hb mp

I would make a terrible husband.

Remembering anniversaries is a stretch for me. For example, I completely forgot a major milestone last December. The tenth anniversary of Mexpatriate.

On 19 December 2007, I published my first story announcing my evolving thoughts of retiring to Mexico. And, like any good novel, the theme that has run through every subsequent post appeared in that first essay. "I had looked at buying property on the Oregon coast, but I wanted something more adventurous: I wanted to wake up each morning not knowing what type of skills I would need to get through the day."

Since then, you have been on trips with me to six continents. Watched Jiggs grow old and die; and Barco stay young and die. I lived on the beach and then the infamous laguna. With crocodiles and snakes and birds. I bought a house. Acquired a son. Went through two Escapes. Writing about all of them as a way to keep a journal for myself and to share this joyous life in Mexico.

In a pique of personal betrayal, I even abandoned the blog. For a couple of days. Then, I was back because the blog has become an important device for me to build a framework around a life that otherwise would lack focus. Knowing that I may write about any daily experience, I start looking at life's details that I would otherwise ignore. In effect, I have developed a journalist's eye for existence. Or, at least, an editorialist's eye.

That number (10) seems odd to me. It feels longer than that that I have been writing Mexpatriate. Almost as if it has been part of my life for decades.

But, it simultaneously seems less than that. As if time has folded over on itself. I can remember sitting down to write that first essay as if I had written it yesterday in my computer room.

What I cannot remember is what I was writing on 19 December last year that replaced what should have been an anniversary post.

It turns out I wrote nothing. My friend Robin was here then, and we must have been having such a good time that I Steve Martined the date -- I forgot.

And that would be appropriate. After all, I did not move to Mexico to be a robotic reciter of rote dates. I came here for adventure. Difficulty. Conflict.

So, happy belated anniversary, Mexpatriate. I do not know how many more days, months, or years you have left in you. But I intend to enjoy the ride as long as I can.