<!–more–> If you have been reading my posts previously, you know that I had a totally uninvited and unexpected awakening. As usual, this epiphany had to break down my door and bowl me over. Of course, I would have preferred for it to be not quite so scary but sometimes we’re not given the choice.

I like visitors. I’ve never expected that people or spirits would have to wait for an invitation from me before showing up at my door. As is my experience, good things usually come with their arrival regardless of the tidings or appearance. And if I were to be totally honest, I would have to say that the totally unexpected part is not completely accurate; the uninvited, yes, because I prefer to be oblivious if I can help it… but it rarely works out that way. I had a feeling that my time was well over due for a visitation.

I want to be honest with myself but when I’m not being transparent, I usually don’t know it. Like my moving to Mexico for instance; this is the perfect example. Maybe if I had been more willing to look at myself and my dream in the light of my age and circumstance, I wouldn’t have had to go through the falderal of packing up my life and flying down here, just to move back in two and a half months.

You know when someone says, “I told you so”, and you think, “shut the fuck up, I’m learning as fast as I can “? Well, that’s where I’m at. And it’s not been in vain.

After a week of cleaning, eating and sleeping, I got over my drug induced physical weakness and panic mode. I was still as determined as ever to go “home”. I emailed Rebecca and told her what had happened and explained to her that I wanted to get out of the lease. “I’m afraid that I physically can’t manage climbing the stairs to do laundry, getting onto the buses, walking on the streets, being so alone”, I told her. I got no sympathetic email back. I got a terse note, reminding me that I had signed a lease. If I wanted out of the lease, “find someone to take it over”. Period. No mention of the chocolates just a “good luck finding someone now that it’s the low season”. Having rented to who she thought would be a long term renter, she was justified in her response. Well, as it turned out, someone rented the house right away and July 18 for a move in date was perfect for the new renter and for me.

So, at that time, I gave myself about seven weeks here in Vallarta. I didn’t want to just fly out of here. Although there are moments when that’s exactly what I want to do. What should I do with my time that I have left? I won’t stay at home and cry, protecting my knees, I’ve got to go out and see what’s going on.

I have this nagging feeling that I might regret going home, but I have a clear sense of joy that I will be able to help Hannah. I also know, without a shadow of a doubt, that my dream to move to Mexico was an old one. It was a dream that developed so long ago and was no longer relevant. But I would have always wondered if I should have retired here if I hadn’t come and tried this.

There are still so many questions I have that will never be answered with surety: What if I came down here with a partner? Would I be so lonely? What if Hannah didn’t need me? Would I stay? What if I’d moved into an ex-pat community? Would I have been so conscious of the disparities between the vacationers and those that make the vacation what it is? But I believe that I can answer them fairly easily: Nothing I do can change the discomfort I feel around the exploitation of Mexico and worse yet, nothing I can do can change the situation at all. More than anything, I need and want to be close to my roots, to my friends and family. And I still think could die in this house, in this city and no one would know for several days.

The following posts to this blog will be about Karen at large in Vallarta. I invite the unseen guests of my past hopes and dreams to dialogue with me consciously. I want to “show up and face the reality of my life” as it is, not in false hopes and aspirations, otherwise, I might have to have another rude awakening and that was not fun.