jueves, 3 de abril de 2014

Mexico pseudo-diary Part Deux

Quite often I've found myself torturing my brain with unanswerable questions: Why did my dad die so young? Why can't I sneeze with my eyes open? Why do I wake up naturally every morning exactly at 5:53? Why do I get one ugly black hair that not even laser seem to be able to kill on my chin every month? And lately I've asked myself multiple times: How (and why!) did I end up living in Philadelphia away from my family, friends, and the life that I've build in NYC for the past fourteen years? 

I'm one of those persons that seems to have mastered the art of riding life's wave with relatively easiness. I like to call myself a professional life surfer. I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow, 99.9% of the time I don't have a plan, and basically I try not to worry about anything. I just wait for the wave to take me places. This might sound like an ideal life philosophy but the truth of the matter is that I envy people that have a plan. I was once asked by my therapist (you don't call yourself a real New Yorker until you get your own therapist a.k.a. a "friend" that charges $250 an hour for listening to your shit and keeping a straight face all most of the time) where do I see myself in five, ten, and twenty years. I freaked out. I was sent home with a note pad and a pencil and I was told not to come back until a detailed plan for the next twenty years of my physical existence in this planet was written down. Needless to say, I never saw that man again. 

So here we are, three girls in Tulum, Mexico in a beautiful hotel, drinking Margaritas and trying to figure out our very different yet very similar lives. Trusting our internal GPS i.e. gut feeling, sixth sense, voices in my head, imaginary friend with our most important decisions and basically not coming to any conclusion but to ride the wave and enjoy it as it comes. We finished our trip as clueless as we started it but with the firm believe that we are in this world to be happy not in five, ten or twenty years but today. 

Philadelphia, city of brotherly love, thanks for adopting me as one of your bastard offsprings. After six months of walking your streets, nearly being run over by a truck, falling down a flight of stairs and eating the freshest food I've had in the US (sorry NYC, Philly's restaurants rock!) I'm starting to understand why I'm here; I can't quite put in words yet, but the surfing conditions have never been better. 

With love,