Patrick contemplates a Mayan structure in Izamal.

It is not because life is difficult that we do not dare. Life is difficult because we do not dare. -Seneca Maior

It has taken me more than a few years to realize the truth of the above statement. I hope that now I can make use of that small incremental increase in wisdom, as I perceive time to be running short. Well, noticably shorter than it appeared a decade ago when this idea of living in Yucatan began.

It seems I have been seeking out reasons why the idea of living in Mexico (in general) and Yucatan (in particular) might be inadvisable right from the beginning. Most of the early fears have by now been dismissed as irrelevant, but more recently I've dredged up a few new issues to obsess about, like Dengue Fever, and I'm ashamed to admit that I might have been ever so slightly discouraged by the sensationalized U.S. reporting of narco-violence.

With regard to Dengue, a read through the article linked above and here indicate that the risk is acceptable, and in Merida the resources are incredibly supportive. As for the violent crime situation, I ran across a short item today that re-emphasised what I really already knew about Merida, now a self-proclaimed (deservedly) City of Peace. One would never guess I once lived fearlessly in Oakland, CA, and as recently as a few months ago considered moving back to California to live in bankrupt and sort-of-scary Vallejo.



Clearly I have wasted time looking for excuses to not dare to resume the journey to Yucatan.

Another long-time hangup has been my attachment to stuff I have accumulated over the past three or four decades.

Perhaps it's time now to remember the weeks I spent erasing all the signs of location-specific material existence when my Dad died several years ago. I hope he did what he really wanted with his last years, and had the experiences that brought him joy, peace, and fulfillment. Perhaps he was content, but if he ever felt constrained by all the stuff and the place where it accumulated, I wish he could have realized how easily (OK, it didn't seem all that easy to ME at the time) everything was transferred to new owners by donation or sale in a few short weeks, or placed unceremoniously in a landfill.


Dad's garage. The remains of a life, waiting to be hauled off to the dump.


Here I am in 2004, discarding a bunch of work ties in anticipation of moving to Merida...

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