I believe it is possible to realize your creative potential anywhere and find a way to explore it in a place that reflects what our dreams always told you paradise would be like. For me, it has become a little town on the Caribbean Coast of Mexico. A place where you are so easily sucked into a vortex of timelessness, and where you can discover the peacefulness of walking to your inner rhythm, only to feel the white sand lingering between your toes.
I am discovering my ability to remember faces that I see daily. A feeling a sense of familiarity with the corner stores and becoming increasingly curious about the homes built from mismatched sections of cement, sheltered from the rain with rusted pieces of tin, decorated with colorful curtains.
I find myself looking forward to the sight of the little black puppy that chases the neighborhood children as they roll an old car tire down the street. I stop and listen to their soft giggles while I watch them smile as they chase after the old beaten down tire. Their short, plump grandmother plays with them, and as I walk by to go to my apartment, my heart is warmed by the joy their connection radiates. I can only smile as they all giggle together, only wishing I could muster up the courage to speak with them in Spanish.
I have been to far more remote places in my life however the experience of becoming a resident somewhere so foreign to you in so many ways feels a bit more remote than if you were to trek in the dessert of India for days. It feels as if every day you are rediscovering a new level of comfort amongst the folks who don´t know you or never really will. You are not a tourist but not a local either, you become an anonymous intrigue. It is the strangeness of the moments and the barriers of the language that will strip you bare so you can realize the beauty in each connection you will make with those around you.
I met a Mexican woman with soft chubby cinnamon kissed cheeks and ruby red lips while on my daily walk to the local fruit market. She was selling poetry decorated with cut outs from magazines. She looked at me and handed me a small rectangular peice of cardboard with three butterflies on the front. She didn´t even ask me to buy it she smiled and gave it to me as a gift. We gathered the pieces of her broken English and my broken Spanish, to piece together a translation of her poetry.