I am missing Tulum. Today, my eyes see NYC as they did before I left for my travels. The noise hurts my ears, the pace frenetic and invasive. I question my rhythm as I am continuously close to being knocked over by people hurrying past with no regard for anything but themselves.
I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. When I came home, I made a conscious deal with myself not to make mental notes of every little thing here that gnaws at my soul. The Blackberry Assholes who are so immersed in their emails, it doesn’t even occur to them that there might be other people on the street as they just zoom ahead, faces buried in their Pearls or iPhones. I promised myself I wouldn’t squeeze into a seat on the train, back aching from my heavy bag and feel sorry myself as I long to be back in the simplicity of Mexico.
The truth is, I’m not really all that happy to be home. Why would I be? Life made sense in Mexico – the only sense life makes here has to do with survival. Okay, maybe it’s not that bad, but man, does it have to be so difficult? That’s my point. Have I gone soft? Have I lost my edge? These very questions used to worry me into a cold sweat as I wore my New Yorker-ness on my sleeve like a badge of honor. Today, I don’t care. I am done. I really am.
There is no excitement here for me anymore. It’s not even about the excitement really. There sure as hell isn’t much of that in Tulum. It used to be about the excitement, New York, but now it’s like not having hot water in Mexico – when you know you’re supposed to have it and you don’t, it makes not having it even worse. It used to be that the excitement was the payoff for the madness – now it’s just madness in my eyes.
I want to stay present, I really do. But it’s hard and I don’t know if I can. I’m grateful for work tomorrow because at the very least, it will distract me – keep me busy. Ain’t that a shame?