Drugs. Family. Life.

I have been quizzed excessively about my safety and life, here in Durango.  The media in the states clogs the internet with stories of drug wars, beheadings and mass graves. If you google my city, you will find an assortment of negative news articles from a few years ago, when things were particularly scary in this area. And while all that may be true, it doesn’t necessarily paint a picture of what life is really like, in the interior of Mexico. I don’t live in a border city, like Juarez.  I also don’t do drugs and don’t know people who do drugs. The best advice I’ve gotten from my Mexican and expat friends here is: if you don’t hang out with people who dabble in that particular lifestyle, it really wont affect you. And so far, so good.  I haven’t felt unsafe here, at all. I’ve felt uncomfortable, sure. I stand out. I’m the gringa. Ha, I’m the single mom gringa with tattoos and a nose ring. I get some stares, but as the days progress, they become fewer. Durango is considered a small town to the locals, and many are becoming accustomed to my and the sprite's presence.

I don’t think my life here is anything even remotely close to a true representation of the general life of a family in Mexico. I am coddled and spoiled, as much as I complain about my diamond shoes being too tight. My paid-for apartment is a dream compared to some of the homes I’ve seen here. And I use the term “home” loosely. I’m talking crumbling walls, dirt and concrete floors, leaky roofs, hell, no roofs at all, plastic walls, no heaters, rebar and nails sticking out in odd places.  One family I was introduced to, in particular…I walked around their home with a mix of horror, morbid curiosity, and wonderment; how could they live like this? There was one bed for a family of three….in their living room.  A plastic sheet cordoned off the kitchen from the outside. The roof sagged from a constant drip. It felt wet, and cold.

 laughs together, loves together, stays together

But only for a moment.


This family I met was unlike any I’ve ever met before. I didn’t know that family even existed in this sense; the love and warmth they had for each other was palpable. It filled the room. Teenage daughter stood, talking to me, with her dad’s arms wrapped around her, and this look of contentment that I can’t even describe. I can’t remember the last time I hugged my dad, let alone said I love you without a distinctive sense of awkwardness. It made me feel uncomfortable, almost, this closeness this family shared, completely unabashed in their love for one another. This little broken down, hut of a home was the warmest place I’ve ever been.

Meeting them, however, left me exhausted with emotions- unwelcomed emotions. What have I been missing? What is my son missing? You know it’s not just me. Americans have become a spoiled nation, obsessed with our phones, and facebook, and tv, and these little virtual realties that ultimately, in the grand scheme of things, mean nothing.  We are living a countdown, and every single day is another opportunity to cherish and enjoy, and to live. In the here and now. Not through another goddamn status update.  We bitch and complain about the things we don’t have instead of appreciating and being supremely grateful for what we do have, which is FREE.  Each other.

Meeting them was the most humbling experience I’ve ever had.

So. Long story short, we, Americans could learn a lesson from Mexicans. I hope I do.