Searching in Cancun

Cancun was a place I had never intended to go, but there is something wondrous about saying "Yes," accepting an invitation and extension of a friendship that ultimately became a kinship. My friend Jenny was traveling on a business trip there, and the resort was such a vista of paradise that many of the conference attendees brought a significant other. I walked the white sand shores in the morning, and studied the transparency of water throughout the day. It was more than just examining the many shades of aquamarine; I was searching for a familiarity, a story that had begun with the sea.

Let me explain. Sometimes we find ourselves through the journey of others, whether real or imagined. I had begun writing a story about an abandoned woman who lived on the edge of an ancient lake in ancient time. As long as I found a thread of inspiration in her life, and the events that precipitated in the glorious burst of creation, I could find my own way along the winding road of my life. At least I could make do. Yes, I had begun to feel lost after months of searching for myself. In some ways, I could see how people could go on searching forever, trip after trip, degree after degree, relationship after relationship. Bohemian wandering, continental sojourns at times were preferable to admitting a deep truth within yourself and realizing you have to change.

I had scoured the museums of Paris, looking for the face of my heroine, among those immortalized on the canvas. I didn't know exactly what I was looking for,a restlessness in the gait, a certain ingenuity in the eyes perhaps, a moment of surprise when one is shaken out of resignation. I never did find a face that satisfied me, but in the searching, I discovered more about my character. And perhaps about myself.

As I was searching for inspiration, Jenny was searching for potential wedding venues. Jenny and I lived oddly analogous lives, and I recognized the symptoms well. Not wearing the engagement ring, not settling upon a date, not mentioning the very fact to people we just met, as if by omission it would cease to be true. Yet, she would exert herself identifying all the elements of the perfect wedding, like a mechanical exercise. What is it about women that we keep hoping even when the blatant hopelessness hits us in the face like a slap? Maybe it was love, and maybe it was arrogance, the illusion that we could actually change another.

Somehow, between the void in my life and the absence in hers, we became like sisters. Perhaps kindred spiritship was borne in mutual pain, as well as good times and a similiar sense of fashion. It is only when you fall that you discover who will help you up, encourage you, and stiffen your resolve to become more than you currently are. I remember so many epiphanies in the past year, yet straddled with many nadirs of self-doubt. And in the midst of it all, the sister who was overwhelmingly supportive, and always patient, was Jenny.