- Brett Whiteley
:: First, find out what your hero wants, then just follow him!::
- Ray Bradbury
- When I first moved to the Yucatan I definitely was not myself. The Good Broad was finally fulfilling a life long dream of moving to Mexico and living an art filled life. She was sandwiched between two pieces of Masonite, a three drawer Sterilite box, and a glass jar filled with large glue sticks that had traveled 1,500 miles to live under a bed for the next fifteen months. The Bad Broad showed up the week after arriving in the fishing village that would be home for the next nine months. She sought out the old by rekindling a ruinous romance with a Jack Pine Savage, called family and friends daily for reassurance, and hung artworks from her former life on the walls of a tiny casita by the beach. The Ugly Broad was in a state of shock. She cried, coughed, and spit up blood, and not in the good way like when you laugh so hard that your coffee spews out your nose.When I first moved to the Yucatan I didn't realize I was an expatriate. Somehow I had convinced myself that twenty years of traveling around Mexico had prepared me for living in Mexico. On a weekly basis small things show themselves serving as reminders that I am not from here. A trip to the grocery store, a walk in the hood, or a shared meal with my team, all reveal that not speaking Spanish puts me to a serious disadvantage. I can't curse out the checkout person who laughs with grocery bagger about my ignorance. I can't engage in light conversation with my neighbors or laugh at the play on words that send my coworkers into fits of giggles.
There are always times in your life when you have the realization that you really don't know someone. Several years ago I borrowed a power washer from a friend to clean the Texas dust off of my house in Austin. I couldn't figure out how to use it and returned it. A few weeks later, during one of our weekly jam sessions, this friend announced to everyone that I almost killed him as I hadn't turned the thing off. Seems like that would be something you would tell someone in private. Though that was a deliberate act, unintentional carelessness can be just as hurtful to a friendship. I was guilty of just that with one of my friends here, and knowing that lasting friendships are jewels, it pained me deeply that I had hurt her through my carelessness. In this way, expat life is not that much different from my life back home. Small things can and do hurt you and those you love.
I've begun to examine the behaviors and attitudes that block me from doing the one thing that was a constant force behind this move. Making art full time may not be possible. I seem to still be a workaholic, forever seeking maintenance at a fiscal level, and bottom line security. It's really sort of ridiculous because my art has always been well received and offered financial solvency. If I am to become an expat, I will need to shed this mask that whispers to me in anxious voices that I can never have enough money. I have a stinking suspicion that this dough whisperer belongs to my grandparents and parents who carried the fears of the Great Depression in their hands for all their lives. Even the way I save bits of cardboard scraps for my compost pile is determined by how deeply they owned that crisis.
These may not sound like reasons to suggest that I am not an expat. I suppose there are many individual ways of posturing on this subject. As I move through the baby steps of my second year with my regular and regulated thoughts of moving back home, I must acknowledge that I am not fully transplanted, that I still must care and be attentive to all the details of being fully surrounded by brave new ways of seeing myself in the world.
Will I be an expat when I devote myself to my art?
Will I be an expat when I can converse with my neighbors?
Will I be an expat when I am confident in my new friendships?
I don't have the answers to these questions. I wish I had paid more attention to the process my Mexican friends went through as they assimilated into the Austin community. I regret not asking more questions of first and second generation students I taught, by encouraging them to share the stories of their parents and grandparents lives as expats in a new country. I imagine that their experiences would be similar to mine. What could I have gleaned that would help me adjust?
The intensity of life as an expat can sometimes feel like a fatal gash. I assure you, it is just an irritating paper cut. I'm excited that all of us still have adventures to look forward to and new ways of becoming the people we hoped Mexico would dream for us. As MaMere often said, "It's important to have goals, Dawlin."
Create the life you want!
The Broad
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