I didn't get the news until several days later.

Alejandro and I were not close, but he was my first friend in the neighborhood after I moved into my house in Mèrida a few years ago. He was an outgoing, gregarious type, always waving and saying hello, and I guess it was just in his nature to be the first one to start a conversation with the new guy on the block.

Alejandro was not a young man, but with his unlined face and continual smile he was energetic and always busy, so I was more than a little surprised when he told me several years ago that he was 75 years old. I would have sworn he was no more than sixty, and he might have passed for younger. He'd lost his wife at a young age and remarried, and worked many years as a taxi driver. He remained happy in his second marriage and together with his wife Ingrid raised a houseful of children, who now have families of their own.

Alejandro was always busy with projects, such as painting and repairing old cars he would buy, fix up, drive for awhile, and then resell. He told me he liked to work, and the problem-solving and tinkering involved with the cars, along with the incentive of making a little extra cash when he sold them, kept his mind and body agile and gave him something interesting to do.

Not that his days were empty. Various children and grandchildren were usually around, and the modest house full of activity. One of the last times I saw him, a few weeks ago, Alejandro was delightedly painting the house next door, which they had rented so his daughter and her family could move in. People from the U.S. often don't understand why different generations of a family would want to live in such close proximity. Here, people can't fathom how people from el norte manage living so far apart from the company, affection and support of their closest loved ones.

Passing by on the street when Alejandro was outside working often entailed more than a casual "buenos dias." He loved to talk about what he was doing, and to find out what I was up to. I sometimes brought him my car and home maintenance problems for advice. The give and take usually ran on for awhile. It seemed as if the socializing for him was the main point of being out on the street, and that washing the car or fixing the tire was something he would get done but not particularly important in comparison.

Alejandro's family owns a ranch about an hour's drive outside of Mèrida, and many times he invited me to go with him for a couple of days and hang out. Unfortunately that's something we never did because I always had something else going on. I started thinking about that when another neighbor told me Alejandro had suddenly died of a heart attack earlier last week. One of the reasons I moved to Mexico was because I wanted to stop living in tomorrow (laboring on and on for that retirement, saving all year for that brief vacation, etc.) and start doing what I want to do now. I have gotten better at living in the now, but the fact that I had put off the ranch visit time and again until it was too late bothers me. I looked forward to that trip as much as I liked Alejandro; he was a nice guy and we probably could have been better friends. I take all this as another of those little messages that life sends us, if we only will pay attention to them, telling us maybe we need to make an in-course correction along the way. I am taking it seriously.

Once my train of thought got rolling along these lines, I started thinking about how happy and successful this neighbor had always seemed to me. He was not a wealthy man, in fact by many Americans' standards he would have been considered poor. Alejandro and his wife raised a large family in a small three-room (not three bedroom, three room) house, where they lived for at least forty years. He didn't have a lot of stuff. His thirty-year-old cars were worth at most a few hundred dollars, and sometimes were broken down. But he always, even when under a balky car and covered with sweat and grease, seemed to enjoy living in the present and have a good time.

I read not long ago that Mexicans have among the highest levels of personal happiness in the world. I think that Alejandro is a good example of some of the reasons for this. It looks to me as if my late neighbor's success in life boiled down to a few simple points. He liked to be happy, so he usually was. He had a good attitude and didn't let small irritations or things beyond his control ruin his day. He was completely authentic: he had no "image" to maintain. He enjoyed everything he did as best he could. He seemed to be more interested in relationships -- his family, friends, and neighbors -- than in things or schedules. I think these qualities gave meaning to the life of a humble and modest man, and filled it with affection and love.

There is an example and a message here.

Adios, vecino, y gracias.