I live. Although somewhere other than where I once was.

And in the esteemed words of my brother, Bob, “I travel to be there.”

For now, I am in Mexico.

I wrote the preceding sentences last night in a first attempt to hack my way through what I presumed to be the differences that separated traveling, living, and being a tourist.

It is now morning. The sun has not yet made an appearance. The street is quiet. And a strong cup of black coffee sits before me on the table. The conclusions I drew turned out to be surprisingly clear although my approach admittedly was somewhat oblique.

Like I had a thought this morning just as I was getting out of bed about the next door neighbor’s 2 year old girl who gets so wonderfully excited every time she sees me. But she doesn’t get excited because she is seeing me. No. She gets excited because I am seeing her.

Descartes quite possibly might never have said, “I think, therefore I am”, if he would have know just how bastardized his single most famous saying would be used in the future.  Like now when I think that it could be reasoned that his utterance on the significance of thought was man’s principal preceding all else act of creativity.

Man thinks. He reasons. He conjures new ideas in his mind. (But perhaps it is noteworthy to pause to say that nothing really counts until he writes it down).

Paul Theroux, after much lengthy travel and observation, once said something to the effect that tourists were those who were on such a short junket that they had temporarily abrogated their responsibilities. Hmm.

Traveling must therefore be a longer term venture. And those doing the traveling must have some proverbial skin in the game (aka responsibilities).

So to wrap this narrative up, next month I’ll celebrate my third anniversary of a traveler living in Mexico. I only use traveler in the least romantic sense meaning as someone who doesn’t belong here. Meaning one of those lost displaced souls who has been moving around for so long that he mostly lost the capability to stop.

However there has been some knowledge gained. Surrounded by this immense background of foreignness called Mexico, I have discovered a few things. Personal things. Like the true meaning of work; a subject worthy of a post all its own. And then the related absurdity of vacations.

And watching these wonderful Mexican people as they go about their day to day lives to see just what living really is.

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