This is a post I write while in Mexico and some photos from our trip!
As we planned and dreamed about our trip to Mexico, I thought I was ready. I was ready to leave my email behind, my busy thoughts at the customs desk, and bring only fun and rest in my suitcase as we approached the beach.
And as I arrived here, I realized that I brought much, much more.
Mexico was going to be a time of rest for me, but as I arrived I realized that I didn’t want to vacate my life. I was used to running at a million miles an hour—checking things off left and right, getting things done, attempting to be a perfectly running machine as I cranked out good thing after good thing.
I was used to the way life was going in Georgia, and as much as this was a temporary vacation, I wasn’t ready to vacate.
I found myself looking around and becoming fussy—wanting to do things the way I had grown accustomed to doing them.
I wanted to bring my busyness here, get things done, take advantage of the down time.
And for the first few days I was really uncomfortable. I sat by the pool, my mind spinning with thoughts that, at home, I’d been too busy to think. I was worried and discontent, my brain unable to catch up with my tranquil surroundings.
But as the days wore on, the saltwater and sun began to do it’s work on me. The sunsets permeated my busy exterior, leaving my mind finally free and finally rested.
It would be incredibly easy to think about home and all of the things that are stacking up in my absence. It’d be easy to wake up early and answer emails—keeping one foot in my normal life as I refuse to vacate completely.
But that’s not what I’ve done.
If you’ve sent me an email, you can be sure that it’s gone un-returned. If you’ve texted me or left a voicemail, I can assure you that I’m currently unaware.
And although those messages will be answered when I get home, and I care deeply about the things I’ve left there, I can also assure you that for a time, I needed to vacate. The things I’ve been doing here have been deeply important too.
I wake up late—9:30 or 10, awakening slowly. The first one up makes the coffee. We each drift lazily out onto the deck—one with lots of chairs and a panoramic ocean view to coax you out of your slumber. We emerge toting a book or a journal and there’s an unwritten rule that for awhile, nobody speaks.
We pad around the condo, our bare feet tapping lightly on the floor, pouring coffee and cereal and breaking large muffins in half to share.
Sometime before noon we drift down to the beach. Sticky with sunscreen we grab a handful of chairs—some in the sun and some in the shade, and then play a game of musical chairs for the rest of the afternoon—shuffling as we each get up to go in the water, get a change of scenery at the pool, or go for a snack.
We’ve taken to sitting near the volleyball court on the beach, and it’s become my favorite part of the day to watch my sister, boyfriend, and dad duke it out with the other now-regulars on the sandy court. My eyes dance between the court and my book, cheering and relaxing and feeling warm on the inside as well as on my suntanned skin.
Evenings begin with a shower—a blessed event as it washes the sand and sunscreen from our skin. And we emerge from our rooms, one by one, in sundresses and pressed khaki shorts—ready for dinner but not in any kind of hurry.
Dinners have all been different—some at fancy restaurants at the resort, some in a small town on the beach, and one in the city overlooking the most gorgeous sunset and a miraculous display of fireworks.
We go to bed early—happily relinquishing the days where trips to Mexico meant late nights out—and wake up late to do it all over again.
Conversations unfold easily, sometimes taking all day, and happening over Happy Hour piña coladas, or Carl’s homemade sangria.
And as the trip winds up, I’m finding myself dreaming again.
I couldn’t, for a while. My head was buried so deeply in the demands of every day that I couldn’t pick my head up to dream for more. I couldn’t imagine a reality beyond the one that I was living because I didn’t have the time. I didn’t have the free space in my mind for more ideas, more plans, bigger things, crazier ideas.
But now I do.
In the space created by the saltwater and easy conversations—by the lack of technology and the ability to unplug, through the change of scenery and a routine that looks nothing like my usual one—my mind feels free and able to roam. I’m able to dream again.
So as you step into your summer, whatever the summer may hold, I hope you’ll vacate for a while. Turn off your phone and go somewhere new. Abandon your schedule with a flourish and embrace a new one.
And open your mind to dream again.
What places inspire you to dream? What are you dreaming of this summer?