Let's Not Say Goodbye...How Bout "See You Later?"

Dear Mexico,

Please don’t cry. We knew this was coming and chose to ignore it, like a big stinky elephant in the corner of the room polluting the air.
I want you to know that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before – I’ve never been as hesitant to leave a place as I am now, and I’ve been a lot of places, so that says a lot.
Sorry…that probably doesn’t make it easier. I’m not really one of those people who can let go easily; I always want to believe that long-distance relationships can work: that the ardor that I feel won’t fade. In fact, I think I’m probably a little too good at telling myself these things, because I’m always the one who doesn’t want it to end, while I am inevitably the one who has the plane ticket to leave.
What can I say? I’m a contradiction in terms. There’s something different this time, though. This time, my want to stay is just as powerful as my want to go. Before, I always knew that what I was working toward was important enough to leave for, but now I feel that what’s most important to me is both there and here, with you. It’s a new feeling for me and I don’t quite know what to do with it.
A friend told me once that people are put in your life for a reason, and whatever that reason is it’s important, regardless of how long they’re in your life to convey it. I tend to want them to stay far past the point when they’ve delivered their message, but I feel that there is more that you have yet to give me. This is incredible to me, Mexico, because you’ve already taught me so much!
When I got here, I was angry and didn’t know it. I was constantly thinking about others and wishing that they could see what I see. I wanted to change the world but I didn’t know how to go about it without having to tell others what to do. Much like you and your waves on the beach outside my room at night, you ate away at those ideas and gave me peace of mind that I never knew could exist.
I came here looking for something and not expecting to find it – after all, I’ve been a sort of traveling slut for more than 10 years now – smothering a place with my affections, being knocked down by my expectations, and picking up and moving on, bitter and disillusioned.
Perhaps that’s why it was different this time. I think perhaps I had finally let some of my expectations go – I wasn’t expecting to find a home, so I wasn’t guarding against the idea.
Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone, Mexico? When people ask me where I’m from, I’ve never been able to tell them that I’m from whatever city, town, country or region that I’m actually living in. Considering I’ve stayed in some places for more than a year, it’s gotten a little ridiculous. Instead, I always tell whoever’s asking that I’m from North Central Washington: Chelan. I guess it’s the only place that’s ever really felt like home to me, even when my parents briefly moved away and there wasn’t actually a home there…until now. Somehow you wormed your way into my loyalty and for the first time in my life I’ve told people who ask that I’m living in Puerto Escondido for the summer. This may seem small, but any other time of my life I would have said something like, “I’m from Washington State, but I’m here for a couple weeks,” or whatever. I know, I know. I’m not Mexican, I’m merely passing through a town that everybody passes through, but somehow you’ve latched onto me and I consider this place more a home to me than any other place I’ve lived besides Chelan.
But besides giving me a home, you’ve also given me some great memories, and some amazing friends! Who knew that so many people that I could connect with would live in this small town on the ocean? Believe me, I’ve lived a lot of places (I know, I’m rubbing it in your face and I’m sorry, but it’s true, and it’s only so you know how special you are to me in comparison) and I’ve never felt the same sort of dynamic.
I have to go, but I’m desperately hoping that you won’t forget me while I’m gone. You see, this feels unfinished in a way that most chapters of my life have never felt, and I think I will come back to see it through. You’re under my skin, Mexico, and I’m not just talking about the new tan I’m taking home that you gave me one walk on the beach at a time.
I’ve always thought that I would end up with someone who was a friend first, and I think that’s how you got me. I always knew that I liked you, but I never knew how much until you started showing me all you had to offer. If you’d overloaded me all at once, I might have shied away and probably run – I can’t claim to always be emotionally mature or secure – but you didn’t. You were patient, you were kind, and you never gave me more than I could handle. Thank you for that.
So now, I need you to be patient once again. I’m going to go home – yes, it is still my home – and I’m going to jump back into my life. I’m going to see all my friends that I missed, even while I was enjoying your company – they come as part of the package; if you want me you’ll have to get used to it – and for the first time in my life, I’m going to admit that I don’t know if my love for you will last. I already have a lot lined up to keep me busy and distracted when I get back – it wouldn’t do either of us any good if I sat around and moped for you – but I know I’ll be thinking about you a lot.
So it’s time to go, Mexico, but let’s not say goodbye just yet. Let’s start with “see ya later” and see where that takes us.

Love and heartache kisses
Morgan

Maybe It's Time to Face Reality

Maybe it’s time to face reality. Maybe it’s time to take a good, honest look at my life and come to some conclusions about myself. Maybe, based off of these conclusions, I should make some decisions and just go with it.
No, this does not mean that I am going to admit that maybe I’m not cut out to be a writer. It doesn’t mean that I am admitting that I have been irresponsible or wandered around in a bubble of bliss that will pop the minute I run out of money. It does not mean that I am perhaps not entirely human because I prefer ice-cold river water, wrinkled overworn clothes out of a backpack, and prefer a short bout of Monteczuma’s Revenge to having a mortgage. No, ladies and gentlemen, it means that perhaps it’s time for me to admit that I probably will never, ever, truly settle down.
Settling down means different things to do different people, so let me expand on the definition of this strange thing that I will never do. I will never say, “Gee, I haven’t had that much fun for like, 10 years.” I will never say, “I always wanted to go there, but it was never in the cards.” I will never refuse to go on a trip because there’s no running water. I will never refuse to eat something that looks even remotely tasty, even if I have no clue what it is. I will forgo doing something because I would have to do it by myself.
This settling down thing isn’t all bad, and to be honest, there are some things that I may never do on this path that I would kind of like to do. I will probably never own a new car, unless I win one. I will probably never be able to travel first class. I will probably never live more than a couple years in one place without it involving a super long hiatus to a foreign country. I will probably never have kids. I may never be able to find someone who wants to share all of this with me.
The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that my destiny is something I’ve been fighting for a long time. I keep expecting myself to get to the point where I want to live in one house with a mortgage and a job that would pay it; to wake up one day and hear my biological clock ticking; to want to commit myself to something and STAY committed to it. But what if I never do? What if I’m 45 years old and find that I am still single, still without a full-time (as opposed to a borrowed) pet of my own because I don’t know how long I’ll be here, still without children, and still planning long-ass trips all over the world?
As I said last week, I can’t guarantee that someday my feelings will be different. But today, right now, this moment, on 7/8/09, I can look that future straight on and be okay with it.
In the past I’ve tried to shape my future to something normal. I’ve tried to be in jobs that will get me on a career path with two weeks of vacation a year, that make me enough money I could potentially save for a house, looked for people to date in similar situations with similar goals. Where has this sort of searching gotten me? Back at the same place I always find myself: with money, a schedule, a social life, a boyfriend, and most likely completely miserable. One guy I dated said to me, “Well once we got married you would stop traveling, right?” I didn’t even think twice about it. I didn’t think about what he meant to me, how much I loved him, how this might actually be a normal idea. I just opened my mouth and said what my entire being was shouting: NO.
So maybe it’s time I try to shape my future to me. Maybe it’s time to let go of this idea that perhaps one day I’ll finally “grow up” and admit that “settling down” may not be in the cards for me. Maybe I need to be okay with the fact that I may be that cool aunt that brings back trinkets from foreign places; that some people will envy my freedom but would never actually want my solitude, and that maybe, just maybe, I like it that way.

Love and realistic kisses
Morgan

Lake Chelan, the ex

When I tell people that I grew up in Lake Chelan, nine times out of ten they say, “Oh, really? I didn’t know people actually lived there year round.”
After this response, I am glad that I didn’t lead with “I’m from Manson,” because most of these people don’t know where that is – even if they’ve stayed at Wapato Point or been to the casino.
But it’s okay – these people are not, obviously, from the Chelan Valley. They do not know the best park to swim at with the least amount of people (and I’m not going to tell them), that there are actually houses way out in Manson past the single main street, and they have no idea how fun it is to drive along Rocky Point after Labor Day when you can go the speed limit.
It’s not their fault, any more than it’s my fault that I had to learn how to give directions by street names instead of landmarks. Telling someone to take a left at the house with the chickens just doesn’t seem to get you places in Seattle, strangely enough.
The Valley is very different from when I grew up there. I want to blame it on the tourists; the fully-fledged wine industry that was just hatching when I left; the people who pulled out their orchards to sell their land for more than they could make growing fruit. I want to blame it all on someone else, but I can’t. The truth is that every time I go back to Manson, I don’t quite feel like I fit, and it’s my own fault.
On Memorial Day Weekend I walked into Manson Bay Market and was told by a cashier that I didn’t know that I could buy a container larger than a quart of milk for the same price. I answered without thinking that something bigger than a quart of milk wouldn’t fit in my parents’ motor home refrigerator. I instantly wanted to take it back. I wanted to explain, in ever-growing detail with an ever-growing line of impatient people behind me, that my family had had a timeshare at the Mill Bay trailer park for years, and that we were locals but it had always been our affordable waterfront. I wanted to, but instead I sighed, paid for my quart of milk, and left. Yesterday I went to visit my aunt and uncle, who are staying on the south shore in a rented house for the Fourth of July weekend. The whole time I was there I felt like I had betrayed someone, like I was cheating on the Valley that I knew, hanging out at a tourist rental when I could have been at a public park or on someone’s lawn who lived there year-round. Instead, I have perhaps become a tourist in my hometown, because I no longer feel truly at home there.
Each time I go back to the Valley I feel like you would about an ex-boyfriend. You see him, he looks great, your stomach does a flip, and even though you remember all those great reasons you had for breaking up, you can only seem to focus on why you should have stayed together. The longer you’re in his presence, the better a time you have, the more nostalgic you feel for what you once had. You no longer take each moment for granted like you did when you were together, because you know it is going to end after this one chance encounter. That idea packs the moment with bittersweet memories, feelings, emotions, and you are wistful, because you know you can never have it again. It at once makes you feel like you want to stretch out the moment forever, or end it quickly to get past the pain.
I don’t want to say that I could never live in the Chelan Valley again, because I have learned that things change in ways that are unexpected and there’s no telling where I will be or what I’ll be doing in the future. Emotions pass with the seasons, and eventually Chelan may seem like a whole new person to me, with only traces of the good parts I liked about that first boyfriend. At the moment, however, the breakup is still too fresh for my liking. I can’t imagine making a new life in a place so infused with my past.

Love and nostalgic kisses
Morgan