The little deaths

I really don’t like to dwell on this subject. In general, there’s a huge taboo around it, and I understand why. For me, it’s just one of those things that I like to keep as far away from my mind and life as humanly possible. Now, I’m talking about the Death, the one that we deeply fear as a race, the moment of surrender to the unknown, that we can’t control, beat, reject or run from. The moment in which we lose the most precious gift that we have and we think is ours to hold and cherish, life. It’s the only thing we truly have, and that is the ultimate equalizer of all human beings, regardless of race, gender, prejudice, social or economic class or status. It comes to the fortunate ones as swiftly, sporadically, mysteriously and unprecedented, as it goes.

It’s actually quite beautiful, because there is no way around it, it’s not a matter that falls within the realm of reason, and many times, it escapes the realm of science as well.

For many years, I had the urgency and undying need to find my life’s purpose, believing that there had to be a reason why I received this gift of life, I couldn’t bear not knowing, or being unable to understand it. I wanted it to come to me in some divine message, and I thought that once I got the message, I would attain peace of mind, mainly because then I would know where to direct all my intentions and efforts in life, with a clear goal.

I haven’t completely given up on the hope that it will come to me someday. However, in the meantime, I have concluded that the answer lies in savoring and connecting to all living things, because it is a miracle how each and every aspect of ourselves, of nature and all living organisms, is self-sufficient and has its own way of ensuring its continued existence on the planet. And, if some aspect is broken, sick or not functioning adequately, it has its own self-regulating mechanism, and means to warn us and urge us to change the direction towards which we’re heading, the things we do in life, in love, in our relationships, with our bodies, with the energy that we exchange with all forces of life.

In that sense, we actually suffer, surpass and transcend little deaths in our lives all the time. All of the moments in life, where we decide to break our own cycles and patterns that are taking us to directions we don’t wanna go to, there is a grieving process, where we need to mourn for our loss. It’s a basic human need that should not be ignored, even if it sometimes implies having to force ourselves to detach from whatever it is we need to let go of. We need to learn to look back at what it represented for us for so long, cut our losses, learn whichever lessons we needed to learn with regards to that attachment, and hopefully transform it into a different outcome that resonates and aligns with that pulse of life that for whichever reason ensures our survival, and allows us to reconnect with the underlying order of all things living.

The challenge therein lies in acknowledging when something that we feel we need in our lives, does not really align with our true essence, and questioning why we cling to it, and whether it connects us to a force that propels us towards growth and transformation, or with the fear of losing or modifying a determined status quo that allows us to temporarily feel in control over a situation. The illusion of control, or whichever other hidden reward that we may be unknowingly claiming in our lives to comfort us, or using as an excuse to avoid having to act differently.

When I say this, I don’t write claiming to be an expert at it. The mere fact that in my attempt to write about death, I ended up relating it to the pulses of life that surround me, is just further proof of my intent to elude the fact that I really don’t have any control whatsoever as to the wonder of my own life and death. But, what I can say is that I have mourned many little deaths, unknowingly and in many cases, involuntarily, or because life slapped me in the face, to see if I reacted.

One event that I distinctly remember, happened three years ago when, after building excuses for the past five years of my life, I finally had the courage and determination to move out of my parent’s house and into my own place, where I would live alone, and would have to take care of myself. For the past five years, I had been thinking about it, and in my gut, I felt the need to take this decision, claim responsibility for my own life, my health, my decisions –good or bad–, but I always had an excuse as to why it wasn’t the right time: “I didn’t have enough money”; “it was too much pressure”; “I don’t like doing house chores”; “I don’t know how to cook”; “I want to save money”, and so forth.

It wasn’t until I became unbearable to live with, angry at everything and everyone, and that I started “acting out”, to force myself to believe that living like that was no longer sustainable. So, I set a specific date, I declared it and announced it to anyone that I had previously talked to about this subject, so that I would be held accountable for, if I didn’t move on that day. And finally when the time came, I stuffed as much as I could into the two largest suitcases I found, and drove them to the new apartment on a Sunday afternoon. My mom helped me pack them, trying to swallow her tears and actually help me take this much needed decision, and I tried to remain strong and committed to the decision. There was no turning back, despite the fact that deep within me, I was wailing, scared, sad, anxious, melancholic, everything all at once in a tide of emotions, but I fought with all my strength, to stop myself from just calling it all off and crawling back into my old bed at my parent’s place.

When I arrived at the place that I currently live in, and got a feel of the space, I immediately started to visualize how I would want to decorate and lay it out, how I would organize my things, I made to-do lists of all the things I needed to buy or borrow, and simply let all the chores fill the spaces that my emotions were evidently dying to flood with, so it became easy to suppress or dissipate them with all the things I had to do. Also, I started to feel a tinge of excitement at having my own space, starting fresh and new, having gatherings with friends, doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, whatever people finally experience when they decide to live alone.

I was so exhausted by the end of the day, that I hardly had any room left for emotions, and just comforted myself with the thought that it would be amazing; that it was what I needed to do, it was for the better, I would be so happy, I would mature and grow up, I would finally be a responsible adult. I blurted the rest of my countless to-do’s into a notebook in the bureau beside my new bed, and jumped into what I thought would be a night of deep, recovery, beauty sleep. To my surprise, I was wide awake about two hours after “falling asleep”, and just could not get myself to fall back asleep again.

The next day I was obviously exhausted, frustrated, couldn’t even think straight, and started wondering what was going on with me? Never before in my life had I experienced insomnia, except on occasions, when I had been ill or not feeling well. And this horrible, frustrating, vicious and draining cycle went on for weeks. I was desperate. I didn’t know what was happening, and my mind couldn’t stop going around in circles about it, which further contributed to the insomnia. I was so tired all the time, and couldn’t get myself to sleep.

Three weeks from then was my 30th birthday, and to make things worse, I felt pressure to celebrate this “blessed” event. Turning 30! It couldn’t just go unnoticed. So, I decided to throw a big party (one of my specialties). Again, I got sucked into planning the event, as a further distraction from whatever the hell was going on inside me. And then, a day before my birthday, the party took place, which was a huge success, but for some reason, I hadn’t quite enjoyed it. I was thrilled to see all my friends and to prove that I had finally taken “the big step”, but that night something started to twinge inside me…After dancing, drinking, talking to my friends, dancing some more and all the excitement, I was just really tired and all I wanted to do at the moment, was sleep. So, I cut the party short, and once again delved into what seemed to be the unattainable feat of trying to sleep that night. I got a few hours in, but was wide awake very early the next day.

That day, finally it was my birthday, and it was the first day in weeks that I had finished all my “to-do’s”. The party had passed, and so had the excitement of moving, and of seeing my friends, organizing, unpacking, getting myself used to the new space and lifestyle. I received the best birthday wishes from friends and family far and wide, and life was beautiful. There was literally nothing that I could complain about, at all, everything was perfect, so to speak. But I just felt this deep, profound and incomprehensible sadness. Nothing in particular had sparked it, nothing bad had happened. So, I decided to go swimming, maybe clear my head, maybe I was just tired…

I arrived at the place where I go swimming, the day was sunny and beautiful, and I decided to just lay in the sun a bit. And right then and there, while I was bathing in the sunlight, it came. I started weeping uncontrollably… I had no idea where it was coming from, life was perfect, but I just couldn’t stop, and so I surrendered to it.

Then my mom arrived, and although she was the person that least had to hear my laments, because it was her grief as well… I just poured my heart out to her, accompanied by uncontrollable sobs about everything in life, but at the same time, nothing at all, really. Except a long overdue mourning process, that I was just desperately avoiding… and after hours of simply letting it all out, and a very relaxing and meditative swim, that night I finally slept like a baby.

I realized later that what I had been experiencing was the after-effects of my overdue grieving process, which I hadn’t even given the chance to manifest itself. I had been in such denial and had intentionally but unconsciously trapped myself in imaginary fears and anxieties, in order to try and skip this part of the process. The part where I acknowledged the place that had been my home for the past thirty years, where I grew up, and everything that had taken place there; expressed my total and absolute gratitude for all the experiences and moments of my life there; the unconditional love, support and warmth that I received there… thirty years of my life! All of my upbringing, the warmth and comfort of my family, everything. And to make room for what came next, and face it head-on, taking charge and responsibility for myself, because it’s the least I could do after so much hard work that went into ensuring that I could take that step and continue firmly along my path.

I do not regret my decision at all, and although it was hard to make the shift and get used to being “on my own”, I had to give that moment the space and importance it deserved; acknowledge all of the events that led up to the moment in which I finally took control of my life, and learn to see the beauty and potential in what came next, and that it was all part of this journey called life… where the only place to which we should always move, is forward, and honor the only thing left to express for the past, gratitude and respect.

Work has always been fundamental in my life. However, since I was a teenager, it was hard to get started, especially when I had no interest in whatever it is that I had to get done, but failure was not an option for me, ever. When I got into law school, it became harder to turn in successful papers and get good grades, studying or doing everything just 24 hours before the due date, because I couldn’t play around anymore, from that day on, everything I did would possibly reflect negatively on my CV, the connections I managed to make in school, future references for jobs, and I learned this the hard way.

I grew up highly influenced by a very clear and undebatable work-oriented mentality. My dad loved his job, loved going to the office, talking to people, making connections, having meetings to attend to, phone calls to make. It gave him a sense of purpose and certain prestige in Mexican society, in the network that was relevant to him. Also, men and women of my parent’s generation, didn’t dwell very long on what they wanted their life to be like, or didn’t have as many choices as I did. The gender roles were very clearly established; women took care of the household, men went to work to bring home the bacon.

Also, as the son of Holocaust survivors, his parents arrived in Mexico with nothing, at all, and work was their salvation, which enabled them to provide a decent life for their kids, and being able to do that–I imagine– made their struggle to survive WWII well worth it. It gave them a second opportunity in life, to actually enjoy it, and to take back some of the things that the war robbed them of.

I’m sure that this is why, when my Dad managed to make a decent living for his family by listening to his parent’s advice, both my parents decided to invest, first and foremost, in our education. And they did an excellent job, compelled to honor their parent’s legacy, wishes and advice.

Having a “decent” job was evidently the sole means to achieve this. It’s no secret, at least for me, that if I wanted to guarantee certain lifestyle for myself, and ensure that I would never be unable to have whatever I desired and/or needed, I had to work for it. There’s no free lunch, right? Not ever.

That’s obviously why I continued along that path, and chose a career that would be sure to get me a well-paid, decent job, to provide me with anything I would need, get my own place, have my own family, maybe a pet… the whole package. I had no idea what a job was and what it implied, until I got my first job at a very prestigious and demanding law firm. I imagined it would be somewhat like going to school, but now my professors were my bosses, and I just had to sit at my desk, and would be appointed certain tasks on a regular basis, which I would complete, and get my corresponding paycheck.

I was well-trained, having been educated according to the U.S. model, which is basically a 14-year training course, merit-based and goal-oriented, guaranteed to succeed in a democratic capitalist society. All throughout my education, I never doubted of the content, quality, purposes and educational model, and to this day, I pride myself in the education I was privileged enough to receive.

It wasn’t until I started a formal job, that I understood everything that had been behind my education. And something that I hadn’t learned in school, was all the politics around a job; the interpersonal skills that I had to develop; “getting in good with the boss”; being sociable and well-liked, and not just getting the work done. So, when I entered this new arena, it was a lot to take in, I made so many mistakes, learned so many lessons–the hard way– many of them, which I’m just now seeing, analyzing and understanding, in retrospect.

As the years passed, and the lessons started to sink in, my stress levels started to skyrocket. I would become very stressed with the most trivial tasks that had never crossed my mind before. I discovered a side of me, that was suddenly severely intimidated by “regular people”, whose only difference with the other people that crossed my path, was their years of experience. Yet, they became figures of authority in my life.

Up to that moment in my life, I was of the rebellious, irreverent kind. My teenage years consisted of constantly questioning everything I was told, and finding my own truth, or even if it wasn’t “my own truth”, just the opposite to what I was being told, or different in some way. When I entered that semi-adult phase of my life, which started the day I entered law school, I was determined to “be successful” and “make something of myself”. Finally I was in “the real world”, and couldn’t complain about being confined to the walls of my high-school, now I would play an active role in my life, I had to perform, and in exchange, I would maybe get recognized and acknowledged, even admired for my skills.

Therefore, I became overly demanding with myself, and suddenly felt the urge to be “top-shelf”, the best at my job, AND get paid for it. So, I became overly complacent with my bosses, I would be the one that was dying to spend all-nighters in the office, trying to prove what I was capable of, and that I was “all-in”. The pressure and self-demands were on the rise. I was willing to do everything and more, to prove “my worth”, in the eyes of what appeared to be success.

For many years, this outlook on life and work, became more and more pronounced, along with my ambition for further recognition, more achievements, the sense of belonging to life “as it should be”. And for many years, it proved highly functional, or at least it seemed that way from a distance. But, on the inside, emotionally and in my personal life, it was all a mess. I didn’t even acknowledge that such self-abandonment was there to begin with.

Stress, has a way of creeping into our life, and subtly ensuring its place, that it becomes an addiction. The physiological damages of stress, have been extensively researched and backed up by scientific evidence (Gabor Maté has an amazing book called “When The Body Says NO”, where he majestically explores this phenomenon, as well as Bessel van der Kolk, in “The Body Keeps the Score”, just to mention a few). But, when you’re in it, and your body seems to almost depend on it for survival, it’s hard to conceive of a life without it. It seems as if though stress became a fundamental life-force for me, without which, I would hardly be able to get anything done, at all.

At that moment, with that level of stress, the most insignificant e-mails, messages or requests would set me off, and send my head cycling into completely absurd and unreasonable catastrophic thoughts. As I started to grow and gain more experience, it implied greater responsibility, less hours of sleep, almost null time for myself, and it didn’t get easier. As the stress built up, my anxiety grew, my terror of failing, of not meeting a deadline, of getting FIRED, and I felt it everywhere in my body, I was about to crack, just an e-mail away from a total meltdown...

Nonetheless, failure was not an option, ever; and for that to be a sustainable life motto, it required total and absolute dedication, and being firmly convinced of the end-game; having a clear goal, guaranteed to bring me absolute fulfillment in life. I met with all of the criteria, but as I started advancing in my career, the goals started to become more distant, blurry, uncertain, and further away from the life I wanted to envision for myself.

So, is this what work was supposed to be like? Was this the ultimate purpose of having a good job? Was it supposed to be this hard and soul-sucking? Is this what they meant by “making it” in the adult world? I don’t think so. And if it was, it just wasn’t worth it. I daydreamed about being able to leave on indefinite vacations; work remotely; find a job that guarantees a work-life balance; or, another job that would instill in me a greater sense of purpose.

Putting in the hours and just proving that I am capable of spending days without sleeping, and relinquishing my basic needs, just to meet a deadline –was no longer satisfying or fulfilling enough for me. When I first joined the work force, I had a sense of purpose, and a pretty good reason to do it, which gave me the drive and punch, to give it everything I had. With the course of time, giving it all became my daily bread and the status quo, and eventually, I started to have less and less to savor for myself, so I quit.

Now that I am “free”, I have traveled, I have savored, I have enjoyed. I have meditated, focused on myself, and yes, when I initially started on this new path that I’m on, my main objective the first few weeks, was to go to the complete opposite extreme, just full-on hedonistic, self-indulgent, carpe-diem, YOLO mindset. But my yearning need to unleash all my suppressed emotions and whimsical impulses slowly started to subside after a few weeks, and was replaced by the need to find an actual purpose, a good reason to do whatever it is that I did want to be doing from then on, and that is what I am currently searching for.

Where am I searching? Everywhere. And among the places that I have gone to, I recently went to Guatemala, and did something that I attempted to do a few years ago, but did not have the mental strength or the physical disposition to accomplish. I attempted to climb a substantially large mountain, and actually succeeded in reaching the peak of one of the highest volcanoes in Guatemala. Now, I know that people physically climb mountains all the time, and that’s not exactly my point.

Yes, reaching that peak was one of the most satisfying feats I have physically accomplished, where I was probably demanding so much more from my body than it was capable of providing for me at the time. But my mind took hold of the situation, and I made it to the summit anyways. However, the greatest insight that I had from the experience, was my mental process, in contrast to the attempt to climb the Iztaccihuatl –one of the highest mountains in Mexico– a few years back…

Since I was 18 years old, I have practiced some kind of sport. Nothing big, just a bit of self-care and a long-term investment in my overall mental and physical health. I really started to commit to it when I turned 30, and since then, sports has become an essential and crucial aspect of my physical, but most of all, mental balance. And it’s a lot of work, getting up every morning, the physical pain, wanting to just sleep in, let it go, just for a day. Many times I’ve been tempted to throw down the towel. But no, because I am profoundly aware that it grounds me, it channels my anxiety and stress, it helps me look good, and it feels good; the more I practice all kinds of different sports, the better I feel. More committed to myself, my health, my overall well-being; more in touch with my body; and it has introduced me to amazing people, and hobbies with countless benefits. Obviously the doctors know what they’re talking about, I don’t need to emphasize it.

But, that’s not the point either. The point is that, like in all of my life, sports and all physical activity have been fundamental these past few months, to ground me, to give me discipline, a routine, a sense that my life is not just floating in an abyss of nonsense, with no direction whatsoever. It keeps me focused, and I keep doing it, because I have damn good reasons to do so.

On my recent trip to Guatemala, I had no idea the size of the challenge I was up against, didn’t even know how high it was, how many hours, nothing. I was just told what gear to bring. I put all my efforts into packing the correct gear, and had one thing clear–I was going to reach that summit, one way or another, as long as I wasn’t in any immediate risk of losing my life. As long as I had my physical and mental strength to depend on, and as long as it was up to me to make it, I was going to get there. Why? Just because… I wanted to know that I could do it.

And so, as I started trekking for the first 500 meters (which are the worst), and my heart rate started skyrocketing, there was a part of me that deeply regretted having agreed to go on this endeavor. It was raining, I was uncomfortable, there was, what seemed to be an eternity at the time, between that moment, and the moment at which we would reach the summit. A part of me just wanted to quit, obviously.

But then, something else emerged in me, something I had forgotten about, or that I maybe had never even felt before, not like this. This mind-blowing rush of adrenaline, at the thought of the challenge ahead of me, with a clear objective, and the total and absolute firm conviction of wanting to tackle it, and knowing that I had all the tools, determination, strength and guidance to get there, was simply one of the greatest feelings I have ever experienced in my life. Like all the pieces were perfectly in place, like I could literally do anything that I put my mind to. Anything. The only thing I needed, was a damn good reason to do it. And at that moment, for whatever the reasons, I had a damn good reason to reach that summit, if only to prove that I could do it, and that I was no longer the person that abandoned the mission a few years ago. I was stronger, better, focused, committed, and had total and absolute confidence in myself.

That’s when I realized what work means to me, and why it brings peace, liberation and fulfillment to my life. But I’m not talking about having a job, where I’m drowning in stress and self-induced catastrophic thoughts and performance anxiety. Just, in general, about life. I’m talking about having clarity, as to a goal and purpose; having a pretty good reason for wanting to achieve it; committing to it, and with the total and absolute confidence that you have all the tools and potential to reach it. Or if there is something that you are lacking, it’s in your power and control to get it, whatever is necessary; but undeterred as to whatever it is that you want to achieve.

Just, a goal, a purpose that makes you want to discover what you are capable of, set with clarity, facing it with determination, confidence, and, most of all, a damn good reason to do it; that was apparently 99%, if not 100%, of all that I had needed, to reach that summit. And what is work? It’s simply the meditative, almost spiritual process, that we have to go through, to get from the starting line, to the ultimate goal, whatever it may be. But with a clear intention, there is nothing or nowhere that can seem at all unattainable.

My hollow footsteps pounding on the arid, hostile cement streets of the neighborhood I grew up in. Sure, it has a few trees on the sidewalk, but that day, just a bunch of luxury cars parked, with nowhere to go, nobody to show them off to. And the calm and silence was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, mid-pandemic in Mexico City. It was hot, like a dry heat that can only be evoked from the lifeless pulse of the cement-plated suburbs of a huge, cosmopolitan city, such as Mexico City. I had spent the last three days trapped in my apartment, working non-stop, with not even a second to fix myself a decent meal, and with the few hours of sleep that I managed to make room for, very carefully accounted for and on a strict budget.

Finally, at 3 pm after days of simply having not one inch of space available in my head, for anything other than the task at hand, I finished, and the overall clenched fists and tightness that ran through my entire body, started to subside. I sent that e-mail and started to breathe normally again, I breathed, period. I turned my eyes to look elsewhere and not the computer screen, to see what I had missed in the past three days, and just stared blankly at the steel beams that support the wooden ceiling of my apartment.

I turned off the music, to give my head a rest, and make room for nothingness. I was finally relaxed, and realized how I had spent three days just feeding stress to my body, and ignoring all other possible basic needs, but I wasn’t hungry –I was tired, but wasn’t going to sleep at 3 pm–, I was carving for something, but it wasn’t food, it wasn’t TV, I definitely didn’t want to read any longer, I don’t know what it was precisely. Maybe a conversation of some sort, some human interaction, but amidst the pandemic, every conversation just revolved around everything COVID related, that if I listened to one more conversation of the sort, I would kill myself.

What was it that I wanted/needed? I was anxious, sad, tired, angry, happy to have finished, I needed something at that moment, I don’t know what it was, so then I went to my head, and started to rationalize… go around in circles, about my life, about the pandemic, about my relationships, about my job, about my unbearable boss at the time, about traveling, about how nothing would ever be the same, but how, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. And I just had to get out, but there was nowhere to go, everything was on lockdown mode. And possibly going outside would result even more disheartening than staying inside my head.

Nonetheless, I had to get out, stop the high-speed train of catastrophic thoughts that were starting to flood my mind. So, I put on my tennis shoes, and just started to run… in honor of the iconic superhero of the 90’s, Forrest Gump… that’s exactly how I felt, I just wanted to go. Somewhere, anywhere.

Suddenly, Ceremony by Joy Division, came to mind, and I pressed play. I went out on the street, and there was not a person in sight. Just scorching sunbeams, and a total and absolute silence, which I temporarily filled with my 90s tunes. The tension started to subside, I could feel the blood running through my veins again, my heart rate starting to pick up, and I just ran, with no destination in mind.

I guess I was craving for space. From my mind, from my stress, from myself. Or maybe what I was craving for, was movement. The pandemic had brought with it some sort of seeming tranquility, but with an underlying uncertainty and daunting future ahead. As soon as I started turning corners, I felt the empty streets and spaces. Space that came to plain sight, when people were forced to stay at home, and encouraged to avoid crowding the streets to get to their «important meetings», which suddenly didn’t seem that important, or didn’t necessarily require their presence. No places to get to, people to see, errands to run, every person confined to themselves and/or their families, for those who are lucky enough to have one. Suddenly there was space again. Space for the trees and flowers to blossom, the birds to sing, the sunlight to bathe all living beings. Space from noise. Space from each other. The streets suddenly became filled with this incredible silence.

It made me think of why we had needed a pandemic to force us to make and have these spaces of silence, contemplation, self-realization; to appreciate and take notice of every particle that makes up our universe, every glimpse of life and movement that allows for the sun to rise and set each day, and feed all living beings and allow for our planet to keep providing for us. It made me wonder if any of the things that we did, day by day, that cause so much noise, movement, commotion, unnecessary stress and anxiety, were at all relevant or enriching for anyone or anything.

As beautiful as it was to allow for these moments of space and contemplation, I still couldn’t shake off this overall anxiety. I was definitely not used to such peace and quiet, and it brought with it the sense of having this dismal cloud hanging over me, carrying with it a never-before-seen storm in the horizon, I could feel and taste it. It didn’t even have to be a full-on storm, I just had this anxiety and aching need to know or be certain that something was bound to happen. I couldn’t bare to wait for what seemed like an eternity, for the pandemic to subside. It’s as if I was expecting to receive an e-mail at any moment, saying. “Ok guys, it’s all over, you can all return to where you were pre-pandemic. It was all a ruse, we found the cure, and now life can go on, as if nothing happened.”

Obviously, this was not the case, and nearly a year and a half later, we are still struggling with the pandemic; trying to wrap our heads around it, barely understanding it, but its emotional and psychological effects are just starting to emerge, settle and intertwine with our past, our present and the future, which still seems uncertain, with no clear end in sight. And me, still being unable to fully grasp how sudden and radically the changes were taking place, all the while being somewhat pissed and frustrated, powerless before this apparent storm, that I felt caught in the middle of, and no idea how I got there, or who was taking these public health policy decisions. Obviously the World Health Organization, but it just seemed inconceivable to me, that we as humans, were not being able to come up with a plan to deal with this situation, except for locking us all up.

The few people that I did happen to run into on the streets, were hidden behind their masks, trapped in fear. If I turned my view away from them, and away from my feet, I just felt targeted by all the government-sponsored publicity directed bombarding all citizens with a vengeance, on how just by daring to go out into the streets, we were literally risking our life. None of it made sense to me. And I realized, that I had gone out for a run, to get out of my head and into the moment, but was stuck right back where I had started.

I was IN IT. I had fallen into the claws of the alarmist publicity, that had the sole purpose of reducing all of our life force, to make us feel completely fragile, impotent, in danger, –but most of all– victims at the mercy of government policies, of the decisions being taken by some circles of power, who were successfully achieving their goal of absolute control over each and every one of us. But that wasn’t even the real enemy, the true enemy was my head.

All of a sudden, it started to pour, and I was immediately brought back to the moment, as I took notice of certain initial physical discomfort, and my sudden urge to find shelter, a warm shower and blanket. I realized that I am so invested and entrenched in the agitated, “productive”, stress and adrenaline-hungry life that I live, and so conditioned to having to feel like I’m super busy in life, so used to recurring to stress and work constantly, as a means to avoid the present, and perhaps, avoid myself, that when provided with space, I didn’t even know what to do with it, or would search for a way to obtain some goal-oriented benefit from it.

In any case, what I could control at the moment, was my breathing; taking solid and firm steps to propel myself forward, turning the volume up, to re-connect with the life force that pushed me towards grabbing my tennis shoes, and choosing to go outside, despite the judgment, and unjustified fear that we were constantly being bombarded by. I could embrace my health and my body today, and everything that it allowed me to do. Including the blessed opportunity to go for a pleasant afternoon run, caressed by the rain and the invigorating silence.

Reentry: a brand-new skin

How can you re-enter something or somewhere that you never knew you left in the first place…

It wasn’t until I was stuck there in the mud, that I realized just how incredibly far away I was, from the place in which I’d visualized I’d be at that moment in my life. Who had the insane idea of asking 18-year-old teenagers (which is what we STILL are at that age) to chose what they will want to be doing for the rest of their life? Or at least professionally. But, it’s not just a career, the truth is that, to this day, our careers end up defining so much more than we can conceive at the moment in which we have to make that challenging choice. At least that’s how it was for me, and I didn’t even realize what lay ahead of me for the next 15 years of my life… fifteen years!!! What? Why? Really?

I was a very restless teenager, in many ways, some good, some not so much. In any case, I was full of ambition and curiosity, I was just bustling to experience life outside of high school… travel, fall in love, study, be an intellectual, get to know new people, new horizons, just live and love and experience all of the tastes and flavors of the world. But I also wanted to be very successful, recognized, admired, and to “be someone”. I was torn between six different careers that I thought interested me, but for different reasons that I was not aware of at the time. Politics, psychology, economy, law, philosophy and literature. Drowning in uncertainty, insecurity, desire to “belong somewhere” and self-doubt, I turned to my parents for guidance, and they lovingly advised me to chose a career that would most likely be profitable and guarantee that I could always be independent, self-sufficient and “successful in life”.

Now, I am no quitter, which paired along with my self-doubt and desire for approval and recognition, resulted in my diving into a career that I invested fifteen years of my life into building–and erroneously believing that it would guarantee my success, happiness and self-fulfillment– being a lawyer. I obviously justified the decision, and fantasized about how it would be a means to help my country, and for me to fight for a just cause, and in general, contribute to profound transformation of the corruption and injustice that has haunted Mexico –my home country– for decades.

What I didn’t know, was how much of myself and identity would get lost beneath the millions of files, books, meetings, power struggles, politics, etc. that I spent fifteen years studying, trying to understand and blend into, reviewing, absorbing, arguing, memorizing, faking, pretending to be… I can hardly say when the transformation took place and became so deeply-rooted, but all of a sudden, a few months ago, it just dawned on me, that I no longer had any idea of who I was, if not the “successful lawyer”; if not the name of the law firm I worked for; if not my job and the hobbies I occasionally had the opportunity to practice, the few spare days that I managed to leave work early… and then, a pandemic –which I dare to say– literally saved me.

The pandemic, along with an incompetent governor, brought along with it the inevitable slowing down of my work load, and with nowhere to be or escape to or nobody to distract myself with, it forced me to be with myself, and no one else. And that’s when I realized, I didn’t know who that was anymore. I don’t think work was entirely to blame, but it definitely absorbed most of my time, and the spare free time I had, I spent obsessing over how that particular job was not a right fit for me, or how I deeply desired to be somewhere else, and always thinking that another — “better”– job, would be the ultimate cure to my constant discomfort, restlessness, anxiety, lack of motivation, challenge or lack of joy for life, in general.

But, it didn’t matter, because when people asked me how I was, or what was new, or how I’ve been, I always had my story straight: “I work at whatever law firm…very happy…so busy…so much work”, or in the words of the subconscious thoughts that gave me comfort: “I’m so necessary for society, and I get paid fairly well, because I have so many studies, and my work is so necessary in the world, ergo, I am necessary in the world, ergo, my life has meaning”.

So, after about six months of dwelling on the uncertainty of the pandemic, and having nothing to distract myself with, from this deep seated sadness, disappointment, anxiety, and just overall screaming unhappiness, that I always knew was there, and had just been building up for years, but didn’t wanna deal with the implications of acknowledging, I finally built up the courage to leave the lawyering, corporate, nine-to-forever, life that was literally draining my every ounce of joy, creativity, meaning, purpose and overall desire to live.

Something I had dreamt of doing for so many years… I quit. But not just that job, that entire chapter of my life, and satisfying as it was, along with the thrill of just ditching the city on a Tuesday afternoon to go surfing indefinitely to Puerto Escondido, it only took me a few days for it to settle in –where the hell had I been for so many years!!!!

It happened on an unforgettable Thursday afternoon, walking in the main street of Punta Zicatela, with absolutely no plan in sight, other than to surf until my body allowed it, and then maybe have a yummy dinner, listen to some music, have a drink, meet new people–or not–just whatever. I was chilling in a hammock outside my room, listening to this soul-stroking tune by Alex Ebert, called Truth, which, at that moment, put words and notes to everything that was just cluttered up inside me, and tied together into a humongous ball of sadness and anxiety that I had been drowning in for years… why had I spent so many years doubting myself and betraying all the things that made my heart and soul sing, that connected me with the joy and love of life??!!

Re-entry. Into myself. The entire glass plated, air-locked, thick impenetrable cement walls I had built around myself, to keep me from dreaming, desiring, enjoying, savoring life, and to chain me to this life that –I don’t know when– I decided was mine, and dragged me to an office every day, to do something I hated. Chewing up my soul, only to spit out a desensitized robot, with enhanced social skills; it all came down, under the full moon of Punta Zicatela, and I just cried. Partly grieving over the fact that it took me so long, and over how much I missed myself; but mostly tears of ecstasy, that I was still there, and I could feel that Alex Ebert tune, in every inch of my body and soul, and in general, that I could still feel something. I spent hours simply bathing in the moonlight; the dance of emotions that were stirring inside me; and all the things I wanted to do and experience, in my own terms. T

he next day I went surfing, and was so overwhelmed by the ocean, the waves, the sunlight, the joy of being present, and wanting to be there, in that exact moment, place, with nothing to distract or separate myself from me –and not wanting to either– the ocean, the joy, the beauty of life itself. Pure gratitude that I could be there, and that there was nowhere else I’d rather be, and nobody else I wanted to be there with, except myself.

Since that day, I have undertaken the most beautiful, challenging, emotional, self-redeeming journey of my life. The journey of self-discovery. It might sound like a cliché, but my entire life, and the story I had built around it, was been turned inside out, and into what has been a rollercoaster of emotions; sometimes numbing anxiety, sometimes overflowing joy and gratitude, yes, still many doubts and uncertainty, sometimes anger and other times, the deepest, most pure and sincere connections; but, in essence, liberty, authenticity–and truth.

It has been like moving into a brand-new skin. I don’t even know how I used to recognize myself in the mirror, and now I see myself, Michelle. Not the lawyer, not the woman, not the girl, not the “successful robot”, not the person who is just “too busy to live”, not my lack of self-esteem, not my past failed relationships, not the years of trying to fit into the high spheres of Mexican society, not my insecurities, not whatever I though was expected of me, not the “strong, independent woman”, not the just Michelle.

I picked up my dusted notebook, and remembered the joy of writing. I did a recount and delved into what had happened the past fifteen years, to try to understand, at what point I got lost in the way. And, inevitably, asked the unavoidable question: so, what now? To be really honest, I don’t really know, I’m just playing it by ear, and trying to trust myself, for once. And it has been good. Or, at the very least, I am very much present in the now, and listening to what Michelle wants, and what makes her feel alive.

Yes, challenges, adventures, gusto, and all of the things I didn’t allow myself to do for many years, –or didn’t have the time to do them anyways– but also, congruence, a sense of purpose, commitment, drive, perseverance, patience, resilience. But, most of all, I am present every second of the day, and happy to be so, because I feel it is my life, my story, and because that is what life is about, I think. Uncertainty, challenges, ambition, dreaming about the impossible and making it possible, making mistakes, failing and getting back up, learning– connecting with the things that make us feel alive, each and every day, and enjoying every minute of the process.