My routines were safe. They kept me secure in my mind even as they kept me fastened to my bronze-version life. I’d asked for this. I didn’t know it at the time of my asking. It didn’t sound like that at all. It sounded like groaning. Deep, unsatisfied, guttural groaning. And it wouldn’t stop. 

I was not-so-silently fuming at no one but myself. I’d been here before and felt the cold, dark or dryness of having pushed the ‘grace period’ mentality only to find there was no grace period. I knew better but I insisted and no one was really affected by that recurring obstinance but me. I was furious – at the injustice but mostly just at myself. And then a memory hit me. I remembered another time when one day made all the difference in the world and utterly changed the trajectory of my life forever.

When I moved to Cabo in Oct 2017, not really knowing a soul save one person, I approached it the same as I had every vacation over the past 20 years to the same locale: I LOVED IT!! But after almost a year of globetrotting from this country to that, I was nearly broke. With no desire to return to accounting in any form and with no clear idea what was to happen next…