No Hay Prisa

Nearly every morning I wake up to the scratch-scratching of brooms. Restaurant workers sweep the dirt off their open air restaurants. Hotel keepers scratch the stone patios of their establishments. In one hour the scratching will stop and the three song overlay of mariachis lamenting lost loves will sound from three different points around the lake. The restaurants are open and ready to serve. This is the sound of Santa Maria waiting.

During the rainy season, business would be considered slow. People filter down from Santa Maria proper throughout the day and more so on the weekend, but mostly restaurants are held in waiting. It is the same for my artesan travel companions. They set up their tables when the restaurants open and close them down when the people leave. Sometimes people buy a necklace or several bracelets, but most of the time is spent sitting and talking in the shade. If the sales go well, we eat in the restaurant. If the sales are slow, we throw rocks at mangos. Such is life here.

Not much is different in Santa Maria proper. The taxis wait for the people who sit across the street in the shade waiting for the taxi. My North American rush-everywhere instincts tell me that somewhere there is a disconnect in communication, but I decide to keep silent and go with the flow, waiting in the shade and writing. Food vendors swat at flies with towels, talking with other food vendors and waiting. Store owners sit on their front steps, smoking or watching the futbol game with other shop owners.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Or maybe it only looks like waiting to a mind trained in movement of progress. In the United States, I was constantly rushing, striving toward that ever distant goal of who knows what with an arrival time of who knows when. I would skip meals to save time, cut out sleep at night for more production. Little by little I chiseled away at the reserves in my body until I would crash for whole days and weekends. None of this left me happy or healthy. I think perhaps there is a secret in this Mexican way of life. Perhaps life is what is important and work just happen-chances along the way.

No hay prisa- there is no rush. I finished my very first piece of woven jewelry yesterday. It took me nearly all day, but I am 100% content with my production rate. My friends and I celebrated the success of my labors with Coca Cola´s in the shade, waiting for the next person to happen-chance upon our handiwork.