This one is about the boy who used to be my boyfriend but isn’t anymore. The one I met, got to know, and fell for in a blink’s worth of months; the same one I trusted immediately. So much so that I packed up my entire life here and asked if he’d to join my corporate hiatus across the globe to middle-of-nowhere Mexico. The boy whose title has gone from stranger to partner, to lover, co-conspirator, ex, best friend, to finally silent acquaintance. Another heart incredibly pure and caring, and tender, and there, now carefully tucked away in the vault of memories hiding silently under my bed. This one is about him.
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I’ve been thinking a lot about why it feels so hard to write about my time in Mexico, and I guess it’s because so much of it has remained unresolved. Yes, that I went, had an unequivocal and transformative time, traveled and experienced culture in the way you only can when you’re really living in a place, and plunged myself into a completely different chapter of life is true. It was everything I could’ve hoped for, and infinitely so much more –that much is settled on the matter. But then there’s the whole partnership aspect of things. Whether I care to admit it or not, the person who was with me through the whole lot of it –and the fact that we’re not together anymore– carries it’s own weight on things. It’d be crazy that it didn’t.

Truthfully, I’m rolling my eyes because I realize they just keep getting harder to explain to my friends. My breakups, that is. It'd be so much easier to write about some twisted infidelity, or even an unexpected falling out of things, but when have I ever been known to make things easy? Instead, I went ahead and decided that –perfect as things may have felt at times– maybe this wasn’t the right time to be setting roots down with a partner. Especially not with one whose path and ambitions seemed to be headed in such a different direction. Rather than prolong what seemed to be an unavoidable separation, I focused on making the most of our time together, and somehow convinced myself that getting ahead of the breakup could spare me the pain of desolate loss that follows after. Wouldn’t that have been nice?

And let me tell you, it worked perfectly! My endeavors were so successful, in fact, that I’m only sitting at my kitchen table in the middle of the night writing about the whole thing almost six months later just for the hell of it.

The truth is things just weren't that simple. Instead of having some huge argument or set breaking point, we reached a mutual agreement about the direction in which things were headed. In fact, I’d argue we became even closer after choosing an end date because of how fiercely it shifted intention to the forefront of the relationship. With two months down and two more to go, choosing to remain together without actually being together was going to take hard work and communication. And I really do think we succeeded at it.

For having just met in the year prior, it felt like we had already been through so much together. So much more than I could’ve even begun to imagine the first time we spoke and I wished him a happy birthday.

When I quit my job and left the country I knew very little about what the next couple of months would be looking like. But that I'd be coming back to charge the bull up by the horns once recovered, I was certain from the start. That much had always remained clear.  Osmar, on the other hand, was a bit more tied down to Mexico, and couldn’t –despite his best efforts– be sure if he’d make it over to the other side, much less know by when. So as difficult as it may have felt, it was also incredibly clear. For better or worse, in this particular moment of our existence, we were simply out of time. I resolved to create for us the best possible memories and obsessed over orchestrating some of the most magical out-of-this-world experiences for us to look back on when the pain of things started to creep around in the future. And for the most part there too, I’d like to believe I didn't disappoint. I learned what it meant to focus on another person’s happiness –something I likely never would have here in New York– and reveled in the fulfillment that comes from doing things for someone other than yourself.

And just like that, it was over. Time slipped through my fingers, and soon I was all out. Our days together had turned into months, and our months turned into a single and unavoidable ticket back to shiny New York City. A one-way flight for a one-man band. Just me, all my feelings and my problems, and a dozen luggage tags.

Yet confusing as it might sound now, it always felt just right. That I was moving back to my home country,
–even if just for a short couple of months– to breathe and decompress and recharge and prepare, and that I was doing it with someone I had come to love and respect, despite our short crossover, felt perfectly timed. I was uncertain about so many things, but never about us. And even when we realized we might not be the best for each other then, it still felt right. To be there, with my best friend, my partner, my confidant. To talk through the pains and adjustments that would involve stepping the relationship in a different direction, and to have that trust to believe that we’d still be there for one another every step along the way… Quite frankly it’s the kind of loyalty I’ve seen only in one other person in my life.

And it allowed things to continue to be right.

Because I can’t say I’d be here, back in this place otherwise. Instead of worrying about how I’d continue to do life in Mexico as a single entity, I was able to just be there. Yes, we were broken up, and yes we still had a couple of months ahead of “figuring things out,” but it was just so different than any other breakup I’d ever had. Because we went about it in a completely different way. It wasn’t about choosing to be anything else other than what was best for each other. And even though neither of us had ever done it like this before, breaking up before actually separating completely redefined the notion of partnership.

Alas, several months later I’m still struggling to unravel the tangled heartstrings that have inevitably tugged at me on on this, the most confusing separation I’ve yet to endure. As I’m sure will come as no surprise, moving on from someone who gives you pretty much no reason to step away is just about as confusing as it sounds. I’ve found soft comfort in reminding myself that, though brief, the reasoning behind our separation, was very real then if not more so now. And that’s just the way it goes sometimes.

To be completely honest here, the hardest part of it –for me, at least– has centered around settling back into that debilitating shadow that seems to cast itself over the notion of being single. Not just lonely, or un-partnered, but really single. Alone, unaccompanied, unattended, un-cared for. Because the lonely part isn’t the toughest part. It’s the part where you have to cheer yourself on, the part where you have to dive in alone, or the part where you have to be your own rock. Those are the moments you need someone the most. And I lived it first-hand: Scared as I may have been to be living in a place that had long-since become unfamiliar, not mention plunging myself into a town whose closest relative was more than a day’s drive away, was short of terrifying. But doing it with a partner? It was cake! Who cares if I didn’t know the main roads from the back roads, or the safe zones from the hot ones? I wasn’t alone. I had my partner in crime if anything went wrong.

And now he’s gone.
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‍‍And now I’m alone again.

How can I be expected to accomplish the same things when I’m alone? To drive down that same windy road, or dive into the darkness if no one is holding my hand? These were amongst the first wave of thoughts that swept by. And I want to be careful here not to represent my psyche as one that feels incapable of doing things on it’s own –lord knows I’ve done my fair share of proving otherwise in that sense. But rather, one that pulls power from companionship. One that feels ready to run towards the monsters, and race into the dark when someone else stands close nearby.

And that’s what I need to work on, I guess.

Because as much as we like to believe that the world is easier to digest when there’s someone by our side, the truth is, it’s just as hard and just as scary. The only thing that’s different is our perception of that fear. And understanding that last bit, will probably encompass the next decade of my existence.

That we have the power to do, un-do, build, and break, and shatter, and make. And that we have the power to do it alone… It’s a tough realization to fully internalize. But a valuable one, I believe.

I’ll end this by saying I have nothing but absolute gratitude for the person I got to love, even if momentarily. I’ve called him many things, but above anything else he was my best friend. He was there for me, even when I wasn’t sure that I was there for me, and I’m grateful for all of it. The laughs, the tears, and the occasional screaming fights. The early morning runs, the late night drives, and everything else in between. Those four months in Mexico saved my life. And I hope he knows that.

Now all that remains is grace. To give grace and to carry on.
And I have every intention of seeing that through. So that's that.

Until next time dear friends,