A Perplexing Question...

Why is it so difficult to articulate what we feel in our hearts from some experiences? Experiences which engage us, change us, and imprint on our souls.

My husband has been to Burning Man twice. For those of you who have never heard of Burning Man, it is a week long event focused on community, art, self-expression, and self-reliance held annually in Nevada. And while I can tell you what Burning Man is, feelings and emotions are left out of the equation. Both times upon his return I would ask him about his experiences. Each time he would look at me like my dog does, you know the head cocked to the side look, and stare back. What was that about? Soon after his second trip, I attended an avant garde dance performance. The creator's perspective took the form of espionage in a multimedia work. After experiencing the performance, I understood my husband's dilemma. I got it.

Over the years I have been blessed to discover my own Burning Man places. Places where I have been transported, changed, and loved. Take Cameron's Resort...a mere spit in the road kind of place located on the Washington coast. A resort it wasn't. Cameron's had it quirks which made it even more charming. So what was it that drew me back time and time again over a span of twenty five years? Simple. It was a feeling of knowingness that enveloped me like a big, warm blanket. When my life felt upside down, I would return to Cameron's knowing nothing had changed...the blue plastic melamine plates would be in the cupboard, the funky Frigidaire stove would be waiting, and the ocean would be calling. It gave me a sense of calm and peace. I loved Cameron's and it loved me back.

When Cameron's sold, I had to reset. In reading an online restaurant review for having the best french toast, I knew I had found my "place." While I found it odd since this meant I had to travel to a sleepy little fishing village in Mexico, I decided to trust my gut and go with it. Twenty plus years later, my instincts were right.

...Back then the streets were dirt. Paved roads were almost non existent and restaurants were few...mostly taco carts lining the streets where families gathered. Maria's and La Ola Rica were about it. There was, and still is, a rhythm to this village. Much like what I imagine a baby feels when they are being rocked back and forth. Easy and gentle. Tortillas are still made by hand and roosters run free. I am not alone in my feelings of love for San Pancho. Digital nomads have arrived in numbers. Surfers abound and women wear crocheted bikinis. It's all good...for some that is. I will always love San Pancho for its gentle pace and ocean breezes. And yet, my brother taught me, when the tour bus arrives, it is time to get out the compass and reset ones direction. Perhaps it is time to seek my new Burning Man and be filled with feelings I can't explain.