We’re in the car, and I’m a little nervous. We’ve been invited to a special comida (mid-day meal) to celebrate a birthday. It’s my partner’s sort of “weird extended family,” as they describe themselves, and, naturally, I want to be on my best behaviour. As well, it’ll be a bigger group than I’m used to and I’m going to try to communicate in Spanish, so I’m feeling a little anxious, even though I know they’re nice people.
The traffic is horrendous. It’s Saturday afternoon in this megacity, and it feels like all 20 million inhabitants are circulating. Honestly, if they haven’t actually experienced this, Canadians can’t imagine the madness of these city streets. Cars come at you from all directions. Lanes and red and green lights are mere suggestions, and there is every size and type of vehicle, cart, motorbike, regular bike, scooter, skateboard, roller blade, roller skate, pedestrian, dog, etc. that you can imagine–all at once. Not all organized and generally rule-abiding, but each just making its own way however it can.
I’m already feeling nervous, as I mentioned, and the multiple near scrapes along the way aren’t making it easier. At least we’re close now. Soon we’ll be parked and safely at the house. ¡Ojala! (God willing!)
And, of course, wouldn’t you know? That’s exactly when she surprises me. I’ve usually got eyes out for her, but today, I’ve been distracted. Right when I can use some reassurance, Our Lady of Guadalupe appears, this time in the form of a sticker plastered on a speed limit sign. I fumble for my phone and grab a picture before we pass, but there isn’t much time to think about her because in another couple of hair-raising blocks, we finally turn down a narrow, quiet street and arrive at our destination.
I’m greeted warmly by the matriarch of the family. We’ve met before, and I’m happy to see her again. Actually, I’ve been here before, so the house and this señora and her husband are familiar to me. It’s the rest of the family that I’ll be meeting for the first time.
Already here are the birthday man and his wife. Here we go. I take a breath and smile. First, hands are extended, but then, each leans forward and pulls me in gently for the customary kiss on the cheek.
There is only one kiss, just so you know. When I first started coming to Mexico and people leaned in for a greeting, I must have been following European-heritage instincts and tried to give people two kisses, one on each cheek, which seemed perfectly natural to me. It happened maybe two or three times before the one-kiss idea stuck, but, thanks to some very surprised but very gracious Mexican people, those two or three times weren't as awkward as they might have been.
Birthday Man and his wife are very warm with big smiles and welcomes. Okay, I think, this is good. This is fine. I can do this.
We are invited to take a seat on the couch. A little boy, maybe five years old, a nephew, a grandchild, fidgets on the floor as he plays video games on a tablet. We engage with him–or try to. He’s more interested in his virtual world of race cars and monster trucks. Apparently, he knows some English. “Would you like to practice English with Amy?” my partner asks.
“No.”
No hesitation. Unequivocal. He doesn’t even look up.
Okay, so I didn’t win this one over. Not to be concerned. Here comes another new someone. She’s a little older, looks like the matriarch. Turns out to be her sister. There’s a slightly awkward moment when I’m not sure if she’s good with just a handshake or we’re going to have a hug. Oh, okay, here’s a brief, light hug and cheek kiss. She’s not exactly “warm,” but she’s polite and tells good stories. She actually tells one about the day her mother died. I’m able to follow most of the Spanish, but certain parts escape me. One has something to do with holy oil from Canada–from Montreal, she thinks–she says as she looks to me for confirmation. I’m still processing/translating everything she’s said up to that point, so I’m a little behind. I hear the word “Montreal,” and I can see that she’s looking at me, waiting, but before “Notre Dame?” or “Saint Joseph’s Oratory?” can come out of my mouth, she’s moved on.
I’m a little embarrassed because this was a chance for me to shine–to share something about Canada and practice my Spanish–but I wasn’t fast enough.
Not to worry. I’ll get another chance, I tell myself. And, because everyone we’re expecting is now here, we’ll no doubt eat soon. It’ll be easier to communicate around the table, I tell myself.
But wait… what’s happening? Here come some more people. And a dog. Great! I love dogs. They’re adorable and easy to greet in any language. This one, however, ignores me, and once again, I’m with brand new people for hugs and kisses and the customary verbal greeting mucho gusto.
I’d already used my well-rehearsed mucho gusto with Birthday Man, his wife and the older aunt, and everything went okay, so I’m ready.
However, as soon as I lean in with each of the dog parents, out comes a garbled “mucha gusta” and “mucha guba.” Each pulls back from the embrace and looks at me curiously. Right away, though, they realize what I mean and all is well. I, however, flush red and suddenly feel far too hot for comfort.
And now here’s someone else! Another sibling of Birthday Man with his spouse and two little girls. Within 20 seconds, the girls have blasted past their grandparents, aunts, uncles, my partner and me. One is pouncing on her monosyllabic cousin with the tablet, while the other is climbing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She’s practically at the top already! That can’t be safe, I think just as the parents come in for the greeting.
This time, I’m uncomfortably warm, and there’s considerably more sound in the house with everyone gathered and talking. I’m a little overwhelmed. I manage to get out two “mucho gustas” (wrong again! but close, at least), and now, finally, we’re getting ready to eat.
In a matter of minutes, here we are, sitting snugly, literally elbow to elbow with extra chairs pulled up at the table. People are visiting animatedly. The food comes and is laid out buffet-style on the side. Now people are taking turns getting up to serve themselves. A bottle of wine is being passed around. There is constant motion, conversation, and laughter. A little Nerf toy dart sails over the table (thanks to the boy who’s momentarily grown tired of the tablet). Eventually, a cake with candles emerges and is placed in front of Birthday Man. We all sing. Even the climbing girl, who is still up near the ceiling. Even me, without knowing the words.
And in this moment, I’m reminded, as I often am, that there was no reason to be nervous in the first place. I’m able to genuinely relax and realize how blessed I am. Imagine! I’ve been welcomed with open arms into this family’s home. Welcomed to their family table. Welcomed to share this personal celebration. This is one of those rare and special moments where I’m actually in the moment–enjoying it without concern about the moment that just passed or the moment coming up.
I think back to the sticker of Our Lady there on the traffic sign. How many people does she see each day who rush past her, feeling nervous and distracted, thinking only of where they’re going? How many rush past her, feeling anxious and unsettled, thinking only of where they’ve been? And how many does she see who are in the moment, pleased to be out and about, happy simply to be in motion, grateful to be alive as they pass, open to life’s adventures?
May you and I be among those last as often as we can.
If you're interested, please try my related guided meditation on Insight Timer or SoundCloud
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