I went driving the other day, along the south shore up towards the mountains. I was overwhelmed by the color. I first noticed it while driving through sunflowers on both sides of the road. It seemed I was driving through a tunnel of yellow. In a moment I came out to a brief glimpse of the blue waters of the lake then a flash of bougainvillea. Then there was a swath of lavender which seemed to be an island in the midst of some red-leafed, low growing plant. A white baby's breath appeared here and there. Under the sunflower, leading up to a field of blue agaves, framing another field of burnt red, ripening sorghum, echoing the white flowers of groves of white blooming trees. All this visual stimulation got me to thinking about why I like Mexico.
I certainly enjoy the changing seasons, the wild flowers, the lake and the climate, but it is more than that. It is more than the "warmth of the people". I enjoy the idea of going to the mercado and meeting friends and neighbors. I like going to the tiangius and talking with the traveling merchants there. I like going to new towns and meeting new people and returning a month or so later to find that I have new friends. But a lot of that kind of thing takes place all over the world. There is something about the humility that these events elicit in my being that is pleasing.
I like mañana. I don't mind waiting a bit to get something done. I tend to relax and when I relax my blood pressure goes down and my enjoyment quotient goes up. I like not having to be anywhere at a certain time. I find that I don't enjoy going to a party or other event if there is a specified time I have to be there. I used to do everything by the clock but I really don't miss that aspect of my former life. I like knowing that nothing is the way I think it should be and I am powerless to do anything about that. Maybe I'm beginning to embrace the insignificance of myself.
It seems I have spent my entire adult life striving to attain something that was there all the time. I worked. I got ahead. I became a robotic slave. I didn't enjoy wild flowers. I knew how things were supposed to be and, by God, if they weren't the way they should be, I fixed them. The surprising thing is that I didn't know diddly squat about right and wrong or morality. I didn't even understand that the world was a magical place where scientific explanations may or may not apply. All I knew could be measured by one line. You know the one. The one at the bottom.
What I missed in all my machinations is that right and wrong is a measure of relative advantage to the society at large, not a absolute that can be changed by force of law or economic convenience. I missed the idea that warmth and caring are powerful, non-destructive tools of a vital life. Perhaps here in Mexico caring is forced on people due to economic hardships and perhaps the warmth is part of an older culture. It doesn't make any difference to me. The effect is something I like.
I never suspected that talking with my dead relatives could be therapeutic. Sometimes I wonder if my neighbors don't have more meaningful conversations with dead loved ones that I ever had with the living. It could be that this is all very fatalistic, but even if it is there is an edge missing in the quality of life here that I don't miss at all.
It's true that I like walking on the Plaza Tapatia or the Plaza Jocotepec. I Like listening to the church bells and I like the fiestas. I like the relaxed pace of life in Mexico. I like the big brown eyes of the children. I like the industrious work ethic of the people. I like being connected to the history of where I live. I like the kindness and the loud parties that go on until the wee hours. I like tequila and I like the salsa. I like the sunsets and the sunrises. I like the rainy season with its attendant light shows. But most of all I like me in Mexico. That is truly something new.
