Written during a trip to Mexico City in January of 2023

I’m a stranger in this place where I have the painful urge to belong.

Day Four in Mexico City. I’m sitting in Parque España with my Airpods in—a trick I usually pull when I want to be left alone in public.

But I don’t want to be left alone.

I’m too ashamed to try to speak to even the friendliest face because I feel like a failure to my own heritage.

There’s a woman sitting on a bench diagonally from me, alone. We will occasionally glance up and catch each other’s eyes. And while my Midwest sensibilities would never allow me to approach a stranger unprompted for a chat (and the fact that—you know—she’s just minding her own business and I don’t want to be a creep or a jerk‚, I’m sad that I couldn’t if I wanted to).

“We have to know about Oprah and Christina”

There’s a scene in Selena where her father rants about how tiring it is to be Mexican-American: “We gotta be more Mexican than the Mexicans; we gotta be more American than the Americans—both at the same time! It’s exhausting!”

Well, Abraham: I’ve got the American thing down-pact. I can do that in my sleep.

While walking around the city, I’ve seen other American tourists, nearly clueless about the language and culture in front of them. You know they’re tourists by hearing them speak or how they walk and whatnot.

And my only thought—my only fear—is that I’m just like them.

Logically, I know this isn’t inherently bad: they’re exploring a new country and culture—a small step towards a better understanding of your fellow humans. I’m quite hopeful for and proud of them.

So why am I so ashamed of myself?

(Side note: as I jot this down in my notebook while sitting on a park bench in Parque España in the heart of CDMX, the song playing over my Airpods is “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot. Aye carae, Navarro.)

Los perros

One thing I’ve noticed is how much dogs are ingrained in the culture here. In CDMX, dogs are everywhere. Dog walkers move about the city with a dozen or so leashes in-hand, wrangling dogs of every size and breed. Owners walk their dogs at all hours of the day, many without leashes. The dogs follow their masters commands with military discipline. They even know how to stop at crosswalks and it does not bother people.

The dogs just know where to go. And they go about the city like it’s theirs.

I wish the dogs could be my guide.

I don’t need to speak to them. They don’t need to understand me. They would just guide me through the city, showing me when I should go and when I should stop, and how to navigate the city with an unbridled confidence to make me feel like I belong.

As with most of life’s challenges, I can look to the dogs for guidance.

Enough is not enough

I didn’t come to CDMX completely unprepared. I practiced basic Spanish so I could order at a restaurant and be courteous to those showing me around and the like. I even downloaded a translation app in case of total communication breakdown.

But asking where the bathroom is or ordering a cocktail doesn’t equate to true human connections.

And, because of that, I feel like I’ve failed.

Sure, I’ve downloaded Babble and listened to podcasts to learn enough—but enough doesn’t allow you to connect with a culture you desperately want to feel like you belong to.

Be like the dogs

I’ve already started looking for a tutor back in the US—someone who can teach me more than to simply make it in Mexico.

I don’t want to make it—I want to live it.

And, while I can blame my parents and grandparents for not teaching me Spanish, the blame ultimately falls on me. I didn’t seek to learn enough. I didn’t take advantage of my educational opportunities enough to better connect with the language and culture I want to live.

And now, officially in my mid-thirties, I’m learning that teaching an old dog new tricks is difficult—but not impossible.

All I need to do is look to the dogs.

All I need to do is learn a new trick—one that will let me fully be who I am and who I want to be.