Under the Wire: October, Revisited
The hellhole rat race, Mexico City, and what I've been into lately.
It’s been damn near a month and a half, maybe more since my last update. I've been working hard to reconfigure my job role and get things where I want them in my life, and truth be told, it’ll be at least a few more months before I’ll feel settled enough to pour more energy into this newsletter. That being said, I don’t want to leave you all hanging, and there’s plenty of good stuff happening in my life besides the dumpster fire that is everywhere you look.
First of all, I feel like, maybe for the first time in a long time, I’m starting to get my groove back, and though I was a pirate for a while there, deep down, I know I’ll always be a lost boy. I try not to focus on validation too much, but I think a big part of being a part of a community is finding a tribe you feel you belong to and one that accepts you unconditionally. After a few years in LA and a rocky year [or three] finding my footing again, I’ve got some solid friends to rely on, and I’m able to be myself, be present, and give back to a community that’s been there for me. I think a big part of that I owe to being unafraid to be myself, to own my eccentricities, and not being afraid to draw learnings from every mistake. It took me a while to figure out that identity is malleable, that you can always reinvent yourself, and that there have always been redeemable qualities even where you may have only ever seen faults.
This segues nicely into my trip to Mexico City. I’ve had a fraught relationship with my Mexican heritage. Growing up half-Mexican, shunned at a young age by teachers and peers in my WASPy suburban upbringing for speaking broken English and never fully grasping an understanding of my heritage or the language, I always felt at odds with myself — always slightly uncomfortable in my own skin. Ruby and I spent less than a week in Mexico City, but the trip forced me to confront all that and embrace, head-on, the notion that I might have more of a connection to my motherland than I thought. I ended up being able to communicate in Spanish like a native for the most part (though I’m told Mexican-Spanish is the most elementary and easiest form of Spanish) and navigated the busy streets of the city like a local. As I led our day-to-day throughout the trip, this newfound confidence was a revelation that maybe I’ve been living my life all wrong, a little too comfortable with complacency. As for Mexico City, hit me up if you want any recs.
On the flight, I breezed through the Lou Reed biography by Will Hermes, which is chock-full of information but falls a bit short of drawing any substantial conclusions. Nevertheless, I’ve always had an affinity for Lou and found a lot of his background admirable, relatable even. He didn’t always get it right, but he always stayed true to himself, and I found his legacy as a New York icon and rock-n-roll iconoclast to mirror another idol of mine, Anthony Bourdain.
Anyway, here’s what I packed for five days in Mexico City, all in my LL Bean zip tote [which was ill-advised because I ended up throwing out my back carrying it]:
Four white tees, one light blue
greige Uniqlo socks
vintage USN denim
Stoffa cashmere corduroy drawstring trousers
a vintage Swedish Army tunic
Stoffa cardigan in charcoal
vintage 1930s double-breasted sportcoat
my Real McCoys Type A-3 cap
vintage Army canvas web belt
New Balance 574s (that I purchased on my last trip to Copenhagen)
My only qualms with this are that it was too hot for the sportcoat—even on the plane—and that it rained towards the end of our trip, and I had no protective clothing. I would have packed my 3sixteen Mac coat if I’d known. But if there’s one lesson I’ve learned when traveling, it’s that simplicity remains key.
✌️☮️