I find myself rushing around often, and wanting things to fit into the designated shapes of expectation that I have of them. Nowhere does this show up more embarrassingly than when I travel. But then I realize — often too late — I’m missing so much. Nothing is guaranteed except for right fucking now, and here I am wasting this one precious life hung up on details that don’t matter.
I need to stop, slow down, and be in my life.
It’s taken me over a month, but I appreciate my time in Los Cerritos now in ways I overlooked when I was physically there.
I will be the first to admit that I took some issue with the tiny beach community, frustrated that it didn’t fit my mold of what a vacation in Mexico “looked” like. And by that I mean my expectation that things would be cheaper than at home in Portland.
Los Cerritos is tiny — technically just an area within El Pescadero in Baja Sur. The roads to the beach are unpaved and bumpy as hell. Building anything out here is a feat, let alone a sprawling hotel that now sits abandoned but remains an iconic marker of Los Cerritos beach. But it’s this very isolation that makes this beach so relaxing, remote, and well, maybe expensive.
While I have to give myself grace — the dollar had plummeted since I last checked the currency, from 25 to 17 pesos to the dollar — I see now that I let the poor exchange rate color my entire experience. I’m not proud, at all, but I’ve lived the majority of my life dictated by the price of things. I tend to conjure acceptable prices for things and experiences, and they unfortunately play a strong role in my assessment of their value.
But who the fuck am I to bestow a valuation on things and experiences I know nothing about?
When I become so singularly focused on one element — say, the cost of a meal, the value of a taco — I miss everything else about the experience. And that is a fucking waste. What am I even traveling for if not to take it all in?
I did this recently with a particularly expensive meal out with friends. I grumbled for days about the upcoming birthday brunch, and it took me until the day of to remind myself that the meal could actually be brilliant and the company of my girlfriends was a slam dunk — so what the fuck am I even complaining about?
The meal was expensive, sure. But you know what? We laughed uncontrollably for two straight hours and made a terrible mess trying to eat as much seafood as we could manage to get our money’s worth.
On my deathbed, I will think of our special outfits we planned for the “ladies that luncheon” birthday meal and think nothing of the cost.
What I failed to appreciate about Los Cerritos was the very thing I went there for in the first place: fresh sea air and the ability to slow the fuck down. Instead, when I touched down on the beach, I became so wrapped up in the additional cost of the stay with the shift in the exchange rate — and clung to this injustice like an ungrateful hose beast and rode that thing all the way home.
Over the past month, retracing my steps through Los Cerritos while writing reviews of my favorite stops, I sort of fell in love with the community — albeit on a long delay. Removed from the immediate sticker shock and recounting the energy of some of the business owners I met there, I am enchanted with Los Cerritos and would like another chance to visit with a fresh perspective.
And next time I won’t bat an eye if a business is closed when their hours say otherwise. Not everyone is beholden to capitalism the way American society is. Living in America has warped my conception of professionalism and the tenets of a good life — the idea that opening late or closing up shop early to rest and rejuvenate translates to hours not making profit. We move through the world gripped with fear and “what ifs” and the belief that there is not enough for all of us, so whoever is left standing wins.
We will do this, over and over, and then we die.
The end.
Jesus fucking christ, what a scam.
So we better slow down. We better pause and take note of what we are in such a hurry for — because last I checked, whatever I’m rushing toward looks like a whole lot of nothing that special up ahead.
