An account of our peculiar decision to abandon the good life in Seattle for a year in southern Mexico, and what came after.

Prologue

In my life I’ve called a variety of places in the U.S. my home, and have been able to visit many other fascinating countries as well. I recognize that I am one of a very small number of human beings in the history of our planet that, unaccountably, have been granted these opportunities. 

Everywhere I’ve lived I’ve had the incredibly good fortune to meet people who have become lifelong friends. Each time I’ve moved on to new places the friendships have endured, regardless of the intervening years and miles. It’s an ongoing mystery to me how this can be so, but I intend to keep making the most of it.

Somewhere out there are best friends that I have yet to meet, waiting for me to show up and get the ball rolling. For years I’ve wanted to tell them that I’m not done yet, that they need to be patient for just a bit longer. But now I feel that I owe it to them, and to myself, to get off my butt and go find them. It’s one of the reasons why I’m spending this year in Oaxaca.

A mis amigos Mexicanos: Gracias por todo lo que me han enseñado—voy a intentar atinarle.

                                                                                                        — Stan Wentzel