The Retreat Issue
The Great Escape
If Not Now, When?
Leaving The Grey
For years I watched with longing as other posted photos of their writing retreats. Nothing glamorous per se, just a rich bonding shining through those posts. Tales of fruitful words flowing to the page. Placing FOMO in a box, I’d return to the piles on my desk and the responsibilities tying me down. The very reasons I needed it were the reasons I couldn’t.
When trusted mentor and coach Lynne Golodner suggested I join her retreat in Mexico, there was no doubt I wanted to go. Would I? Unlikely. It was almost a year away. Commitment hives clung to me. The deadline approached. FOMO vs obligations. The idea of an escape where I could put writing ahead of all else persistently nagged me. With a couple of clicks on the keyboard, I pledged my attendance. Regret and doubt be damned.
As far as life demands, there couldn’t have been a worse time for me to go. But if not now, when?
I leave behind a universe of grey, of noise, of putrid smells to sit on confined planes at the mercy of others to know their boundaries, respect them, to not spread germs, or for the love of Pete, to at least use deodorant.
Droopy and ragged, I walk through León’s Guanajuato International Airport, still questioning my judgement. Geographically, I’m lost. I don’t speak the language. Via a translation app, the shuttle driver laughs at me for spending too much on a bottle of water. The van lurches forward to our destination, swerving around curves, speeding down narrow roads.
Out the window, there is pale beige, sandy dryness. A scattering of trees and a mountainous backdrop in the distance, and as we near, green growth appears. The van turns, and the dry, seemingly infertile ground reemerges. For a fleeting moment there are sheep on the right, cattle to the left. We pass through areas too small to be towns where people sit on sidewalks, still and patient, some with wares to sell, others just there. Others pose in doorways. Nothing remarkable to see, yet notable.
Over time, a vast civilization with a hint of a low-rise cityscape stretches across the horizon. Perhaps it is the intended location, San Miquel. Hard to tell by the many unnerving turns and curves the shuttle speeds through. And all at once we enter a city of spectacular color, and the van stops by a door I might never have noticed. I’ve arrived.
Choosing Adventure
Color. Vibrancy.
The wonder of the unfamiliar space around me. A new culture. The reminder of here and now, not then, what was. Not responsibilities or needs. Here, now. Adventure. Newness. The reminder that one must capture time, to stop taking life for granted. We face life or death. Watch others fade in theirs. Reminders. Milestones. Don’t waste your seconds, your breaths.
What’s the first thing that found me in San Miguel de Allende? The colors, the vibrancy, the breath of fresh air, the wonder, the reminder to be present. The need to step out of routine, to do something unexpected. In this place you’ve never been before, aren’t sure of, but embracing it. That’s living.
The colors wake you up. There’s a thrumming of excitement. The sounds. The lovely sounds of nature, not city noise, earth noise. Birds chirping, some shouting, some singing. Bells chiming. Gone from memory is the last time you let yourself sit still, motionless and soak in the profound sensory input. The last time lists and need-to-dos didn’t clutter your head? Sit and listen. Breathe. Let nature consume you. The fresh air is crisp, sometimes spiced. The sky blue and endless.
San Miguel has opened me up, released the creativity, the calm, the wonder. This place is alive and gets under your skin. Your brain buzzes with life, light, and space. What you find in San Miguel is you—fresh-eyed, joyful, unrestrained. Taking nothing for granted.
Open spaces, open minds. Words come. It’s healing and restful, alive and compelling. Shapes, sounds, lights, warmth. No two seconds, no two blocks the same. There is history, fascination, looking outward no longer inward. Hope and resurrection.
What finds me in San Miguel is not me, but a better me. The me I’ve been looking for.
Casa de la Noche
The Escape to a Mexican Bordello
Behind the unassuming, yet lovely, wooden door is a quiet boutique hotel. Terracotta-colored floor tiles and walls painted in warm tints welcome each guest. This bed-and-breakfast style dwelling is a maze of rooms filled with art, courtyards flourishing with plants, bright flowers and fountains. It is restful yet lively, sheltering yet inspiring. As a creative, the lure of this place is as immediate as an embrace. The idea of staying longer than the week-long retreat you’ve come for is easy to picture.
The sun cups your face in the main courtyard. One can almost hear the buzzing inside the walls, the secrets the stucco must hold of those who sat there before you. Imagine artists, photographers, authors and their masterpieces set to this scene. You move on to find your room, through two outdoor spaces, up a narrow staircase. On the other side of the casa, others traipse up steep spiral staircases to find their rooms near the roof or an art room. More rooms, more nooks, some you’ll never figure out where. Each room has a unique name you can’t pronounce, an ode, you discover, to the history of the place and the names of the women who worked here in this once famous brothel. You can find the women’s pictures both in the stone above the front door and framed inside. They seem held with a sense of dignity and pride.
The place has transformed from the once-known bordello to a place of rest and restoration, without losing its identity. That is powerful. Inwardly, it reminds me of the many times I have resurrected and reinvented myself, staying true to who I am at the core, only to come out stronger.
I leave this place with a sense of transition, seeing the same things anew. Gripping this new, open, vulnerable sense of being, I return to the greyness of my city: grey buildings, grey streets, and a grey sky chomping to release a monster winter storm. I’ve returned to the abhorrent noises, the unpleasant odors, but I don’t let go of the vibrancy and color of San Miguel and Casa de la Noche. That will stay with me always.
And Now For Something Completely Serious…
I’ve used up my seriousness for the day…Stick around for the next issue of Sometimes Snarkastic
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Last Licks
Strudel the Doodle Tackles Winter
