Magical Mexico City Tour

I spent last week exploring Mexico City and some particularly beautiful nearby places.


This was my view of the Zocalo from my hostel room.

The Zocalo of Mexico City is a magical experience I got to repeat five times. La Catedral Metropolitana, El Palacio del Gobierno with the amazing Diego Rivera Murals, the Aztec Ruins, the street performers, and the people, oh the people--tons and tons of people. Unbeknownst to me, everything shuts down pretty early and it's a bit dangerous around there at night (different than the centros of most Mexican cities) but during the day, it's fantastic.

I reunited with a friend from school in the "Zona Rosa."

As always, a taste of past life makes me hyper-conscious of a) how much not just time, but life, has passed, and b) how much I've changed. Getting a shot of Wisconsin in the midst of Mexico City was a good juxtaposition of me-past and me-present (it's all about me after all, right?) But, aside from the extensive self-analysis, it was great to see RS and get his take on his experiences since school, and meet his traveling partner and here about his experiences living in India and Pakistan!

The next day, I spent a whopping 3.5 hours in a bank trying to make an international transfer from Mexico to Norway. Way to go HSBC. The thing is, Mexico City is actually pretty efficient and fast-paced. Unfortunately, the transfer had to be approved by the branch in Yucatan since I haven't changed my address and well...este...five phone calls, two emails, and three and half hours later they finally came through. No magic there.

Not my preferred way to spend my first morning in DF, but it was compensated by spending the afternoon "dando una vuelta" (going for a drive?) with my super-cool horn playin' friend JCQM. Mexico City is like 350 worlds in one- you can go from beautiful university campus to neighborhood where the economy is based on stolen car parts in a matter of minutes. I enjoyed getting the world-wide tour.

EC showed up Tuesday evening and we did some restaurant hopping as we caught up on the changes of the last year--lots of different experiences, lots learned, lots to talk about.


Wednesday was market day which meant a large amount of incredible sights (huitlacoche, pictured above), cheap food (the cake made out of cookies "takes the cake") , and Mexican men shouting "Guera (white girl)!" repeatedly at the top of their lungs. My favorite were the garlic stands (piles and piles of all types of garlic-you could smell it long before you could see it, of course) and the brujería (witch magic) stands with animal legs and reptile skeletons and various skulls just hanging there. When we asked what they were for, our friendly brujería salesman responded, "Que traigan galanes (to bring attractive men)" with a smirk. It was an ideal afternoon, well worth the sunburn and some sore feet.


We took off for Angangueo around 4 in the afternoon in order to visit the butterfly sanctuary the following day. Arriving around 8:30 we dropped off our things and headed towards the fairy-tale-like food stands by the cathedral. Michoacan seems to be big on sweets- candied figs, peaches, pumpkin, guayaba, and who knows what else. They eat the super sweet treasures on bread, like a candy sandwich! We passed on the candied fruit, and went instead for "hotcakes" with cajeta (check it out EC-heh heh) and fried plantains with canned peaches, cream and jam.

We shivered back to the posada and dove under the covers in attempts to get some rest before our trip the next day. That may be the coldest I've ever been in Mexico!

The next morning we caught a bus up the mountain, literally. EC and I have ridden a lot of buses in our time in Mexico, and neither of us had ever quite had an experience like this one. Creeping along the side of a cliff, going around curves and enduring some significant humps in the road on the rickety old bus was an adventure, to be sure. The driver and his near-by assistant didn't seem too worried though- they traded places at one point without even slowing down! Once the bus dropped us off we were escorted up another road by an elderly gentleman, and introduced to the couple that would end up being our excursion companions (words can't describe these characters-I'll leave that for EC to chuckle about on her own).


I don't know which was more surreal, the massive amount of butterflies (yes, all that "stuff" is butterflies!) or turning the corner at the beginning of the trip and coming upon a full soccer game (11 on 11) on a sort of plateau in the middle of nowhere at 8:30 in the morning. I wanted to join in, but resisted and sat down for some blue corn sopes and quesadillas instead. Then we headed into the woods to see the butterflies. Unfortunately, it wasn't a very blog-friendly experience, as the feel of the air, the view of the layers of mountains, the sound of the earth underfoot, the sound of the butterflies flapping their wings, the height of the trees, the peacefulness, doesn't transfer so well to my virtual explanation. Needless to say, it was magical.

We explored the woods a bit, kept our heads tilted to the sky to see the huge amounts of huddles of butterflies hanging on the branches, still sleeping in the shade. As the sun came over the hillside they woke up little by little, and we ended the visit sitting on the open part of the mountain chatting and watching the butterflies emerge, more and more, until they were flying all around us.

For more explanation, check out the Journey North website.

We got back to the soccer game (now substantially less active) and had some more quesadillas and some seriously magic mamey ice cream, then back to the bus-stop, where we caught a taxi to take us back down. Then a bus back to Mexico City...and we left the whole thing behind like a dream.

Friday we spent in two more enchanted places in DF: Museo Dolores Olmedo and Coyoacan. The museum had some fantastic pieces of Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, plus a visiting exhibit from the Walker in Minneapolis! But the estate in which the museum was created was the real treasure. And the peacocks. Tons of peacocks. And peacocks are cool. Coyoacan was mostly about the churros, clowns, coffee (bad as it was) and crafts. Too full of people (due to some festival because of vacation) to really enjoy, but I got enough of a sense to know that I'll be back.

That night we went dancing with the aforementioned JCQM. I think the other girls in the hostel were jealous when they saw me put my sparkly shoes on... "Are you going out? Where? How? Is it dangerous? Where could we go?" I had to admit that I wouldn't go out in Mexico City without a male friend from there with a car. Then I had to apologize that I couldn't invite them along. I'm thinking of suggesting to my friend that maybe he could make some extra cash by just escorting nice white girls from the hostel out dancing on Friday nights. But I guess it doesn't really work that way.

We didn't do much dancing, but the few times we did were successful, and a great time was had by all. Especially when we arrived at the totally crowded "Chupacabra" taco stand under a bridge- who knew that was the place to be at 2 in the morning in Mexico City.

Saturday morning we ate at the famous Cafe de Tacuba (the atmosphere better than the food- just like Lonely Planet said!!) and said our goodbyes. Hopefully I'll see EC on this side of Mexico City sooner rather than later! I headed off by myself to Texcoco, a short bus ride southeast of the city.

JCHD picked me up at the bus station and we headed to his native pueblo- Santa Cantarina del Monte. It's true that my previous experience in Texcoco was not exactly positive. On the way to the pueblo I began to change my mind, but I couldn't have prepared myself for the magic in store. We arrived at NC's house (the location of the party which got me there in the first place) a little earlier than expected (or only 45 minutes after the time he told us to get there, instead of an hour and a half) so JCHD took me to visit "the water source." I was confused for most of this journey- as we drove through some pretty rocky terrain, and then walked through rockier, he kept talking about "tubing the water" and being nervous that we were going to get wet. I figured it was just a language problem so after asking a bunch of questions and still not understanding, I went back to my standard smile and nod.

We hiked through the forest- across a little stream, around the kids having a leaf fight and rolling in the dirt, past various families that were picnicking out there, and even by a little snack stand someone had set up in the middle of nowhere (sooo Mexico!) and finally arrived at this huge cliff, fenced off, with water running down it's side. Things began to be clear- in a country where nobody drinks the tap water, people in this pueblo DO, because it comes straight from this absolutely pristine source. Magic. And beautiful.

We walked slowly back, appreciating the quiet of the forest. I still didn't understand why we were going to get wet (all the water was basically contained) as JCHD maintained, but I just went with it (a skill I've developed in the past few years, in case you hadn't noticed). Back to the car, back to the road, no getting wet. Then we came driving around the corner, and I saw up ahead 4 little boys, eyes sparkling, grinning ear to ear, holding buckets and poised. JCHD yells, "Get the windows up" and we do just in time, before they throw the buckets of dirty water (this from a not pristine source) all over the car. Everyone in sight was laughing to tears- who knows why, I guess it's just the simple pleasures and things that make you feel like your four again that really get to you. The boys ran back for refills and chased after us again while I realized that this was in fact a long standing tradition and my friend had probably been one of the little boys twenty years ago.

Texcoco and surrounding pueblos is known for being the birthplace of more musicians, especially brass players, than probably any other one place in Mexico. I'm still not sure why (could it be the water?) but I love that it's so. N and J described to me how when they were growing up everyone would practice outside their houses in the evenings, the sounds of trumpet, clarinet, horn, trombone, oboe, etc. mixing and echoing through the hills. A few hours into the party we heard a trumpet sound come from the other room. Most everyone present being a musician, conversation ceased and someone went to find the source. Shortly thereafter emerged a sweet little 6-yr old boy, holding a small bugle or something. He proceeded to play a C-major scale, up and down, in tune, with a quite desirable sound. Magic.

The final uncanny event of the trip was la Feria del Caballo, which we went to after the party. Imagine a state fair, crowded beyond belief, and 100 bandas. In case you don't know what a banda is- here's an example. And yes, I said 100. The sea of people separates them, and as I understand it, you just stand right in front of the one you paid to hear a song from, so they sort of drown out all the ones nearby. The singer is helped by everyone singing along (no amplification) and well, there you go. As someone said to me once- Mexico is probably the only country where it's actually cool to play the clarinet or the tuba. I guess I understand now how these guys get so good at playing loud and high...

Well, that was long, but there you have it. Central Mexico is a completely different world than Yucatan (food, music, culture, people, climate, and more) and I think I like it more!

P.S. As soon as EC sends me more pics, I'll add more respective photos.

KERMESS

Kindness abound. On this religious day (this past Friday- to be honest, still not entirely sure the name of the actual holiday, there's so many around here this time of year I can't keep track of all the names), mines all over the state open their doors to the public, putting on a fantastic feast called a "kermess" for whoever shows up, totally free of charge.

Either the food was really amazing or I was overly-influenced by the ambience. Both probably. Tacos (nopales con camarones my favorite), chile rellenos, chile-covered mangos on a stick, piles and piles of fruit, eight flavors of ice cream, cocktail de camaron, tacos dorados topped with a fantastic salsa, elotes, and gallons and gallons of agua de sabores.

Reason enough to go was just to see the mine, a world in itself. We ate the shrimp cocktail sitting on the rail cars--shortly after some miners came to ride them down the track and into the mine- another day's work, after all. 60% of Guanajuatenses still work in the mining industry.

Memories work in strange ways. This day will stay with me forever- the drive through the hills to arrive at "Cubo", the tiny mining town, eating a tamarindo popsicle while sitting on a see-saw and chatting with RA waiting for the feast to begin, exploring the area while the mass finished, finding the only other Americans in attendance and realizing we were both UW-Madison grads, standing in long lines for food, but enjoying the process, since once you got through the first line, during the consecutive line you could eat the food from the previous, enjoying the ride back--feeling a satisfied exhaustion from having a Friday different than any other Friday I've ever experienced.

Every time I think I'm ready for the next phase of my life, I experience something like this which just makes me feel like I'm not done with Mexico yet. ?!?

So how much more time do I need? Will I ever be able to move on without some sad emotions (I highly doubt it).

So then I Wikipedia-ed this strange strange word, in hopes of some Internet wisdom, and this is the best they could do. Thanks Wikipedia.

And Then There's This...

Goodbye to All That #2

...I'll admit I'm back to being undecided. I guess it doesn't really matter and the truth is it will be decided for me. But I'd like to just know what I think. Aaaacckkk!

Clap Your Hands, Shuffle Your Feet

I took in a notable performance last night.

First, it was at a bar.
Second, it was a composition by Hindemith.
Third, it was for double bass and clarinet.
Fourth, it was fantastic.

I have a suspicion these elements do not often convene.

As I understand it, Hindemith wrote the piece for either him and his wife or someone and his wife (at that moment the Spanish didn't get through) who had taken up the clarinet and the bass, respectively, as secondary instruments. The music has absolutely no markings in it, just notes. And it's intended to be played at vacation-time.

I was impressed with the freedom with which the performers played. They were very present, they were having fun. Taking risks and playing the music for the first time and the last time. Not surprisingly, they brought the audience right along with them. Laughter, quiet, and applause.

Or not.

The work consisted of five or six movements. After some of the movements, the audience clapped, after some of them, they didn't. After one of the movements, half the audience clapped.

I liked that. It seemed that people clapped when it felt right, when they wanted to clap, and didn't when they would rather just have that last note linger a bit longer. As the performers exhibited and expressed their freedom, they allowed the audience to do the same.

So what's the deal with clapping?

I won't deny that when an audience claps after the first movement of a symphony a wash of judgement flows through me. But then, I think, on the other hand, why the hell not? I remember reading an article by an "uneducated' classical music enthusiast about his experience of a performance of Beethoven's 3rd Symphony. A talented writer, he described the symphony vividly, coupling the path of the music with his personal experience of listening. He took you along for the ride and then, when it was all over (just the first movement), you were convinced you yourself would have applauded, as he did in the concert hall, only to receive a bunch of shhhs! and awkward looks.

The guy has a pretty good point- if you aren't naturally moved to applaud at the end of the first movement of the Eroica Symphony, there's something wrong with you or the orchestra that's playing it. (But, then again, what's so natural about clapping anyway? More often than not, when I'm participating in applause, I end up thinking about what a strange ritual it is and wonder what other life forms would think of us...)

The performance was great- rambunctious and humorous and touching and soothing and silly and solid. Afterwards a bunch of the musicians in the audience were talking about pieces we could play in this space- a cafe/bar owned by one of the cellists in the orchestra. It seems that Tuesday nights are a sort of open mike night to often include instrumentalists and their classical music. I'm still figuring this whole Guanajuato-thing out but it also seems that this sort of event is pretty standard (so how cool is that?)

I left at 1 am with some new friends, a lot of inspiration, and two plans for pieces to perform soon!

So what's the deal with feet-shuffling?

All of you musicians know what I'm talking about- the customary way to show your approval or admiration or whatever while you are sitting in the ensemble with someone. Sometimes it means shuffle so the sshhhsshhh sound carries to the ears of the intended recipient, but now it's turned into tapping the knee, bouncing the knee, sticking out the leg, sticking out both legs, waving a toe, who knows.

Now, those of you that have ever played with me know I was a big foot shuffler. Kind of cheerleader like. I like to be positive, I like to tell people I like how they play. But I'm telling you, I'm giving it up. It's just getting out of hand. I can't keep up. The more I play the more I hear more playing that I like. If I wiggled a toe for every time I heard something I liked in this orchestra I wouldn't be able to focus enough to play my own part.

And then, there's the foot-shuffle dilemmas.

Dilemma #1: Principal horn plays great solo at the first rehearsal. You give them a kick in the air. Conductor stops and goes back a ways, causing horn solo to repeat. Principal horn player plays great again. Do you have to do the kick again? Will they take it the wrong way if you don't?

Dilemma #2: You went for a really long run the night before and your quads are in significant pain- you just can't quite get the foot up there. Does this warrant an explanation to your section? "I still think you play great, it's just that..." Once you do the kick, are you expected to do it every day? What's the etiquette for kick follow-through?

Dilemma #3: Now you're in the performance. Should you do the kick in performance? Only in performance? Never in performance? Will it be a good way to say "way to go" before you get to the end or will it be a distraction? Will anyone in the audience wonder why the horn section looks like wanna-be can-can dancers?

Dilemma #4: Guy sitting next to you nails particularly hard lick. Out goes the foot. Next day, guy sitting next to you bombs particularly hard lick. What then? Foot stays in- you seem a little critical. Foot goes out- fake. What's the foot signal for- "you're great, don't sweat it, it'll be fine at the show"?

The point is, I'm giving it up. SW, clarinetist of the Lyric Opera of Chicago, and on faculty at this which I attended this summer, talked about this. I liked what she said, basically, that she appreciates someone taking a few seconds to go up to her and commend her much more than any sort of foot-shenanigans. I agree, and it wouldn't hurt us to have another pretext for live interaction.

So I'm officially changing a few habits (take this as a harbinger of my next post...hint hint, can you guess?!?!).

Clap your heart out. Or don't. But don't expect to see me moving my feet.

A Reminder About Success

To laugh often and love much
To win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children
To earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends
To appreciate beauty
To find the best in others
To give of one's self
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition
To have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived
This is to have succeeded.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

This Book is Filled to the Brim

Look out, this is an infomercial.

I just finished reading The Perfect Wrong Note: Learning to Trust Your Musical Self by William Westney. It is such an amazing book on so many levels that I feel like it has contributed not only to my practice room behavior, but also my mental state while performing, my style of teaching, the way I listen to other players, and my overall approach to life. All of this in just a few weeks. I plan on reading it, or pages from it, once every couple of months for many, many years.

When I read a book I dog-ear the pages that hold something I want to remember, something profound, something I want to share, something I want to write down and put in a place I will often see. I know this practice offends some book-lovers out there, but it's what I do. Don't worry, if you lend me a book I won't do it to your book.

This book has basically doubled in width due to all the dog-ear-ing.

I'm just going to highlight a few, and ramble about what they encourage me to think about.

"...the reason so many of us lose our bearings about practicing early in life is that we practice in living rooms with other family members in earshot--and healthy practice would simply sound too obnoxious, intrusive, repetitious, and unmusical for others to hear without annoyance...most of us would practice correctly just by instinct if we weren't in living rooms..."

In junior high I practiced piano in the living room while my mom was making dinner. In high school it was the horn (and wherever you practice the horn, people are going to hear you). Sometimes I would practice in the music wing at my high school. In college, the practice rooms in the Humanities building. Four years, four hours a day, virtually every day. Summer festivals, practice areas for all participants. Yucatan, my house that I shared with two co-workers. Now, the room I rent where co-workers often hang out.

Basically, I’ve spent my entire life practicing within ear shot of people whose opinion I value.

This fact in itself is not particularly important. The realization that I’ve spent my entire life practicing while thinking about what other people think is priceless. First of all, it’s taken over a significant portion of my brain. Secondly, it puts me in an automatic state when I pick up the horn- holding horn, thinking about what other people think. Thirdly, it’s an absolute waste of mental energy.

Letting this go gives me an incredible sense of freedom. Of course it’s a process and a challenge to face every day. But even considering letting it go opens doors.

"Again the performer is gently reminded to stop trying to control the outcome, but to stay flexible and focus instead on how the moment actually feels."

I performed Tchaikovsky’s Second Symphony every night this week. That is a difficult task in its own right- the music kind of disappears and it becomes a series of notes. Of course the best is to continue to find the music, but sometimes you just can’t. And you begin to feel like you are playing accuracy exercises, and you can’t figure out why there is an audience present.

What I discovered in this process is that playing the horn is just inhaling and exhaling with purpose. I’ve played for long enough to understand what produces and what doesn’t. So I began focusing on just inhaling and exhaling. Much like in yoga, when you really focus on the breath, you find a very pleasant space in which to exist. In which to play.

I can be a control-freak. I’m interested in letting that part of my personality slide, at least while I’m playing.

"It would help tremendously if book-smart people thought of music more as a sport and less as an intellectual activity, but this is often not the case."

I have a beginning horn student for the first time ever. She is nineteen years old. She’s smart.

In her lesson last week she had a lot of trouble getting the notes out. Not sure what to do myself, I trusted a hunch, and ended up telling her to just allow her body to find the notes. I played with her. I told her to ignore her mind. I reminded her that her mind knows way less than her body.

As I told her these things, I realized that I was telling them to myself. Being smart, while beneficial to one’s experience of life, is not actually an asset in the performance of music. OK, that’s not entirely true, it helps sometimes. But more often than not, it simply gets in the way.

"Perfectionist expectations lead to detachment from one’s body…"

This excerpt comes from the chapter that seemed, for me, to be all about me.

This was nice for a few reasons. First, there’s no one I’d rather read about than myself. (Ha ha.) Second, it helps me get over myself and realize I am not the only one with these characteristics. Third, the suggestions are incredibly useful for, well, ME.

"When the good student chooses the honest path, free of perfectionism and faking, music study becomes something refreshingly new: a calm oasis of self-acceptance for those who are so used to driving themselves and trying to please others."

What if every time I practice, every time I play, it can be an exploration, not an ultimatum?

"One thing is for sure: to get up onstage and perform is to plunge oneself instantly into living in the moment."

This is one of the top three things I love about playing music. And yet I forget about it, especially when I’m nervous. Or am I nervous because I forgot about it?

"To accept responsibility, to achieve and maintain total self-honesty, requires mental energy, focus, and—above all—a kind of courage."

This is a good reminder that everyone, from your beginning student in their lesson to the soloist of the week to the guy sitting next to you, deserves respect for just doing it. For putting themselves out there, no matter the result.

"…the urge to escape, the longing to transcend themselves if only for a few moments, is and always has been a principal appetite of the soul… (Aldous Huxley)"

This is, I think, what we’re seeking. And what audiences are seeking. And yet we can’t demand it, can’t expect it, can’t be disappointed if we don’t get it, and can’t give up on it. We can just pursue it, and enjoy the pursuit. Often, we will achieve it.



I would highly recommend that all performers, music students, teachers, amateurs, professionals, and enthusiasts read this book. I hope that my generation of musicians can approach things with more of this mentality, for our own health and well-being, and for the continued improvement of the experience and quality of music-making.

For me, this book was a discovery. I’m just at the beginning of the whole thing. I’m freshly inspired and excited about practicing and I don’t want to hoard this experience.

Check it out! (And let me know what you think.)

This My New Theme Song

I'm on the fourth straight hour of being online today. The end is not in sight.

This is getting insane.

And I love this song.

Now if only I could find a hat like that...

There's a First Time in a Long Time for Everything

Last night, for the first time in a looooong time, I played first horn in a concert in a real orchestra.

It was just this tiny little overture ("La Primavera" Overture by "the Mexican Bellini" Beristáin)--I really hardly have the right to be blogging about it, but nevertheless, here I am.

It was a very valuable experience.

I'm reminding of a post Spot did a few years ago where he said something about it not being good when playing first doesn't feel normal. You want it to just feel usual, no biggie. (I would link the post directly but Spot has been blogging for a a quarter of my lifetime, and I just don't have the kind of time it would take to find that particular post. I have no doubt he'll jump in and provide the link if he feels it's at all important.)

Well, it didn't feel normal, but it felt OK. It is so very different than playing in a section, it's almost like they should pay you more or something. ;)

What struck me especially was how much more you have to which to pay attention. When you are playing second horn, as long as the first is playing, you pretty much focus all your attention on the first. As long as you match them exactly, you're doing your job.

Well, OK, there are a lot of other things you have to be aware of, but at least you have your priorities neatly lined up for you- Objective No. 1: Match first horn. Objective No. 2-28: A bunch of other stuff.

But when you're playing first the priorities keep changing: Bars 1-3: Match first oboe, Bars 4-6: Lead, Bars 7-9: Tune to piccolo, Bars 10-12: Fit into brass sound, Bars 13-15: Cellos, Bars 16-18: Lead, Bars 19-21: Bassoons and Clarinets, Bar 22: Stay with conductor, and on and on and on. It's incredibly interesting, satisfying, and mentally exhausting when you are not accustomed.

The other big realization I had on the first real concert of my new job playing high horn, not just first, but third, which is really my job here, is that you simply cannot be afraid to miss notes. It's not an option.

Firstly, the reality is that you are going to miss sometimes. You play the horn, it's part of the package and there's nothing you can do about it.

Secondly, if you are thinking at all about missing, you're chances of doing exactly that increase threefold. This seems to ring even truer for high horn playing, probably because, due to the nature of the harmonic series, the chances of missing are higher up there. (Maybe that's why they call it "high" horn?)

Thirdly, if you play not to miss, and you don't miss, it sounds like playing not to miss--- note (whew, glad I didn't miss that)-note (whew, lucked out again)-note, etc.

Not exactly why I play music.

However, if you play to phrase, to express, to enjoy your sound, to create atmosphere, to collaborate with surrounding sounds, and all of that delicious music stuff, and you do miss, well, it still sounds delicious.

Just for the record, it sounds more delicious when you don't miss.

But you simply can't be afraid to miss.

So, the first time in a long time playing first was, in conclusion, a fantastic learning experience. I hope I get more of them.

It was also the first time in a long time I have played a concert wearing a long sleeve shirt. It's cold here at night! It's awesome!

On Thursday night I went to a yoga class, and for the first time in a looooong time I feel asleep during shavasana. I think that says more about my mental state in the last...well, long time...than anything. Doing yoga on a regular basis is valuable not only because of the shape it gets you in and the way it helps you breathe, but because it reveals to you so much about yourself and your current state. You can start to see patterns and from that make decisions to significantly influence your mental and physical states.

Most of my shavasanas in August through October were full of anxiety about my current job situation. October-December: anxiety about my lack of a job situation. December-February: anxiety about my new job situation. February: sleep. This is good.

Today is my 2-year anniversary of being in Mexico. For the first time in a long time I am in one place for awhile, and I'm starting to see that I could be truly happy here. This is also good.