The Truth About Material Goods (And Why They Don’t Mean Shit)

The hum of the high-tide waves crashing into the seawall is the only sound I hear.
I’m 10 floors up,
in a penthouse, 4-bedroom condo,
overlooking the Pacific Ocean,
in Tijuana.
Just me and my dog,
sleeping in my lap.
I’ve escaped to Mexico
the day of the U.S. presidential election
…for unpolitical reasons.
My heart felt too heavy 32 miles away,
back home,
where a guy lives,
a few short blocks from where I rest my head at night.
I stare at a photo of him,
his eyes piercing me,
and I think about the way he’d look at me while in his bed, our bodies wrapped together.
I think about standing on the street corner yesterday morning,
listening to him tell me
he’s just not ready for a relationship,
and I wish now I had taken off his sunglasses
to stare into his eyes one last time.

I’m here for some adventure I tell myself, some fun.
A chance to explore.
I say tomorrow I will give myself a chance to explore, to travel the unknown,
Not this Tijuana that most don’t see,
where dirt-cheap bars are miles away,
where the roads may still be littered with potholes and dust,
but the complexes are gated and guarded around the clock.

I again focus on the hum of the high-tide waves crashing.
I imagine myself in the water,
like hours before during my solo surf session,
only me and the waves,
no one else in sight.
Then as well as now the waves should soothe me.
The peacefulness and classic beauty of this home in the sky should soothe me.
But instead they’re a reminder of just how alone I am–
10 floors up,
in a penthouse, 4-bedroom condo,
overlooking the Pacific Ocean,
in Tijuana.
Just me and my dog,
sleeping in my lap.
Not even the nicest of homes nor the most stunning ocean view
can distract my mind from what it wants, what it misses.
No material thing can replace that which makes us feel most alive—
human connection.