"Take a giant leap into that which sets your soul on fire and never retire from that leap." Hiral Nagda Here's my current reality. I'm in Sayulito, Mexico, in a rented house with my husband, most of my adult children, and their spouse…
"Take a giant leap into that which sets your soul on fire and never retire from that leap." Hiral Nagda
Here's my current reality. I'm in Sayulito, Mexico, in a rented house with my husband, most of my adult children, and their spouses, all of whom are part of my beloved brood.
What could go wrong?
Well, for one, I posted some adorable pics on Instagram of Larry and me enjoying a glass of champagne in first class while three of my children were crammed in economy. The side-by-side images were hysterical (Umm…in my opinion). Unbeknownst to me, my "unnamed" oldest child was sporting multiple chins in said image. My bad. I failed to notice the blunder. I just saw the adorable child I spent twenty-four hours giving birth to thirty-seven years ago.
The joys of motherhood.
My gaffe did not go over well with the offspring. I was severely chastised and forbidden to post on the platform for the rest of the weekend (they never said anything about WordPress).
When we land in Puerta Vallarta, the dichotomy between the front and back of the plane widens, and I find myself staring at a rusted shopping cart languishing in a muddy stream, gathering branches and debris. The fragile current is forced into a mock division as it flows around the abandoned cart, delineating the unpredictable nature of life even further. The cart deteriorating and ignored, its purpose obvious but unclear.
So when our driver stopped at the grocery outlet so we could stock up on supplies before arriving at the rental house, I held onto my cart with a new sense of purpose.
Shopping in a foreign country is a unique and complicated experience when six people with opposing agendas gather supplies. While I'm searching for cheese, crackers, apples, eggs, and bacon, the family is stocking my cart with Tequila and limes, chips and dip, beer, water, wine, and coffee. The price of procreation? Three thousand five hundred and fifty-six pesos.
After being dropped off at the curb with seven pieces of luggage and six bags of groceries, it feels as if we're permanently relocating instead of attending a weekend wedding.
A fifteen-foot massive front gate confronts us but we have the secret code that allows us to slip inside a hidden door within this formidable wall, and seriously, it's as if we arrived in Shangri-la.
The front yard has an infinity pool with steps leading up to the front terrace. Just beyond the salt-water pool are two sets of sliding glass doors (yes, you can create an open-air room by shoving the sliders into the wall) that lead into the great room, dining area, and swanky kitchen with the expected colorful Mexican tiles and dark wood cabinets.
It's both rustic and elegant, full of artistic surprises and charming appeal.
The second floor has three generous bedrooms and two baths, with a shared balcony overflowing with lush vines visible from the pool below. The third level is the master suite, with an extravagant bath and private patio.
Negotiations ensue, territories are claimed, and the unpacking begins.
When I laid out an assortment of outfits on my bed before this trip even began, I was at a complete loss for what would be needed in sunny Sayulita, Mexico, with its intense sun, abundant humidity, and all the expected diversions of a destination wedding.
You know what I mean?
I'm always at a loss when it comes to planning for the unknown, often finding myself unprepared and lacking the most basic of skills.
I forget my bathing suit, pack too many tops, and all the wrong shoes, which results in blistered feet, fashion faux pas, and a sunburn.
Life is a gamble, a risk, but I've noticed this is where our real opportunities often hide (keep reading, I'll circle back).
The truth is, I'm pretty hesitant when it comes to taking a leap of faith or stepping bravely into the vastness of life, including travel, marriage, and death, which come with their own mysterious caveats. I don't know about you, but I learned the true meaning of commitment after I said, "I do," not before. I discovered courage I never knew I had when someone handed me an infant without instructions. And eventually I realized fear is simply my own projections in need of revision.
I cringe when I think about all the ridiculous things I've done because I feared rejection. I've smiled at rude people, failed to voice my opinion when it mattered most or advocate for my needs when necessary.
Okay, talk about advocating for oneself. We were promised simple amenities such as an ironing board and iron. The ironing board was found lounging in the front bath, but none of us could locate the iron, instigating a hissy fit from another "unnamed" child.
High-maintenance kids or what?
She insists Larry call the manager and complain. Larry knows when he's outranked, so he called and was told it's in the master closet.
We had already looked in every drawer, shelf, and cupboard, but in the hope of negotiating peace from the wrinkle warrior, I looked again and found that little bastard in the very back corner of the drawer.
Our calm is restored, and the secondborn is appeased. Praise God
I also found a gigantic brown spider under a bathroom sink while looking for said iron. It was the size of my palm, and she looked pretty agitated. I was not going to mess with that gal.
I told the entire household about the spider's whereabouts and suggested (as only a mother can do) that someone capture Charlotte and throw her over the fence because she might have a pig to save.
Well, things didn't go well for Charlotte. She died. I believe my suggestion may have been misinterpreted, or poor Charlotte decided to run for it but had too many legs. Shit happens.
Speaking of shit, which I know is a delicate subject, but seems to be the topic de jour this week. I can't say we weren't forwarned. These are the commandments we were given for this week:
Don't eat food from street vendors.
Don't drink the water.
Don't use ice cubes even when offered in a margarita.
Don't brush your teeth with tap water.
Don't do anything before washing your hands WITH BOTTLED WATER!
Clearly, there is an issue with the water. Enough said.
Sayulita is a charming beach town with lots of color and flavor. The locals claim Sayulita was formed more than 5,000 years ago by the wave gods, who created it as a place where the waves would be perfect. It has attracted tourists and surfers from all over the world, along with couples looking for a place to exchange vows.
There are dozens of restaurants, food trucks, vendors, and markets to explore and taste the local cuisine. You can also ride horses along the shore, watch the migrating whales, or chill on the beautiful beaches. Everything is within walking distance, but many tourists use golf carts to get around.
Larry decided we would use our legs.
After unpacking, we WALKED into town for an authentic Sayulita taco. We found it on a street corner, where two guys were cooking tacos on a sizeable mobile kitchen, very rustic, slicing up fresh pineapple, steak, pork, and chicken to grill. Several colorful ceramic bowls full of homemade salsas and hot sauces sat on a table for you to individualize your taco.
I have no words to describe the incredible flavors.
And yes, we all broke rule number one, the first of many for me. Although I eventually ended up with the trots, so did just about everyone in our house. We're not good at following rules. How surprising.
We are here to celebrate Connor and Sonya's wedding, and the weekend was filled with sunset sails, whale sightings, and magical nuptials overlooking the ocean at sunset.
What could be more romantic?
Of course, this got me thinking about marriage as a leap of faith, and how Taylor Wallinger's mention of the vow "I will love you in sickness and health" has taken on a whole new meaning this weekend. Several members of the wedding party must have brushed their teeth with the wrong water and fell sick on the big day.
But there was also the most tender exchange of vows, affectionate speeches, and those nostalgic first dances that left everyone misty-eyed. We enjoyed an incredible meal, good music, and a stellar sunset with the new husband and wife walking along the sandy beach with her long white dress blowing in the wind.
It was epic. And tender. And perfect.
Do you remember Paul's letter to the Corinthians, the one that addresses their struggle with the definition of love? Well, it's been reappropriated as a primary reading for weddings worldwide.
Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable; it keeps no record of wrongs; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
What I like about Paul's words is how he focuses on what love is, and what love is not, while challenging our inherent understanding of relationships in the context of community and marriage. Weddings are not about passion and romance, sauntering into the sunset, and living happily ever after.
That is the myth.
Real love is not perfect. It can be unreliable, egotistical, and rather frail. We can be mean to each other for eating the last piece of bacon, leaving dishes in the sink, or forgetting to replace the toilet paper. On purpose, damn it!
Love is tricky because we learn about it as children. Most of the time, we learn that love is conditional, and our understanding of what it takes to sustain a lifelong relationship can be subjugated by our expectations, ideals, and even our wounds.
I grew up in the '60s, and culturally, I thought my loveability depended on the size of my jeans, whether they were flared and slung low on the hips. I tried to be small, quiet, and polite, but I'm not any of those things. So, essentially, I lived a lie because I didn't think big, loud, unruly girls were worthy of love. This is more common than you might think.
And guess what?
The real me got tired of hiding, and that's when those words from Paul started to make sense. When we don't know who the hell we are, that pain becomes the source of our arrogance, impatience, unkindness, envy, and selfishness.
Right?
Those words Paul wrote were never meant for weddings, but how perfect are they when two people are trying to form an insoluble union with notions of love that might need to be stretched, reformed, or revised?
Marriage is an act of compassion to love all the shit we bring into our relationships, to praise each other's evolution, and champion our growth. Over time, compassion, patience, and generosity will define the relationship, or it will die like Charlotte, with too many legs.
Paul's words are an augury to the full potential of every human being who is created to love and be loved.
I'm going to look for a wedding card for Sonya and Connor that says, until death do us part, I will put up with all your shit, and never leave you without toilet paper.
Now I know why that shopping cart captured my attention. It was emblematic of a country caught in a river of inequity and structural corruption. It was literally entangled in debris and abandoned, creating a sense of apathy and indifference for all who bothered to notice.
But opportunity is hiding in those simple words written 2000 years ago about love…It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. The people of Sayulita seemed to embrace these characteristics amid disparity and decay, surrendering to the flow of life that has been diverted around them.
Pablo Neruda says, "I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."
This is the perfect description of how the two become one…
I've found that my person's happiness is essential to my own. It's the same with all people, everywhere. Radical love is our birthright, not because we are wearing flared jeans slung low on the hips and sporting a smile, but because we are all worthy of love, despite the scars we've encountered along the way, or maybe because of them. We all exist behind a veil of love, stitched by eternity, and like the oceans, it prevails to set us free.
Congratulations, Sonya and Connor. Your card is in the mail. Trigger alert: It's full of scandalous ideas.
I'm Living in the Gap, learning about love, and what it means to give fully of myself. How's your week going?
To our hosts, Jim and Sue Goudreau, your generous hospitality did not go unnoticed. Thank you for including us in Connor and Sonya's intimate celebration of marriage on the Pacific Coast of Mexico. Unforgettable in every way.
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