First Week in Øaxaca

Early Notes on Travel + Self-Renewal

The last time I went vagabonding was ten years ago. I was young, single, and starving for “elsewhere.” I quit my job, bought a one-way ticket to Ho Chi Minh, and rode off on a motorcycle. It’s a hinge-point decision my life story still circles back to.

Now I’m older, partnered up, and feeding a renewed appetite. Friends have asked for my “why,” and I think it goes something like this: [1] I grow most when I shake things up, [2] I miss the part of me that reaches really far out there, and [3] I don’t know how long I’ll have this kind of freedom to answer the call.

So, here we go. We’ve landed in Oaxaca - the first stop in a year abroad.

I’ll say it up top: I don’t want this experience to turn into a vacation - or worse, an anxious scavenger hunt for “content.” I’m here on something closer to a pilgrimage, trying to shed some old skins and see what new layers I want to grow into. Routine life throws a lot of dust in your eyes; I’m here to wipe some off.

These first few days have been about getting a feel for the place - and for myself in it. A lifetime of travel has taught me that intentions never quite survive first contact: you land, and then the place teaches you what you’re actually there for. With my feet on the ground, I’ve been listening and adjusting...

I was having a beer at Tierra de Sol and thinking about one of my favorite phrases: “the passing show.” I call it to mind whenever I need perspective - a reminder that all of life (every thought, emotion, and situation) is temporary. Like the view from a train window, it’s here, then gone.

For some reason, the image works even better here - maybe because everything is new. The people, the architecture, the music, the food - even the texture of time. I can feel my mind unclenching the way it might after a ten-day vipassana; there’s an almost serene sense of freedom in its fluidity.

I think that’s part of what travel does - it helps interrupt the loops. Away from the familiar cast of places and people that keep me fixed in character - my home, my friends, the patterns and mental grooves that hold my old reflection in place - it’s easier to be new. There’s no inherited version of me to defend, no gravity of expectation pulling me back down to a specific “reality.” In other words:

Which makes me wonder: What else becomes possible when we’re freed from the orbit of the known? What other parts of us wake up once the background changes? Where else is “elsewhere” medicinal?

Something I love about Mexico is how doable creativity feels here. There’s a certain looseness to the way things get made - less friction, less gatekeeping, more “of course, we can do that” and “let’s figure it out, amigo.”

There’s no 1,000-piece minimum or “upload your design/wait a month/hope for the best” workflow. The artisans are hustlers - generous, skillful, and ready to help you bring an idea to life. If you have a vision, they’ll meet you halfway with craft.

Walk down any street and you’ll feel it - workshops with open doors, looms and presses running, hands stained with ink and dye, finished pieces spilling out from the back. Making things isn’t a luxury here; it’s the pulse of the place - and I want in on it.

▶︎ Next weekend, I’m going on a studio tour with a light-me-up mix of ambitions: learn the techniques, cultivate local friendships, and start producing some work of my own. By the end of my time here, I want to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the people who make beauty for a living - and feel a little more at home among them.

▶︎ In the meantime, I picked up a few colorful things to practice with:

I’m not religious, but I appreciate a good parable. Lately I’ve been thinking about the story of the bags of gold in Matthew 25: 14-29 - and how it applies to creativity.

In essence:

What you bury/keep hidden, dies.

What you create/share, multiplies.

Every time we hide our talents, we act like the fearful servant - burying our potential instead of growing it. Creation is faith in motion - the belief that something good will come from risking what you have, even if it’s small.

With that in mind, “M25” has become a kind of sigil for me - a shorthand for creative courage. I’ve made a list with that title (though it could just as easily be called “Things I’m Scared Of”), and every day I’m crossing something off. The momentum feels holy.

Once again, anonymity helps here: without a reputation to protect, confidence is easier to summon - and potential embarrassment is easier to bear. I think I finally understand what Theroux meant when he wrote:

“Being invisible - the usual condition of the traveler - is much more useful than being obvious.”

The Hidden Treasure, James Tissot 1886

Let me end this first dispatch by saying that none of my newsletters will aim for completeness or even comprehension. They’re light, fragmentary, impressionistic - and above all, personal. If you’re reading along, think of them less as essays and more as notes from the road: small, honest, real-time attempts at understanding.

I say this because I can already feel myself stretching in unpredictable directions - and a year is a long time for a searching person to spend shaking branches. Who knows what may fall? So take what I write with reassurance: I’m more curious than certain, more drawn to the asking than the telling. And if I ever sound sure of anything, assume it’s temporary - just another scene in the passing show.

“La sabiduría de un guía sólo sirve para mostrar una posibilidad de optar por mil caminos. Yo tengo mi camino. Tú tienes el tuyo.” Gabriel Jurjevic

“Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself.” Walt Whitman

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