And Just Like That I’m 60

 And just like that, I’m 60. Sesenta. Holy shit. Did I wake up feeling any different? No, I did not. Well, maybe a tad sorer since it appears I’m severely sunburned (hold your “I told you so” with the sunscreen Mr Editor). But there’s nothing magical or should I say any more magical than what’s been happening so far. And I’m more than good with that. 

My day has been messages, phone calls, texts. A video chat with a heart sister. My muttering about coffee that comes in the size of a urine sample cup. And then a slow unwind with my no plans plans of the day. I’m going into town because sitting on a beach isn’t a great idea today. My poor body needs a rest. 

I make my way to breakfast to enjoy all the food I’ve been enjoying every morning. And the regular size cup of coffee… the mimosa. I’m probably gonna need to dry out when I get home. I don’t care. 

It’s not lost on me, as I slide my phone into the back pocket of my shorts,  that in addition to being a bikini top wearing girl I’m also become a cutoff shorts woman. Me, the girl who hates her legs and her chubby back knee fat. Who tugs the legs of her shorts down as far as she can…. Still not a fan of them but who cares. Who the actual fuck is this woman? Who is this woman that shrugs, slips on her Birks and heads out into the world? She can’t be me - she’s confident. Sexy. Effortless. Says yes. She doesn’t shrink to become invisible.  I kinda like her. I think I’d like to hang out with her. 

Turns out she wants to hang with me too. And so we grab a cab together and head to the mercado downtown. We bump along the main street and then the cobblestone side streets. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here and I smile as I recognize some of stores, some of the attractions. The cab driver drops me off and the first person I see is a handsome man planted comfortably in a chair. There’s an empty seat beside him and he smiles lazily as he invites me to sample tequila with him. With a serious nod of my head and a mischievous smile I decline his offer.. “what if I drink too much”? I query. “No problem Amiga- I have a donkey and a wheelbarrow and I’ll take you to your hotel… I just need your room number” he says with a saucy smile and a wink. I throw back my head and laugh… the offer IS tempting though, sitting and sipping tequila, not the wheelbarrow part. But I need to keep moving, although I don’t know why. I told myself I’d buy something special as a present to celebrate my milestone but the truth is there’s nothing I want. Well, there IS one thing I want….. I want experiences. I have more jewelry that I can ever wear, more tshirts than I can ever wear. I have more things (if I buy anything else I’m scared my decluttering sisters will throw my “stuff” out)… I’m not opposed to spending money but unless I see something that truly speaks to me I will simply wander the market as something to do. Since nothing catches my fancy at the main market, I decide to cross over to the secondary market. 

I traverse a rickety suspension bridge to the market riverside. This bridge has been here for as long as I’ve been coming here. There are boards missing and it’s not the gentle sway of a bridge but the hard bouncing of one that is in charge - “I’m allowing you to traverse at my pleasure”. I cross safely to the other side, thankful that a tumble into the dank, murky river below is not my fate.

It’s humid and I’m sweaty. And I want a birthday drink! and so I skip shopping and find myself at a restaurant named Oscars. I’m in only person in there and Alfredo, my server, assures me that it’s ok to order a drink only and not food. As with so many other people I’ve met, he seems puzzled that I’m here alone. He doesn’t understand solo women. I’m ok that he doesn’t. We converse and I explain I’m here to celebrate my 60th birthday. He offers congratulations and before long Happy Birthday comes over the speakers. I wince thinking I should’ve kept quiet but a piece of cake is brought out and I paste a gracious smile on my face. It’s chocolate and there was an effort and the gesture deserves appreciation. And so I do. I eat my cake, sip my ice cold cerveza and enjoy the moment. The attention is small, focused. There’s nothing wrong with it. I may have chosen a solo trip but it’s nice to be celebrated. 

And now it’s time to make tracks. Take a walk down the malecon. Feel the breeze stir at my hair, the salty goodness of the moisture soaking into my skin. It isn’t long before I come upon a small group of artists. This, this speaks to me. MFH and I bought local art on our trips- generally nothing expensive but unusual. I’d get it framed and hang it on the walls at home. The first artist catches my eye. His artwork is done with different colors of dyed straw. It is unique and painstakingly beautiful. I’m immediately drawn to a Mayan calendar done in gold but the price, even if I’m to negotiate, is more than I want to spend. Worth it, but more. Besides, I have a Mayan calendar done in beadwork from a different Mexican trip. His English is almost nonexistent. My limited Spanish not enough to carry our conversation. He indicates that his artwork is a family tradition and proudly shows me pictures of his children, grandchildren. 

He learned his skill from his father and grandfather. He shows me artwork from the Mayan calendar that represents June. And I have found my special gift for me. He has two sizes of the June calendar and I need to decide which one I like. As with my other encounters today, he asks why I’m travelling and why I’m alone. “Mi cumpleanos” … with excited glee he asks “today” and I nod. I tell him I need time to decide and he’s not persistent. I do not negotiate. I will negotiate on everything but not artwork. Might sound odd but it’s my rule.

And so I sit and think. And watch the waves  crash the rocks. Couples pose in front of archways. And I decide it’s only money. I go back to Arturo and he chatters excitedly. I have zero clue what he’s saying. He could be telling me that ten elephants are about to stampede me and I would stand there and nod. I’m saved by a beautiful woman who sees my bewilderment. She listens to Arturo and then, dark eyes kind and smiling, explains that if I buy the smaller piece of art Arturo will gift me two very small pieces. It’s my birthday and I’m kind. He can sense I’m a good person. My eyes well up because why do I deserve this kindness? Why me? I try to explain I was going to purchase anyway but he insists on the gifts. And so I accept. And I’m enveloped in a big hug. In my world kindness and hugs go together. 

Arturo puts a crumpled pamphlet in the bag with my artwork - his family history. And I will proudly tell the story of this man, his kindness and his talent. With a last hug I leave. I am content. Despite the noise of the world, good people exist. I endeavour to try and be one. 

I walk away and look skyward - I am by the cathedral- the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I’m not Catholic, not religious (but spiritual) and I’m drawn to go inside and give thanks. Thanks for this encounter. Thanks for my life. For I AM deeply grateful. Life is a continuous journey but these last four years even more so. As with anyone who suffers loss - death, divorce, estrangement or other - there’s a shift to heal and a shift to find a new normal. I only reflect on my life and who I was prior to the death of MFH and who I am now. I am the same but I am so different. Above all, though, I have gratitude. Gratitude for the people in my life. Gratitude for the experiences in my life. Gratitude for my life. I have a deep appreciation for all of it. And so, in this church and on this day I’m compelled to reflect, to give thanks. 

The church itself is beautiful, ornate. Gold detailing on pillars, the altar. A soft mint green washes the walls, the better to elevate the attention to the saints, to Christ, the Virgin Mary. 

I bow my head, pray. I believe in God because I really don’t want to be in charge of my life and someone has to be.  I choose to believe in a kind, merciful God who loves us all equally. It is not my place to judge how others live when my own life needs a lot of work. I’m not looking to be a saint - I’m quite happy as a sinner - but part of the good is the bad and vice versa.

When I’m done praying I sit a few moments more. My gaze is drawn to a bird - beautiful white- perched on a ledge at the top of a pillar. Majestic, the bird minds her own business, preens occasionally. Seems content to be left on her own, making her way. I smile a bit. Well, I smile until a grey bird comes along to annoy her. He - for surely it’s a he- bumps into her. Attempts to nestle up to her, demands her attention. It’s isn’t long until the white bird takes flight to an adjacent pillar, her need for solitude clear… well clear to me. The black bird, however, is clueless and does not get the hint, flying over to sit next to her. Is there a “meaning” behind this? Perhaps. Or, perhaps, like humans, it’s simply an Interaction. Nonetheless, it makes me grin.

Rising from my pew, it’s time to move on. I’ve thought about what I want to do next, and now it’s time to make a decision. Although this trip is for me and not to pay homage to MFH, there IS one restaurant that we discovered when we came here for our honeymoon in 1997. Pipi’s. We’ve been multiple times since. It has a fun, lively atmosphere and guacamole made to order at your table. Do I go? Or do I skip it? It’s not far from the cathedral… I start my walk - my sweaty, humid walk- in the direction of the restaurant and decide I want to visit. I love this place and I’m not attempting to relive cherished memories but there’s no reason I can’t make new ones.

I get lost and pop by a shop selling ATV’s. An earnest young kid tries to sell me a ride when I ask for directions. I tell him no but invite him for a margarita. He laughs, points me in the right direction and I’m on my way. As I walk I find that I am not nervous about being on these streets alone. I listen to my gut, getting off a street if something seems not quite right but pursuing a path forward. It isn’t long until the colourful banners outside the restaurant come into view. While I am not home, I’m entering a place that is familiar. And, it’s another exhale. 

A young kid seats me. I’m truly not sure he’s even 20. Very serious and the rookie of the waiters (he gets bossed around a lot) he comes to my table to take my order. Huge chocolate brown eyes, dark hair slicked back, somber expression. It takes everything in me to not ruffle his hair, tickle him and make him smile. I’m pretty sure that doing so would result in a felony so I don’t. I’m prepared for his question - “are you alone? Why?”  And I simply smile. He asks if I’d like a margarita and presents me the list. I ask him which is his favorite. It’s coconut, although I have serious doubts he’s old enough to drink. I tell him it’s my birthday and he gets to choose his favorite margarita and that’s what I’ll have. I also tell him that if he tells anyone it’s my birthday I won’t be happy. I can see the struggle in his eyes - do I please the Senorita and stay quiet or do I please the bosses and make a spectacle? He looks me up and down  and chooses to please the Senorita. A wise choice. You see, he doesn’t know it yet but I’m an excellent tipper. I love to tip here. Money means a lot and instead of buying things for me I tip well. 

He leaves to get my drink - I’m getting a coconut margarita, I can feel it. It’s ok. 

A wizened gentleman with a portable tray set up to make guacamole approaches, gets my taste preferences and soon I’m dipping fresh chips into this heavenly concoction. 

My margarita arrives - my waiter is nervous about the choice he made for me. I sip it - it’s absolutely nothing I will ever order again. I tell him it’s fine. He smiles a shy smile and leaves me to enjoy my moments. 

I’m seated by a window and as I look across the street a sign - Si renta- catches my eye. A fleeting thought - I could stay here- crosses my mind. I could. I could stay because I’ve decided that I really have nowhere else I need to be in life. 

A veteran waiter checks in with me, inquires how everything is. I assure him it’s “bueno” and tell him my waiter selected my drink. That’s when I learn Luis’s name. I call him over, by name, and ask him to take a few photos of me. His eyes widen when I do “who did you call me by”? He asks. “Luis - I’m sorry, did I get your name wrong”? “No but how did you know”? I tell him another waiter told me. His reaction is a mixture of emotions- gratitude for a customer knowing his name but also hesitation. At this point he’s being taught to blend into the shadows so the other servers can shine. But this Senorita likes this kid. And I want him to have a moment.

After he takes my photo, I order food to go. When it comes, I ask for the bill. It’s brought to me by a senior waiter. I put cash into the bill wallet but ask to speak to Luis. The veteran server is reluctant to let me but I insist. Luis comes over and I ask how tips are split. He explains that everyone gets a cut. I listen, nod and then take half of my very generous tip out of the wallet. I explain that he kept my secret. He provided me with excellent service. The half I gave him was his alone. He’s grateful this kid. And I didn’t do this for the gratitude. I did it because the kindness I got that day deserves to be passed on. 

With that it’s back to the hotel. I grab an agua mineral (that margarita had a LOT of premium tequila in it) and hit the beach. The sun is setting and I’ve just had a wonderful day. My intent was to read - or write- but instead I merely people watch. Eventually it’s time to make a move for the evening. I was going to eat my Pipi’s meal on my balcony but I walk by the restaurant and the charming captain encourages me to eat there. He shows me a table that’s in the area reserved for special occasions so I agree to change and come back down.

I slip on my stunning black dress, my Moroccan scarf. I clasp a silver filigree heart around my neck- a special gift from a heart sister. My highlighted hair looks tousled, sexy. A small spritz of my favorite perfume and I head down. 

I walk confidently towards the reception table. Patricia, my server from my last visit, smiles as she sees me. She calls to her captain and he comes over to greet me. He’s a natural flirt and though it’s completely meaningless, it’s fun to practice. He seats me at a table where he can both keep an eye on me and where I have a view of the jazz pianist. I settle in. A glass of chilled rose wine is poured for me. The captain and I lock eyes and, with a slight smile, he leaves. I am powerful. I am beautiful. I…what the hell is that smell? Seriously- what is that funk? OMG- it’s my feet! I didn’t shower before I came down - just a quick wipe and my feet stink! I didn’t see anything with bleu cheese on the menu so if the handsome captain spends too long at my table I’m hooped. This is bad… 

…but it wasn’t bad. The meal was good. And the service was excellent. And Patricia says she has a surprise for me and I tell her if the restaurant sings I’m bolting. Patricia never looks panicked but she does now. Does she listen to her captain or does she listen to me? Apparently a comprise was struck and the jazz player plays happy birthday and the capitain serenades me solo, substituting “my darling” for the spot where my name goes. I want to giggle but I do not. And then the perfect piece of cake is brought out. And Patricia pours more rose into my glass because the captain says that’s what she must do. And so I give in to it all, the magic, the moments. 

I leave and the captain - Miguel (see, I know his name)- asks where I’m going. I tell him to sit on the beach. And I do. I go sit on the beach with my water. And because it was planned for me (it really wasn’t but I’m going with it) fireworks go off. 

There are many things in life that are challenges. Coming down here, to a place where my cherished memories are ones I have of me as part of a couple and creating ones as a single, is risky. Do I want to mess with the past? Yes, I do. This place is not a shrine. It’s a place to honor and create. It’s a place for us and now me. This place is for old loves and new loves - me.

Welcome home to me.