I’m in Cancun. Despite the fact that I’m a grown ass woman, my mother was freaking out about me traveling to Mexico alone. I’ve never really listened to my mother, ever, so I figure why start now. I have a ten day trip to the Yucatán planned. I was finally going to see archaeological sites that I had dreamed of witnessing since I was a kid watching shows on the Discovery channel with my dad.

My dad. He had passed a little over a year ago; and while it wasn’t completely unexpected, it’s never easy when someone is simply gone from your life forever. It was particularly complicated because he wasn’t the only one I had lost recently. In the span of 15 months, my dad and two dear friends - one my good friend and mentor while I was in the Navy and the other an old friend that had stayed in touch despite time and distance - died, both in their mid-30s. I had been clawing my way to the surface for a while now - scrambling for breath and a reprieve from the darkness that threatened to overtake me. I had struggled to find reason in any of it. I struggled to let go of the pain, the pointless, unfounded guilt; I struggled to let go of them. I had been living with the oppressive weight of loss for two years, and I was ready for some happiness, some peace. I needed this trip. I needed something to shake me loose from grief’s grip.

I had wandered to the far side of the hotel’s beach, as much in the dark as possible. I guess that’s where I felt, subconsciously, most comfortable. It was familiar and everything was strange right now. The lights from the open passage to the hotel lobby threw light on the sand, but I found a spot that was a little hidden, tucked away from the light. I just sat for long time, thinking, reflecting, and sipping my tequila.

I wrote something in the sand and thought about getting another tequila because mine had tragically been expended. I stared out to the sea. Then, I saw something. I couldn’t make out what it was, but it seemed to be moving. At first I thought it was just trash bobbing in the current. But no… the light caught it and reflected back like it was… eyes. I sat up straight, staring, my heart leaping into my throat. Was it a shark?? But it was practically on the shore… it couldn’t be a shark, could it? I kept staring. It was drifting closer. No, it was moving closer… like it was intentionally moving to shore. I’m paralyzed. Maybe it’s best I remain still…

And then the thought occurs to me… holy hell, what if it’s a human? What if all that stuff people said about Mexico not being safe was true and I’m witnessing a dead fucking body wash up on shore?? Like there was a cartel boat offshore and they got into a fight with the authorities and the boat exploded and this guy swam to shore and he probably has a gun and now he’s seen me and he’s going to kill me.

I keep looking. It’s a large, bloated looking mass. Oh fucking hell. It’s a dead body! The cartel guy got into a fight with the authorities and now he’s dead and I’m a witness. There goes my vacation. I see myself being taken away by the authorities and held for questioning. So why were you on that beach anyway? You were waiting for the DRUGS, weren’t you?!

My original assessment is suddenly confirmed. It’s moving to shore. And then it emerges from the waves, slowly, so slowly, and crawls onto the sand with painstaking effort.

Wait… what?

It’s a turtle. A fucking turtle. Not a human body, alive or otherwise. It’s a sea turtle.

I laugh out loud. A turtle?! Okay, that’s cool. And hold on, it’s headed right towards me!

For minutes I watch this massive turtle pull itself further onto the beach. It’s a laborious process. But it’s determined. Thousands upon thousands of years of evolutionary history had predestined this. And I get to witness it. I start crying. I don’t know what it means, but it feels like a sign.

It goes right by me, like I don’t even exist. It has a mission. I cautiously get up and move myself to the beach chairs further up shore. I assume my movement will deter it slightly and it will go in a different direction because I don’t want it to head right for the hotel zone. But it doesn’t alter its course. It continues straight on. Minutes later, she is literally right next to me, digging a hole to the left side of my beach chair. I have a most privileged spot to watch this mama turtle dig a hole and lay her eggs. I can’t believe it. I’m in shock. I am so happy and completely in love with this experience. I never expected to see this. My first night in México, and I found my peace. I knew right then I would never stop traveling. It brought me the relief I hadn’t been able to find in normal life. I felt so connected to the universe in that moment. I felt those that I had lost all around me. I felt okay… for the first time in a while. This is where I was supposed to be. I just knew it.

I lie down and watch her for a while. What a marvel. What a blessing that I get to witness this. She meticulously pushes the sand aside with her flippers. Sand flicks in all directions. I wonder how deep she will lay the eggs. I worry as to the location - it’s right on the hotel’s beach area. There will be dozens to hundreds of people here tomorrow morning. How will they survive? I send a prayer to the universe that they will be okay. Nature has to run its course, even as humanity builds giant hotels in its path. I have to hope that life will find a way.

I watch a bit longer until she starts settling in and it seems she’s about to lay her eggs. This is a personal moment. I decide to leave and let her have her moment in peace because she’s already brought me mine.

Life goes on.

And this is what I have found in my travels through Latin America - the blessed unexpected, time and again. Moments that have taken my breath away, and my pain, too. Latin America has healed me. And I have grown so much. I found myself and learned to love myself, even as I see myself age and the wrinkles set in deeper around my eyes with each passing year. I have learned to be grateful for those wrinkles and appreciate every moment I have on this planet, and I have vowed to see as much as I can while I’m lucky enough to be alive. I’ve come to believe that it’s my duty to share it with others, because I know there is healing to be had for all of us in different ways. This was the beginning of my journey; and now, it’s becoming something else. Maybe it’s the beginning of yours, too.

I hope mama turtle and her babies are safe.