This was a big mistake.

I remember arriving on that first night, climbing the steps into the dark second-floor apartment, walking into the hollow sound of the bedroom and knowing that I’d really screwed up. If I could have clicked my magic heels, I would have been immediately popped back into our Vancouver apartment where Kevin would have just made some popcorn. We’d share a buttery bowl and watch something on Netflix.

I would be safe. I would be known. I would be loved.

Instead, I figured out where the light switches were, unpacked my bag and wandered around the large tiled rooms. I crawled into the bed, the window open to the cobbled street below. Why, I wondered, not for the first time in my life, why the hell do I think these solitary trips are a good idea? Why do I feel the need for these periods of self-imposed exile?

Randomly throughout the night, a vehicle would roar and rattle past, heavy-hard bass shaking the last screws out of its doors. In between, the church bells would remind me that I wasn’t sleeping. The overhead fan clicked and hummed. What the hell had I done?

The next morning I made myself a promise. I would consider the trip a success if, each day, I achieved only three things: I meditated for 1/2 hour, I edited/wrote/or in some way engaged in the creative process of writing, and walked 10,000 steps.

I made a calendar grid in my journal and put a little key code on the side: WR=Write W=Walk M=Meditate.

Tick, tick and tick.

Along the way, I met other artists on retreat. Artists that either lived here or were returning for the second, third, sixth time. We went out for dinners. We talked about our lives back home or what we’d accomplished that day. I met more people, gringos that had left behind their Canadian and/or American lives to trade them for the endless Goldilocks-just-right weather here on Chapala Lake. They told of reinventing themselves, of being able to afford an easier life, of learning Spanish, of surprising themselves with new interests, new connections.

And each day…tick, tick, and tick.

In spite of only having those three things to do each day, my days felt full and thick and fat. Each morning I sat with my coffee while the world of Chapala came to life. Other times I danced alone in this living room, spinning and laughing to the joyful brassy blast of the nearby mariachis, overcome with the gift of being alive. Sometimes while sitting and meditating on the deep leather sofa, I’d cry for all that’s been lost, for all that is happening, for all that I can’t undo. Periodically, I snorked out loud while writing in my journal, and every now and then, I’d pace and circle the room, chasing down an elusive thought.

There was so much I wanted to share.

I’d call Kevin and try to paint the scene, but so many times, there could be no witnesses. There was only my glance out the bus window to see the old man holding his goats on impossibly thin ropes. Or the coaxing of a smile from the little girl, her eyes shining and fascinated by the big white lady seated behind her. Alone, I watched the hummingbird’s shining flight, the pink candy-floss clouds just before dusk, or the waxy white flowers that litter the sidewalks.

I reminded myself that we are all made up of these private moments. Our lives are deeper, richer and more mysterious as a result. Not everything can be shared. Even standing together none of us sees or feels the same thing.

I am enlarged after my time here. Expanded. More capable. Especially considering that every time I communicated a wish in Spanish (and it actually worked) I felt as accomplished as any rocket scientist.

This was a long time to be away. A lot of hours to ponder and wander and think my own thoughts with no other demands on my time.  It has been hard to be here and it has been deeply rewarding.

In just a few more days, I will be back home. Maybe we’ll have some popcorn. Maybe we’ll curl up on the sofa and watch a movie. It will feel strange and indulgent and oh-so-damned-fabulous after having been away for this month that might otherwise be called a lifetime.

Once again, I will be known. I will be safe. I will be loved.

This trip was a great idea.