Threshold

I am at the threshold. Everything in my life is in transition. Starting over.

Let's look at that phrase. Some may focus on the "over," as in lost it all, rock bottom. I focus on the "starting," because once you've cleared out all that's come before, there is so much space. Vast.

My lovely friend M - who provided me much love and care when I was immobile in Mexico last week - gave me a statuette of Ganesh, the beloved Hindu deity. He is the remover of obstacles and he dwells in the threshold between the old chapter and new.

I have no reason not to be scared absolutely shitless. But all I feel is done. Calm. Ready.

So here I am, dancing with Ganesh in the space between. Nowhere to go but up. Nothing to do but allow myself to be filled with new resource, new experience, new adventure.

Everything brand new. Dancing.

Om Gum Ganapatayei Namaha
Salutations to Ganesh, remover of obstacles

Hello, me

So things didn't turn out as planned. Here's what I came away with. It hit me - not that I didn't know it, but it really sunk in, you know? - that I was staying in the exact hotel room where two years before, I had decided to quit my job and start writing, looking down at the same waves, out at the same palm trees, and up at the same stars. 2009 me was so yearning, so broken. And 2010 me thought:

Knowing what I know now, will I still pull her through?

Yes. The answer is yes.

And that, for me, may have been the whole reason I was back in Vallarta for that short, painful, and poignant time.

I surrender

Well, the biggest surprise thus far is that my lower back threw out on the third day here. I have been on bed rest in my hotel room, unable to even reach the beach because it is four flights of stairs down. No elevator.

I do have an ocean view, palm trees, and the sound of waves.

The pain has been enormous. It is abating.

The immobilization meant surrender was the only option. And in that, I discovered that surrender doesn't mean laying down arms but just trusting, more and more and more.

So I trust that I will leave Mexico the better for it, having had some enforced rest.

las olas (the waves)

Sleeping and waking to the sound of the ocean. Why am I back in Mexico? Well, why wouldn't a writer and lover be?

graciasgraciasgracias

I am seeing how much I have changed - from frazzled confusion to wild art - this past year, even in the few months since I left Mexico.

I am here for sabor: taste, experience, senses.

And I am here to surprise myself.

Cosmic seduction

A few weeks ago I posed the question what happens when I let the cosmos have its way with me?

I go back to Mexico, of course.

By the way, the gorgeous mural above says remember who you are.

Can a man and woman be friends? part two

A snippet of conversation with another male friend...

Me: Are we friends?

Him: Yes. But if you were my wife, I wouldn't be able to help myself. When you walked in the door at night, I'd rip your clothes off and roll you around on the floor. If the door was still open and the neighbors happened to walk by, hell, I'd just kick it shut with my foot. I wouldn't stop for anything.

Me: Wow. Even if I were wearing these chickenshit boots? (I am housesitting for a friend who has chickens and, well...)

Him: When you've got it, it can't be covered up, woman.

Can a man and woman be friends?

Sleeping on an airbed in your ex-boyfriend's spare bedroom will do wonders for self-discovery. In fact, just being around your ex in a non-sexual way will do wonders for said self-discovery.

Last night we watched When Harry Met Sally and at some point, this inevitable dialogue ensued...

Me: Are we friends?
Him: Sure. Although it's not like me with my guy friends and you with your girlfriends.
Me: More intimate.
Him: Yeah.
Me: I mostly don't want to sleep with you.
Him: Errr....

I admit it: I crave love.

This is yummy!

Notice how you feel as you speak the following: "The strong, independent part of me resisted the embarrassing truth for a long time, but I finally came to accept that I'm someone who craves vast amounts of love. Ever since I surrendered to this need, it doesn't nag me all the time, as it used to. In fact, it feels comforting, like a source of sweetness that doesn't go away. I never thought I'd say this, but I've come to treasure the feeling of having a voracious yearning to be loved."

Courtesy of Rob Brezny's PRONOIA Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings.

Mexico

I am going back to Mexico as soon as I can.

writing, foreplay, reality?

writing.
"...Which is why I am writing this book. To think. To understand. It just happens to be the way I'm made. I have to write things down to feel I fully comprehend them."
--- from Haruki Murakami's "Norwegian Wood."

The same is true of me. I'm not able to write at the moment and it's horrible...

foreplay.
A friend of mine said she continued to have sex during pregnancy, until the final few weeks, when she simply was so full, so hormonal, so done, that she wanted nothing other than the baby to be born. I feel the same. My body is full to bursting (with my book) and all I can bear is a little light foreplay (writing down a paragraph here, a sentence there).

reality.
I am busy losing my grip on reality. What I have perceived as my reality no longer works for me. Why do I say this? I go to places, like my old house, to look for evidence of emotion and find none. Old restaurants disappoint. My friends have moved on. My ears ring with the sound of music from a different place. I can't even fucking wear my clothes anymore: nothing looks like me, nothing makes me feel like me, I hate everything I put on my body. Who I was is gone. Shit. And the old garb, the old ways, are useless.

So, what happens if I let go the iron grip? What happens if I lay down all my weapons, I mean ALL my weapons, and let the cosmos truly have its way with me?

I'll let you know.

Emerging from the cave

I'm back in North Carolina now after days on the road. The way the landscapes and temperature changed delighted me with each successive state I drove through, the fall foliage lessening to green as if I were rewinding time. No I-95 for me: I took the route through the mountains, down through the Shenandoah Valley on I-81.

My favorite part of the trip was unplanned. In Grottoes, VA, I randomly pulled off the highway to see the Grand Caverns. The mountains turning purple in the fading light, I barely made it to the last guided tour of the day.
The belly of the mountain was beautiful, and a cool 54F year-round. Quiet, just a handful of other visitors at the late hour, the marvel of the dripping stalactites, living rock. Even saw a couple of (early) hibernating bats clinging to the upper reaches of the cave when we were 200 feet below ground. Only the next day did it hit me: bats symbolize rebirth. And if that's not what I'm doing by returning to NC at the end of a long journey, I don't know what it is.

Leaving the cave as the sun set, we visitors made polite walking-to-the-car introductions. The others were inspired by my summary - quit my job to write a book and travel - and told me how brave I was. Oh, how I needed to hear that! It made me glow to remember. Me. Brave. Yes.

Gotta say it feels weird here in NC. Past, present, and future simultaneously: all my possible selves merging into one. Full circle.

Here I sit now, in a borrowed empty bedroom with no furniture, staring at the ceiling and thinking about it all.

Going, going...

Man. So I mean look, I couldn't even write in my blog this past month. I can understand if I bored you. I bored even myself. I asserted at the beginning of October that I felt good about the month--- hey, it's not over yet! But I was so wrapped up in trying to figure out what not having a book deal yet meant for me / being sorely pissed off that I kind of

ground to a halt.

And to get somewhere, you have to go somewhere. Keep moving, keep dancing (homage to Haruki Murakami's excellent Dance, Dance, Dance) to stay alive.

So while Maine was the place I edited my book, North Carolina is the place I will wait for it. No, I never imagined I'd go back to North Carolina, not in a million years, and I do not consider it a destination but -- as has happened so many times this year -- a friend has offered a place to stay while I look for a work gig. And along the way there will be adventure, friends, and resources that appear

as if by magic.

Still here

I'm still here (here in Maine and here, in the metaphysical sense). A bit tired, a bit banged up, and yet, I persist. Sometimes I wonder why I persist. Oh, yeah, I learned that in Mexico: fe, valor, corazon. Faith, courage, heart.

My book is done and now I'm on the hunt for an agent. Given that the process is now out of my control, given the approaching Maine winter, given many things I can - and can't yet - explain, I am heading South. My intuition has been nudging me for a while. Why do we ignore our deepest voice? (Food for thought). This is what I've been doing in October: surrendering and coming to terms with it. It. All of it.

"In my mind I'm going to Carolina..."

I'm still here. But soon I'll be there.

October

I have a very good feeling about October! It's a "people can you feel it, love is everywhere" kind of feeling....

Extraño Mexico (I miss Mexico)

This guy seems to be looking for warmer shores. Or perhaps just a tasty fish. As for me, I miss Mexico so much I feel it in my bones, on my skin, in my feet. I want to pack a bag and get on the plane tonight.

My friends in Puerto Vallarta tell me this is the rainiest rainy season in 50 years, with multiple torrential downpours per day, washed out roads and bridges, flooding. I can only imagine the jungle there now: conflagration of green!

I'll wait til things dry out a bit. And until I finish my current journey (Book Numero Uno).

But if I shut my eyes, I taste the avocados. Smell lime. I see the sun dropping into the ocean. I hear banda music blaring from a pickup truck late at night. My feet in flip-flops familiar with the cobblestone streets. The people who somehow look at me and know me, immediately.

Miss Mexico as much as a lover. More than.

OHHHHHHHH.

I have never wanted

I have never wanted
something so
much.

never so bewitched
mesmerized
by stars

now what?

September

The change of seasons in Maine is just as drastic (if not sometimes rocky) as its coast. A week ago, it was flip-flop weather: warm, sunny, blue skies. Now, it's shoe weather: cool, breezy, with clouds.

As the trees seem to be getting ready to turn, we move into the typical harvest time.

For me, the harvest - fruits of my labors - will be my book.

My time in Maine is drawing to a close, so I savor each moment, making sure to take the back roads that show me views like the one you see above.

A needed correction

A few posts ago, I mentioned my housekeeping work at a lovely B&B. My new friend G pointed out that I'm not "just" a housekeeper, that I am a valuable helper and that in this coastal town during the summer, people from all walks of life are waiting tables, cleaning rooms, working the front desk. Whatever it takes to keep the tourist trade turning, dancing to beat the band because for most of the year, Maine is cold. And dark. And heating oil is expensive. So people have to WORK when they can.

"My gosh, we have people with PhD's scooping ice cream. Just a housekeeper," Greg said.

He calls me "Kellydoodles," by the way, which tickles me to no end.

In no way did I mean to disparage the work. I suppose I was trying to make a clever literary contrast between my past and present. But really...if I'm honest...I was wallowing in self-pity a teensy bit also. So unhelpful.

At the end of the day, it's not what you do, it's how you do it.

Thank you for the big fat reality check, G!

Moon in Maine

Submerged

I am deep into the editing right now. You can feel the change of season coming soon: a touch of cool on the wind, earlier nightfall. Momentum! Inevitability!

Entering the Silence

Lately I've been so wrapped up in all kinds of noise - real and imagined, physical and mental - that I am craving silence.

Native American tradition speaks about Entering the Silence, or going into the deep quiet within you to access inner knowing. I'm doing this with 20 minutes of daily meditation. And I feel yoga lets you touch silence too, in terms of letting pure energy take over. I guess there are a number of ways to Enter the Silence.

It's only after having experienced summer and winter here that I truly get, truly appreciate the gift of the Maine winter. The summer is about tourists and traffic and locals scrambling to deal with both. But in winter, there is silence, and you can immerse yourself - and find yourself - in the rugged landscape and the elements.

It is a marvelous thing.

I kind of feel like I am eating some words right now...

...and no, I will not be here this winter!

Maine, August

August in Maine is breezy and green. The nights are especially cool and feel like autumn in the South. The streets are packed with tourists, many of them Quebecois, lugging beach gear or flitting to dinner in the evenings.

I am embarking on a full polish of my book now, something I expect to take six weeks. Every day is so hard, because I get close to the finish line only to have it move away from me. Every day is so magic, because there are small pleasures to make me smile.

I can truly say this is the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. And I've done some things!

Fe, valor, corazon. Faith, courage, heart.

Teeny pleasures

Talking with M, she said, "I am someone who takes pleasure in small things. But my mom: she is happy with really small things. Things like sharp new scissors, or fresh milk."

And I thought: what a blessing. Being blissed out with the nuances of life that usually fly under most people's radar. I know people who'd need a private jet to make them happy. And people who get happy with an extra 10 minutes of sleep, or a light bulb, or a juicy peach.

I'm aligning myself with the sharp new scissors people. Because then everything is joyous and magical, not just the expensive, the extravagant, the large.

Thank you for some teeny pleasures in my life...

• Blueberry honey
• A lime
• Soft blue bath mat
• How good my pillow felt last night
  

Everything will now come your way

That post title was in a fortuitous fortune cookie, by the way.

Today I moved out of my friends' home and into a room above a Mexican restaurant. Talk about material! My new home is twice the width of a twin mattress. I have a dorm-sized fridge, an ancient microwave, and my own bathroom.

And I got a job today as well, working at a lovely little B & B. As a housekeeper. To summarize, I used to have a flashy international-traveling, suit-wearing job. Now I'm a part-time housekeeper living in a rooming house, waiting to hear from my editor.

Oh. You thought I wasn't serious about pursuing my dream and publishing my book? That something like this would derail or defuse me?

No chance.

(I think I am going insane.)

Writer

To be a writer is to be hungry for words, like some people yearn for a steak or sex or a hot bath or a hot girl or a long vacation. I want to bathe in words. Words have always been my solace, my cross, my love, my talent.

I was invited to go dance at a gay bar tonight but instead I find myself here, writing.

Surrender, believe

Seen in a library parking lot!

For those of you wondering hey, what's Kelly doing now? I have the very same question! I am surrendering, going with the flow, following the prevailing energy. A year-long writing journey, complete with all the nebulousness and travel, has left me rootless and spaced-out. I just want rest.

So that's what I'm doing (or, not doing). Enjoying the soil-scented breezes. Drinking tea and doing yoga. Seeing family. Taking walks.

It's blissful and I am grateful.

Time out for thanks

Returning to Maine, I stayed in a hotel before moving to a little studio someone helped me find. Alas, it had a raging mold problem. I couldn't stay even one night. I landed back at the hotel again, car full of dirty clothes and the flotsam and jetsam of my life, numb with my situation. No home no job nowhere girl.

Never take for granted a roof over your head or a place to wash your underwear!

Then my friend K sent a note, saying I could stay at his place for a few weeks. In honor of this kindness, I wanted to take time to say Thank You! to all who have helped me so far on my journey:

• N, for smiling at me
  
• R & M, for being my family
• TRB, for making me the brave bad-ass I am today
• M & C, for the lake and the house in town
  
• M, for a bed in your fairy garden home
• D & B, for the place over the Thai restaurant
• C, for being my winter anchor and "Connection"
  
• My yoga teachers J, J, and MB
• My massage gurus E, A, and T
• K, mi amiga, for your infinite heart
• F, for absolute loyalty and unconditional love
• K and J, for room and board in Maine
  
• K, for keeping me in smiles and roses

And the beauty is: my journey continues still!

A return

I'm back in Maine, which is now blooming and alive.

But my very first morning back in the US looked like this:

I believe the hotel room above - result of a delayed flight on the way home - was the polar opposite of Mexico. Just look at it! Ascetic, corporate, muted inoffensive colors.

SIGH and SIGH again.

My heart is alternating between the emotion of the two photos: happy blossom and gray fog. I miss Mexico ferociously, with every fiber. Yet, I need to be home right now. The book demands it. So for the moment, I content myself with a gentle transition sweetened with lobster rolls and blueberry sodas...

Any words of wisdom from my posse out there?

Ultimo dia en Mexico

Last day in Mexico. Everything took on a new sheen, down to the 3am techno music wake up call and dusty streets.

My mind said how can you leave Mexico? My heart answered you don't leave Mexico. It stays in you forever, no matter where you go.

My Mexican friends only said cuando regresas? When are you coming back? For them it was a given that I was only leaving for a little while.

I started this blog to chronicle the journey from Maine to Mexico. Today I realized that somewhere along the way, I'd already placed a period after Maine. Winter in Maine. Period.

And yet, God had placed a comma. Maine, the place where I'll go through the editing process.

I feel quite comfortable with the continuation of From Icy to Spicy because while I will be departing Vallarta, I've become one spicy woman.

So stay tuned.

Adios, Mexico

I have finished my book. 12 months, 7 beds, 2 countries, 1 dream realized.

And I am leaving Mexico. As a friend said though, I´ve been bitten (literally!). I will return someday.

Gracias, Mexico, por todos...

Seeking literary agent

It is time. I am ready for an agent!

Excerpt

Another excerpt:

There are days I flip through my book and either laugh or cry from the intensity of the words, the words. Days I have to give myself a lusty round of applause after finishing a chapter. No, really: clapping for myself, for my writing. Some days I will read a phrase or section over and over again, burning into my mind the artistry of describing a snowflake as “a poem in ice.” I mean goddamn, that’s classic. I can see that quoted in the magazines. In the New York Times.

Other days, I am wracked with pain and doubt and it hurts, physically hurts, to think about opening the laptop. For what I’m doing is giving my all. I mean, it’s all there: the abuse, the sex, everything. This book IS me. And in opening the Pandora’s box of your realest, truest self, the shit hits the fan. Everything comes out and the potential for ridicule or even just a lukewarm review stings. Because it’s YOU that’s being judged. Opening the laptop equals opening my heart. It’s not like corporate work, producing something far removed from your soul, not like a job just to pay the bills. Imagine your friends and coworkers reading your story and saying, damn, we just never knew her at all. Who is this person? A broken sage, a hero. A slut! Imagine your family reading about themselves or things they’ve chosen to bury and you have chosen to excavate in the name of art.

Imagine your grandmother reading something you wrote about oral sex.

Your heart laid bare on the page, think about it, saying everything you’ve ever wanted to say, it’s monumental. And you wonder how artists do it, how they put their soul out there to the public as a tangible creation, a statue or a carving or a piece of embroidery or a purse or a book. And you keep writing through that doubt and pain, surrendering to it. Because it’s the real stuff, the elation, the pain, that jumps off the page with passion, daring the reader to look. To feel. Emotions so beautiful it is impossible to look away because someone can read my work and say, wow, I feel like she does. Or, I wish I could feel that way. How can I feel that way? I hope my work brings up deep questions for people that help them shine light into their lives.

I burned the bridges when I set out on this journey because I knew I’d be traveling ever forward. I’m writing it because I have to. Because there is no other way for me to live. Come what may, I’m writing this book. My work must be read.

Goat's milk caramel lollipops

... do I need to say anything more? Oh. My. God. DELICIOUS! Haute cuisine flavor for a Cheetos price.

Jackhammers in paradise

Two construction sites, flanking either side of my building. 8:00 am to 6:00 pm. Banging, clanging, and the sound of jackhammers. In paradise.

Merely the sound of my own internal demons.

Even as I get ready to write what I'm about to write I think, oh, how crude and how melodramatic. But the toothsome demons I've been dealing with this past year and especially, these past weeks, well, they are powerful indeed. Not to be handled lightly.

LISTEN UP, MOTHERFUCKERS!

I AM DONE WITH YOU!

NOTHING YOU CAN DO WILL STOP ME BECAUSE I AM ENTIRELY COMMITTED TO FINISHING THIS BOOK. I AM HERE AND I WILL NEVER RUN AWAY.

LEAVE NOW AND NEVER RETURN!

Viva

Carbon footprint

I have been sad and angry about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. I believe it was entirely preventable and that BP is shamefully culpable.

Ultimately, the potential for this kind of disaster exists the more we - all consumers of petroleum products - rely on oil.

If there's a big lesson here, it's: the way "things have always been done" is DONE.

Ways to make an immediate impact (from Al Gore's website):

• Use CFL lightbulbs
• Drive less
• Recycle more
• Keep tires properly inflated
• Use less hot water
• Avoid products with lots of packaging
• Adjust your thermostat
• Plant a tree
• Turn off / unplug electronic devices when not in use
  
• Go meatless (even one day a week)
  
• Unplug unused appliances / devices

And you can always boycott BP. Stop using BP gas stations, as well as ampm, Arco, and Aral stations. BP also owns Wild Bean Cafe and Castrol.

Hermit

Why didn't I see it before? In the process of writing this book, I've purposely put myself in situations that are isolating, all while feeling terribly lonely.

Maine in winter. Enough said. I lived in a coastal town that is basically closed from October through May. I hear they are still - still! - wearing sweaters there.

Puerto Vallarta in summer. I had visions of shaking off the dust and embracing life again. I'm realizing now that the weather here is conducive to staying inside. And as people keep telling me, it's not even begun to get hot yet: just wait til the rains start in June. As it gets hotter, I will spend more time in my apartment with the glorious view. People have also said that Vallarta really comes alive from November to March (and not now, when I am here). To be fair, as far as liveliness goes, Mexico is at the opposite end of the spectrum from Maine.

Fuck.

Am I just incredibly smart, creating spaces to force me to face myself and write...or what? I don't know how to feel.

MOMENTUM!

Suddenly there is great momentum with my writing. Sitting down to the laptop is the focal point, eclipsing the beach and the boys and the food and the fireworks. Of course those things can only enhance the writing.

But the point is: IT'S ALL ABOUT THE BOOK.

It always has been. All my life.

My book has now been granted an ... inevitability. Don't ask me to explain it. I now know that nothing else stands in my way.

muy rico, es muy muy rico, si.
delicious, it's very very delicious, yes.

Balance

My body is valiantly trying to find some sort of balance here in Puerto Vallarta. It seems elusive. Here is someone who is a master of balance:














It was fascinating to watch this wizard of rocks coax stones into impossible structures. These big rocks are balancing on just the slightest of surface. I could swear he was talking to them.

It took time. I suppose it will take time for me, as well.

Dark

Amongst all the cosmic bliss, there are dark days. Days where I have stood, clothing drenched with sweat, at the bottom of 10 flights of stairs up to my apartment and thought, when's the next plane out? Days where loneliness aches. Days worry rears its head. Days an evil voice hisses what do you think you're doing here?

Or nights where you wake up, your chest clenched and heart racing. I'd had a round of tropical respiratory voodoo and self-treated with antibiotics recommended by the pharmacist. Turns out they were the wrong ones, at the wrong dose. Sometimes traditional medicine - something I don't put much stock in - does help.

That night, I felt so dizzy and out of it, I thought I might be severely dehydrated. I called the only person I knew to call - Jose, the building manager - and asked him where I should go. He said he would come and take me to the doctor. As this was happening, my gringo neighbors came back from a late night of partying. They asked me what was wrong and when I told them, replied, "Well, there's a hospital right up the street. Try drinking water." Their door clanged shut.

Note to self: when you encounter a neighbor who is sick and disoriented, help the person!

The dark moment showed me what I've already seen here: that Mexicans embrace you as family, if you're willing to hold out your arms to them.

Shooting star

Last night I talked to a new friend from neon-pink sunset until the stars came out and beyond. We lay on the sand, looking up at the sky and out of nowhere this marvelous laughter. All night, this laughter cascading parading serenading out of me.

me encanta mexico
i love mexico

Excerpt

Nothing is better than the feeling of that zone, that writing zone that writers get into. No more thoughts, just the click of the keys as words spill.

An excerpt from my book:

"When we touch once more, it all begins. I need a few more nights of good sleep before it all begins. As he stood in my hotel room, expectant with heat, my eyes focused on a bracelet he wore of small brown shells. With the very tip of my finger I touched it and saw, in the matte surfaces, us lying body to body, arms wrapped around each other, him inside me. So it’s raw but tender and it’s fated and it’s confundido, confusing, and it’s fractured and it’s humid and I don’t think I’ll be able to do the summer, with its rains washing women down the street, without the immovable touch of a dark-eyed man to keep me from succumbing to the flood. Fractured: my insides broken by the thought of who I was supposed to be. Repaired: he creates out of the shards, the glitter, the heartbreak, the single time I felt the pulsing stab of desire to be pregnant, watching my mother almost die, watching my mother almost die, looking at my dad for the first time, aurora borealis, orgasms so good they make me laugh until l snort, death, miracle, prayer. With hands muscled from cutting meat, sure of touch and somehow not belonging to another, he rebuilds me into a collage."

The place where

The place where he touched my arm burned, melting into my body.

Now

Every day here is magic. Some new friend, new sight - or insight. Mexico is a country of now. El Ahora. What is happening right this second? Nothing else matters. It is not a place of planning.

Now, I am thinking about the boy who gave me a kiss the other night.

Now, I want a glass of freshly squeezed mango juice with lime.

Now, the temperature is perfect, with a blue sky touched with breeze.

Stormy birthday to me

I celebrated a birthday this past week. I tried for some magic. But I got rained on, instead.

Nothing felt right that day. I felt weepy and lonely and decided to get dressed up (mascara, even!) and go to a special restaurant. I followed someone's hand-drawn map and - ¡Es no hay! It wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere.

When I started walking the 20 hot and dusty blocks back to my hotel, the skies opened up. I got back to the restaurant next to my hotel - the best food I've found in the city so far - and had my dinner back where I'd started.

Three good things happened on my birthday: I found an awesome yoga class. I had an awesome piece of Mexican corn cake. I looked awesome in my birthday outfit, even a bit rained on.

Bienveniedos

I made it. Not sure what day it is, what time it is, or who I am anymore. Somehow I lost all these things in flight, like wayward luggage.

But I do know I am here. Specifically in an internet cafe writing to you and staying at the hotel whose courtyard you see up top.

It's impossible not to be in a place that is so totally, vibrantly alive at all hours of the day. When my body and spirit catch up with each other ... you'll hear from me again!

A last thought

I've let go of detailed intentions for my trip. Maybe it will be one week - and that would be great. Maybe it will be three months - that would be great too. No more trying to structure magic.

My desires are:

To be warm.
To laugh.
To surrender & receive.

Thank you, Maine

For the brilliant stars. For the hush of snow. For time and space to see myself. For time with my beloved family. For the sound of waves crashing during a Nor'easter. For the friends I have made and the love they've given me. Six months has somehow become the beat of a wing.

Maine, you've prepared me for whatever comes next.

Thank you.

And now, off to Mexico.

Packing up

Yesterday I started organizing my things for the trip. As I began to peek into drawers, unearthing useless objects I'd hidden away six months ago, I heard the roar of heavy machinery across the street. A crew was demolishing a small inn that had stood empty all winter. Getting rid of something old to make room for something new: a lovely omen. I got it, I got it!

Jodi, Marlee Matlin's wonderful character on The L Word, said something just gorgeous to Bette during a seduction scene:

"The more I'm afraid of something, the more I know I have to do it. I figured that out when I was a kid. I can lead a protected life, hiding away from the scary world. Or, I can take on the things that scare me the most. The more it might hurt, the more I might die doing it, the more worth doing it must be."

And that resonated as much as the snarling metaphysical demolition taking place within me now. Oh, fuck.

Blue sky, red dress

What a glorious day. It was the first time my toes had seen sun in six months. My toes and I enjoyed dark chocolate ice cream sitting on a park bench, watching people stroll through the center of town. Watching bikers cruise by in leather.

I heard someone exclaim "oh my gay GOD!" in a very loud, very gay voice. (Was it the leather that prompted that?)

Later, I took myself out to dinner in The Red Dress. I sat in a room with a tree completely adorned in white Christmas lights. A chef I will call the Dessert Fiend tried valiantly to get me to eat cheesecake peach tart chocolate mousse cheese plate ANYTHING! But I was content with the wild mushroom soup and the perfect scallops and bok choy.

Life is coming back to Maine.

Blank canvas

Back when I went into my office job each day, I just knew. I knew, for the most part, what awaited me. The bad included unreasonable executives, sitting in a cubicle, body aches, the commute, panic. The good included yoga, seeing a friend, or wine and food at an expensive bistro. Or maybe just lots of wine at said bistro. The ache of frustrated dreams plagued me, as did loneliness, but a comfortable predictability reigned.

What about once I venture to Mexico? A great unknown. I can feel it but I don't know it. A sage might ask, well, Kelly, what do you want from your time in Mexico?

That I do know. Adventure. A big book deal, and soon. And love. The love of my life.

I feel a pushy urge for the trip to be monumental, in exchange for all the emotional currency I've laid down. I want certainty! I changed my entire life for this book. Threw off the shackles of comfort for not knowing.

Knowing everything would take away the magic of surprise, whispers the sage.

Tasty playlist

Pandora gave me a run of perfect songs this morning. One after the other, sweet tunes that made me exclaim "oh, yeah!" every time another one came on. Such things are not coincidence. Are the gods smiling on me, or what?

Drunken Hearted Boy, Allman Brothers
Wild Horses, Rolling Stones
Trouble No More, Allman Brothers
Blues in 'A', Clapton
Mary Jane's Last Dance, Tom Petty
Simple Man, Skynryd
Sky is Crying (live), Stevie Ray Vaughan
Sailin' Across the Devil Sea, Allman Brothers
Crossroads, Cream
Whole Lotta Love (live), Zeppelin
No One Left to Run with (live), Allman Brothers
Dear Mr. Fantasy, Traffic

I loved it! I love this blog! I love this life! I love!

Yearning...

There's something that keeps invading my thoughts. At a yoga workshop, I once met a woman who said that she spent seven hours kissing one of the loves of her life. She said that nothing else ever happened between them but that epic liplock on a porch overlooking a river.

After so much time, that kiss would move beyond lust, beyond the physical, beyond to a spiritual - a mystical - experience.

Seven hours.

Kissing.

Cannot stop thinking about it.

Sueño

It means dream.I am trusting my deepest instincts, which are telling me in no uncertain terms to go to Mexico right now. I just don't think I'd be pushed towards something that would hurt me. That kind of fearlessness is how this artist has to live her life.

"I just can't live my dream and be myself...because something bad will happen!!!"

No, no, no.

I am writing the story as I go along and the next chapters are all about sun, sand, sass, senses, surrender, sexuality, spring, summer...sueño. Notice how the sound of "S" is like the ocean?

I know I will be safe and welcomed wherever I roam.

Happy Spring Equinox, all!

Freak. Out.

This is the lowest day I've had in a long time. I'm having a freakout. What do I think I'm doing? I don't know anyone in Mexico. I don't have a firm place to stay. I don't feel able to continue on in Maine - and I no longer have a home to return to in Carolina.

My ship is without mooring.

Today I had a meeting connected with my freelance work. I ended up in a corporate meeting room without lunch, feeling dazed and trapped, surrounded by a network of gray cubicles. This put a quick end to yesterday's fantasies of returning to the "respectable world." Huh.

I really, really, really, really (you get the picture) feel uncomfortable about my housing situation in Mexico - or lack thereof. I've been corresponding with two people who contacted me via Craigslist. One is a woman with a room to rent. Her English isn't stellar and her concept of time is fuzzy. But this could be the structuralist in me being confused by the live-in-the-nowist in her.

The other option I've been pursuing is a place owned by an American who winters there. He said he could not hold the condo for me, to which I replied if it was the place for me, it would be available when I arrived. He gave me the email of his previous tenant. She raved about the place but said she'd rented the place sight unseen - and counseled me to do the same, lest this perfect deal pass me by. When I said "oh, no" she pushed me yet again, saying offers like this don't come along all the time and that I would be wise to sign on.

Up til that point, I was thinking this would be the place for me. But I'm feeling sold to. What if these are just some scammers sitting in their basement somewhere, far from Vallarta?

I am feeling spectacularly angry and alone.

Riding the wheel

During a tarot reading, the Wheel of Fortune came up for my time in Mexico. Once I heard the meaning, I had to smile. And every time I think of it, I smile yet again.

Jane Lyle's The Secret Tarot says that the Wheel of Fortune card signifies "change, movement, and unexpected twists of fate." It is a transcendent (one of my favorite words!) card representing both the end and beginning of something.

Aeclectic Tarot goes even further, painting a glorious picture of what awaits, based on the appearance of this card: "Call it karmic payback for all the good things they've done in life - destiny or just luck - but whatever lotteries are out there, large or small, they've just won one."

Gracias.

I have a date...

...with Mexico. I bought my ticket today. Before my next birthday, I will be walking along la playa and breathing in the salty ocean breeze.

This was a big step for me.

¡Fiebre primaveral!

It means spring fever. And that's just what's hit Maine this weekend. The beach was packed with people. Everyone was smiling. I even met a woman with a dog who was half wolf. She - the dog, not the woman - dipped her pink tongue into the ocean and then sneezed.

For me, spring fever awoke this morning with the intense desire to dress up for dinner. I mean tall boots, dress, and eye makeup. Off with the fleece, jeans, and Uggs and on with something fancy!

I called the man who works at the eyeglasses shop. (I just got a new pair).

"Hi, S?"

"Oh, Kelly, your frames aren't ready yet."

"No, well, um, I'm calling for another reason. You said you were looking for a reason to dress up. That you don't get a chance to dress up as much since you moved from New York City."

"Uh huh." He's sounding confused here.

"So I thought, why don't we grab a bite to eat and dress up together? Sounds fun, right? Good conversation, fancy clothes?"

"Oh. Oh! I am so flattered. But I have to tell you, I'm a married man, so I don't think that would be appropriate. But oh, so flattering!" Now he's sounding quite pleased with himself.

I agreed with him and hung up. I'll chalk that one up to the rising of the sap...

I love you, too

There's not a lot of color in Maine in February. But I've got an audacious florist friend who keeps me steeped in nature's palette. A little eye candy. Thanks, K!

Like this glorious rose above, which opened into a cosmic message of love. Spectacular.

And meet "Shocking Versilia." Quite the strong, masculine rose, don't you think? I love a nice, straight stem. Insert dirty joke here.

He's watching over me as I write...

Fleeeeeece!

I am tired of wearing:


I am eager to wear:


One says cozy, snoozy warmth. The other, lively, sexy movement. I'm finding it harder and harder to feel creative wearing something that feels like a sheep.

Waiting is the hardest part

So I took myself out of the running for the garden house with no ocean view. The homeowners scolded me a bit, saying that I wouldn't find a view at my budget. I've thrown out some lines with local shop owners I met when on vacation last year, and eagerly await to hear back about someone's cousin's wonderful little beachfront gem.

I've also been perusing Craigslist and if I am willing to share, it looks like I could score a great situation at a great price.

More inspiration from my trip last year. This was the view from the hotel's rooftop restaurant.

See why I'm holding out?

Mi casa es su casa

The adventure's got to start with finding una casa. Or even a casita! Here's the view from my hotel in Vallarta last year:

When I finally got to the hotel after the flight, the stress of work still clinging to my edges, I saw this and said ahhhhh! and in the next breath I may never leave. The view is crucial. The view feeds my dreams and my writing. It both calms and excites.

Here's the view from my apartment in Maine:

The ocean is right behind that hotel across the street. When it storms, I can hear the crashing of the waves if I stand on the porch. I compromised with this one. Because if I'm going to live on the coast again, I need to be able to see the ocean!

And have a veranda. On this veranda, with the waves below, I can see myself kissing, mmm, making love to a dark-haired man. Having my tea in the morning. Writing. A veranda is a must!

I did come across an amazing house - 3 bedrooms, garden, in a traditional Mexican neighborhood - for a song. BUT...no ocean view!

I can just hear the birds in this garden and my neighbor's music dancing over the wall!

But I have to hold out for the view. Right? I will land the big fish of the place with the view for a reasonable (starving artist) price!

Hey, you out there: what do you think?

p.s. I have a follower now. Whoo hoo!

A kick in the pants from afar

"Okay, lady, when's your next entry?" wrote my friend, giving me an email kick in the pants from New York City. Yeah, where the hell IS it? Could it be...

1. I am wary of the blog, circling the adversary like an ancient warrior, figuring out my next move.

How do my blog and book fit together? Does the blog replace the familiar paper journal I write in every day? How often am I to blog?

2. I am busy being inspired. Who has time to blog when I need to watch Dead Poets Society again? What a gem of a movie. Boys chasing dreams and letting the humble heart - and grand poetry - be their guide. Yum. Carpe diem! Sounding a barbaric YAWP!

And you have to admit, Lindsey Vonn's warrior skiing was absolutely killer. Her power and determination were wonderful to behold. Getting my book published is my women's downhill.

3. My mother read my blog and said: "you sound like a mixture of Terry McMillan and Erica Jong." I didn't know what to make of that. Is that something I want? Well, ok: assertive, sexy, unconventional women doing what they please and writing about it. Yeah, I'm down with that. Or could it be...

4. I am scared shitless about going to Mexico.

But hold up. February 14 - the day of my blog launch, Valentine's Day - was also the start of the Lunar New Year. It's the Year of the Tiger. And a Tiger person is just who I happen to be. A fact gleaned from countless Chinese restaurant placemats! Tiger people are courageous and outrageous, going for the gusto and - to take a page from the Dead Poets - sucking the marrow out of life.

When the little voice says don't you think you could just go back?, I just turn the Gov't Mule up a bit louder.

Scared? Oh, fuck, no. Fearless.

¡Hola, mis amigas y amigos!

I am rewilding myself.

That is, I am returning to a natural state, the sexy juicy bold brave raw loving savoring celebrating curious cosmic circumstance I would inhabit without the interference of the humdrum and ho-hum. Just like a jaguar dancing through jungle foliage.

Let’s take a look at Kelly in her habitat. Here she is, strolling down the street in some tropical locale, clothed in a pink t-shirt and a floaty bit of skirt, her smile a stupor of joy. Here she is, sitting on a verdant veranda, journal in hand. See her playing in the waves. See her eating guacamole. See her finally finishing her memoir and shaking her hips in front of her laptop…

To get back to my worldly wildness, first I have to get out of Maine!

I am heading to Mexico.

Last February I traveled to Puerto Vallarta on a last-minute vacation whim, drenching myself in ocean and sunset. In May, I left a decade-long corporate career. During the summer, I bounced from friend to friend and wrote like my life depended on it. Which it did, I think. Against a backdrop of flaming fall foliage, I road tripped to Maine.

And then it got cold.

And then it got colder.

Who knew they made fleece pants?

Damn. Is that my big hibernation ass in the mirror? Junk in the trunk!

One day as I gazed out at cars drifting by on Route 1, I knew my winter writing retreat was over. It was time to put up or shut up. I’d quit a job – a career – to do this. Time to put myself out there and go back to Mexico. Puerto Vallarta and I have some unfinished, enchanted business.

Happy Valentine’s Day, me!

I consider my book a love letter. Penning a memoir ties you up and teaches you to love life. All of it. The pain and the laughs, the watery peaks and troughs, the lobster rolls and slippery sidewalks, the breakdowns and shakeups and breakups, the fucking, the loving, the sweet sweaty pleasure of who you really are when you forget yourself.

I’ve already fought my way to the top. Now, I shall surrender my way to the top. This will be easy to do with the spicy, lime-scented breezes of Mexico under my wings.

Come with me.