Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Retreat
I can’t remember at what point I started reading Somerset Maugham—perhaps in high school and at least by college—but I fell in love with The Razor’s Edge (definitely NOT the movie version), which means I was thoroughly romanticizing Buddhism and “Eastern philosophy.” I had a vision of myself becoming enlightened and calm and good to others, helpful, at peace with my own suffering while trying to alleviate that of others. Isn’t this why anybody becomes religious?
I mention this now because I’d sort of forgotten that goal for a long time, until last spring. I was reading a book on mindfulness meditation, and there was a part exhorting the reader to create a vision of what one wants in the grand scheme of things, what one wants to be and do, and to remind oneself of this vision daily in order to keep oneself on track. I was sitting in the back garden of the house where I lived in Columbus, reading on a sunny day and trying the meditation exercises, and when I read this part I cried.
There was a point in my early twenties when I decided that all that enlightenment stuff was beyond me, and pretty much gave up on it. I had started somewhat to believe in karma and reincarnation, and I’d thought, well, I’m pretty far away from nirvana at this point; any enlightenment coming to me isn’t for a few more lifetimes at least, so might as well not worry about it. Though I never stopped wanting to be a better person, I’d forgotten about the work I had once wanted to try—meditation and self-cultivation and charity and all that. It’s not like I’m planning to get me to a nunnery or anything, but I’m finally ready to try to achieve some peace within this mess that I call my mind and body. So I’m practicing yoga every single day, and now I’m reading another book on mindfulness meditation (because the practice hasn’t stuck yet), all in order to feel better.
Which brings me to this blog—maybe I should explain, truthfully, at least a little bit, what I am doing here in Mexico, living by myself and putting myself through this experiment in solitude. One of the things I fear most in life is being alone, and since we are always alone (even when we are with other people), I figured it would do me good to find joy in being alone.
On the phone with Tricia this past weekend, I lamented a lot of the things about my life here. I am living in this apartment alone (though that’s what I wanted—my roommate finally moved out last week), and I’m in this building alone now too, because my neighbors have moved or are still on vacation. I don’t go out much, even though the fiestas in Arandas are going on this week—I’m usually too busy or tired or have a cold or don’t feel like going out by myself at night to get harassed by drunk muchachos. I don’t have any really good friends in this town, because I can’t have any real conversations with anyone to get close enough. Sometimes this is completely fine with me, but this weekend I was pretty down about it.
I said to Tricia, though, that I knew this would happen. When I lived in Taipei, the only real friendships I had were with people who spoke English, if not as their native tongue, then at least well enough to understand me when I didn’t know some words in Chinese. I was there for four years, and I still had a hard time becoming very good friends with Chinese-speakers. So what was I thinking would happen to me in a small town like Arandas, with only a beginner’s level of Spanish, for only one school year? I chose this place because I wouldn’t be able to chat with people in English, to force myself to acquire Spanish quickly, but also because I wouldn’t need to make lots of fabulous friends for the year I’d be here. My purposes, after all, were to learn self-sufficiency and independence.
This is why I came here, I said to Tricia. And she said, yes, it is; how difficult it must be.
Yes, it’s difficult sometimes. Especially when you’ve just been on vacation for two weeks, traveling with friends, visiting a good friend, having a good friend visit you. Then after a whirlwind of buses and friends and exciting new places and the wonderful familiarity of being with old friends, not having rested well, you have to go back to work and to your purposefully solitary life, it can feel pretty difficult.
However, I am very grateful for the life I have right now. I am slowly learning to live more in the present, not obsessing about the past or the future so much as I used to, and I am able to feel content much more often than I ever used to. It is not actually all that difficult most of the time. And now that I am getting back into the swing of teaching again, excited to finally start classes divided by level with level-appropriate materials, and even happy to start the evening classes for adults soon (to make some extra income also), I am not feeling so sad about the sudden disappearance of easy companionship and socializing.
It helps to be reading this very instructive book on starting a meditation practice, too, to find some motivation to engage in a useful and relaxing project (read: to kick my ass into gear).
The fiestas are in full swing again tonight—I can hear the bands playing cumbia, and every so often what sounds like a truck holding a full band playing banda passes by on the street outside. The fiestas aren’t what I thought they’d be, though. People told me that there would be bands and people dancing in the streets, kind of like what I saw in Santa Maria for the fiestas for the Virgin of Guadalupe. Apparently, it used to be like that, but now most everything takes place on the fairgrounds behind the bus station. It’s like a county fair back home, except only at night, and with much fewer animals. No pig races, no competitions for best cow or whatever. Lots of expensive rides for the kids, games that rip you off, food stalls, and, because it’s Arandas, lots of tequila. Lots of bands that I can hear at night, along with the screams on the crazier rides.
I went one night with Cristina and Aracely and their kids, and it was a lot of fun going round putting the kids on the rides and then waving and shouting to them every time they passed by. They were so cute, having such a good time. Good thing there were some free rides, or else all the parents there would’ve been sucked dry. We ate lovely, warm gorditas (little cakes of corn meal or sorghum, I think). But it was damned cold, and I still have a cold, too, so I haven’t been tempted to go back. I was also there with Luis while he was here visiting before leaving Mexico, before the fiestas officially started. We went in for free and went to the palenque and I watched a cockfight for the first time in my life, which of course made me a little sad, but it was very educational nevertheless. Then we watched the drunk people dancing banda. But it was really cold and late so we went home.
The last day of the fiestas is Thursday. Thursday we get out of school early, at 11:30, for the fiestas, and we have Friday off, too. I may not partake in the festivities, however, because long weekends are hard to come by, even in the land of fiestas. I’d like to visit my friends in Puerto Vallarta and get some warm weather and sea and the beach, since I didn’t seem to get my fill on vacation. That should help me settle out of vacation mode, or at least that’s the way I’m going to look at it.
I mention this now because I’d sort of forgotten that goal for a long time, until last spring. I was reading a book on mindfulness meditation, and there was a part exhorting the reader to create a vision of what one wants in the grand scheme of things, what one wants to be and do, and to remind oneself of this vision daily in order to keep oneself on track. I was sitting in the back garden of the house where I lived in Columbus, reading on a sunny day and trying the meditation exercises, and when I read this part I cried.
There was a point in my early twenties when I decided that all that enlightenment stuff was beyond me, and pretty much gave up on it. I had started somewhat to believe in karma and reincarnation, and I’d thought, well, I’m pretty far away from nirvana at this point; any enlightenment coming to me isn’t for a few more lifetimes at least, so might as well not worry about it. Though I never stopped wanting to be a better person, I’d forgotten about the work I had once wanted to try—meditation and self-cultivation and charity and all that. It’s not like I’m planning to get me to a nunnery or anything, but I’m finally ready to try to achieve some peace within this mess that I call my mind and body. So I’m practicing yoga every single day, and now I’m reading another book on mindfulness meditation (because the practice hasn’t stuck yet), all in order to feel better.
Which brings me to this blog—maybe I should explain, truthfully, at least a little bit, what I am doing here in Mexico, living by myself and putting myself through this experiment in solitude. One of the things I fear most in life is being alone, and since we are always alone (even when we are with other people), I figured it would do me good to find joy in being alone.
On the phone with Tricia this past weekend, I lamented a lot of the things about my life here. I am living in this apartment alone (though that’s what I wanted—my roommate finally moved out last week), and I’m in this building alone now too, because my neighbors have moved or are still on vacation. I don’t go out much, even though the fiestas in Arandas are going on this week—I’m usually too busy or tired or have a cold or don’t feel like going out by myself at night to get harassed by drunk muchachos. I don’t have any really good friends in this town, because I can’t have any real conversations with anyone to get close enough. Sometimes this is completely fine with me, but this weekend I was pretty down about it.
I said to Tricia, though, that I knew this would happen. When I lived in Taipei, the only real friendships I had were with people who spoke English, if not as their native tongue, then at least well enough to understand me when I didn’t know some words in Chinese. I was there for four years, and I still had a hard time becoming very good friends with Chinese-speakers. So what was I thinking would happen to me in a small town like Arandas, with only a beginner’s level of Spanish, for only one school year? I chose this place because I wouldn’t be able to chat with people in English, to force myself to acquire Spanish quickly, but also because I wouldn’t need to make lots of fabulous friends for the year I’d be here. My purposes, after all, were to learn self-sufficiency and independence.
This is why I came here, I said to Tricia. And she said, yes, it is; how difficult it must be.
Yes, it’s difficult sometimes. Especially when you’ve just been on vacation for two weeks, traveling with friends, visiting a good friend, having a good friend visit you. Then after a whirlwind of buses and friends and exciting new places and the wonderful familiarity of being with old friends, not having rested well, you have to go back to work and to your purposefully solitary life, it can feel pretty difficult.
However, I am very grateful for the life I have right now. I am slowly learning to live more in the present, not obsessing about the past or the future so much as I used to, and I am able to feel content much more often than I ever used to. It is not actually all that difficult most of the time. And now that I am getting back into the swing of teaching again, excited to finally start classes divided by level with level-appropriate materials, and even happy to start the evening classes for adults soon (to make some extra income also), I am not feeling so sad about the sudden disappearance of easy companionship and socializing.
It helps to be reading this very instructive book on starting a meditation practice, too, to find some motivation to engage in a useful and relaxing project (read: to kick my ass into gear).
The fiestas are in full swing again tonight—I can hear the bands playing cumbia, and every so often what sounds like a truck holding a full band playing banda passes by on the street outside. The fiestas aren’t what I thought they’d be, though. People told me that there would be bands and people dancing in the streets, kind of like what I saw in Santa Maria for the fiestas for the Virgin of Guadalupe. Apparently, it used to be like that, but now most everything takes place on the fairgrounds behind the bus station. It’s like a county fair back home, except only at night, and with much fewer animals. No pig races, no competitions for best cow or whatever. Lots of expensive rides for the kids, games that rip you off, food stalls, and, because it’s Arandas, lots of tequila. Lots of bands that I can hear at night, along with the screams on the crazier rides.
I went one night with Cristina and Aracely and their kids, and it was a lot of fun going round putting the kids on the rides and then waving and shouting to them every time they passed by. They were so cute, having such a good time. Good thing there were some free rides, or else all the parents there would’ve been sucked dry. We ate lovely, warm gorditas (little cakes of corn meal or sorghum, I think). But it was damned cold, and I still have a cold, too, so I haven’t been tempted to go back. I was also there with Luis while he was here visiting before leaving Mexico, before the fiestas officially started. We went in for free and went to the palenque and I watched a cockfight for the first time in my life, which of course made me a little sad, but it was very educational nevertheless. Then we watched the drunk people dancing banda. But it was really cold and late so we went home.
The last day of the fiestas is Thursday. Thursday we get out of school early, at 11:30, for the fiestas, and we have Friday off, too. I may not partake in the festivities, however, because long weekends are hard to come by, even in the land of fiestas. I’d like to visit my friends in Puerto Vallarta and get some warm weather and sea and the beach, since I didn’t seem to get my fill on vacation. That should help me settle out of vacation mode, or at least that’s the way I’m going to look at it.
