I walked alone along a beach in southwestern Mexico at sunset. The waves smacked the sand as they rolled in from the Pacific. I said hello to a British guy with four dogs. I nodded at a round-bellied Mexican man wearing a Speedo. I smiled at beautiful women. After three weeks in Puerto Escondido, it felt like home.
It had been five months since the toughest breakup I’d ever experienced. Although I had struggled at times, I never went looking for rebound sex and I didn’t jump into the arms of a new woman so that I could feel comfortable again. I didn’t go out and get blind drunk night after night. I didn’t bury myself in work and busyness to avoid the difficult emotions.
Instead, I traveled alone. I spent months in places where I didn’t know anyone and I had to get out of my comfort zone to meet new people.