Choices we make and second-guess later

Actually, there is no “we.” I am the one wondering if I lost my last wing nut. I’m down in the dumps, crawling along the bottom of the pit, rolling in slime and garbage. Well, it sort of feels like that.

After a month of visiting friends and relatives, being part of their everyday “normal” life, I cannot help but make comparisons. Of course, I compare my insides (see above) with your outsides. You, of course, come out looking beautiful in my assessment, happy, joyous and free. And secure.

Secure in your house on the hill or your house in the valley — common denominator — your house. Secure in your everyday routine with job and activities and credit card payments, responsibilities, schedules and family.

My daughter Dee chimes in, “Mom, you are living your dream. For years you talked about living in Mexico. You figured out a way to make it happen and put your plan into action. You sound happier there than I’ve ever heard you.” She said this while fielding calls from her boss, the car repair place and a neighbor who informed her that her horse walked through an open gate and was happily chomping grass in their pasture. Simultaneously, she slammed dinner on the table and wrote a grocery list. “Do you want to move back?” she asked.

“Not really. Visiting makes me glad to be back in Montana. I’m greedy. I want to be in both places at the same time. I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake. I’m second-guessing myself. I miss my friends. Yet I will be glad to go back home to my little studio in Mazatlan.”

So a couple days later I am at my other daughter Shea’s house. Her future father-in-law, Karl buzzes in on his motorcycle. After Shea introduces me, Karl grabs a guitar from the corner and serenades us with Spanish love songs. He then asks me how I came to move to Mexico. He has a thousand questions. He wants to know average costs of groceries, houses and rents, how to around without a car, how do I communicate.

As I answer his questions, describe bus service and everyday details, my spirits lift. With a gleam in his eye, Karl tells me, “Almost, thou persuades me. You are living my dream. For years I’ve imagined doing just what you are living. But it is sure hard to give up my stuff.”

“That might be the best part of such a move,” I explained. “These past several months have been like an extended retreat for me. I have all I need and few concerns.”

Shea said, “And she comes to see us two or three times a year.”

“I am alone in a foreign country. Some people find that daunting. The language is coming slowly to me. I know enough Spanglish to get by. I wish I could correctly connect the nouns with the verb forms. It takes time to make friends. It would be easier if I lived in an ex-pat neighborhood, but I don’t golf, and I don’t go to the clubhouse every afternoon and play canasta. I am where I want to be for now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

When Karl left he gave me a hug and his email address. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear his motorcycle chugging outside my doorway in Mazatlan come winter. I’ll play tour guide. He’ll love it for a couple weeks, climb on his bike and roar back home.

This morning Steve took me out for coffee. We had a great time catching up on family news. I hadn’t seen him for a year. Tomorrow we agreed to have coffee again and he will bring Theresa and her calendar so she can schedule a trip to Mazatlan next winter. Already I feel better.

Kim, the woman who bought my house in Harlem, just sent me an email. That message is icing on my cake. I feel gratified to hear how she likes my old home and know that is the way it should be.

I get short-sighted when I am the only person talking to me. Whew, it feels good to climb out of that smelly old pit of despair. My life would not do for everyone. For me, for today, though certainly not “normal,” my life is good.

(Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem, graduated from Northern and despite years in foreign countries such as Washington state, says Montana will always be home. Poet, essayist, former theater director and business owner, Ashton splits her time racking up air miles between Havre — including suburbs from Glendive to Great Falls — and Mazatlan, Mexico. Her quirky essays can be seen at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. She can be reached at [email protected].)