Getting My Feet Wet
I got up around 7 a.m., eager to start my day in Oaxaca, Mexico. After a quick shower, I headed down to the lobby for breakfast, excited to experience my first meal out of the country. The dining area was quaint, with a lovely outside patio that made the atmosphere feel warm and welcoming. The menu surprised me with its variety—sliced fruits, Chilaquiles, Tlayudas, Enfrijoladas, cereals, and freshly baked Pan. It was a feast for both the eyes and the stomach.
Determined to start my day right, I decided to stick to fruits and veggies as much as possible. I piled my plate with watermelon, guava, honeydew melon, a banana, and an apple. Still, I couldn’t resist a danish, along with some coffee and orange juice. Sitting there, surrounded by the morning chatter and the gentle breeze, I felt nourished in more ways than one. Breakfast was not just a meal—it felt like a celebration of the day ahead.
After finishing, I went back to my room to prepare for the day, buzzing with excitement. I used Google Maps to figure out the route to the Centro Histórico, which was about a 20-minute walk from the hotel. I locked my passport and money in the room safe, grabbed my camera gear, and headed out. The streets greeted me with a rhythm that felt both new and familiar. As I walked, I passed a clinic where people stood in a long line waiting to see a doctor, a scene that I would notice often during my stay.
When I reached the square, the energy was contagious. Families were out in full force—grandparents with grandchildren, mothers holding their daughters’ hands, fathers with their sons. A jogger passed here, a dog walker there. It was all so natural, so alive, and yet it carried a peace that was hard to put into words. I stopped a few times along the way to browse the small shops and cafés that lined the streets. Each one had its own character, its own charm. People greeted me with smiles and polite salutations, their warmth pulling me into the moment.
As I continued down the narrow streets, the vibrant colors of Oaxaca surrounded me. Buildings painted in yellows, blues, pinks, and whites stood as a testament to the city’s spirit. Many windows and doors were framed with decorative iron bars, which I later learned had a long history. These bars, known as rejas, originated during the Spanish colonial period. They were practical, providing both security and ventilation in the warm climate, but they also became a canvas for artistry. Each pattern—flowers, birds, or intricate geometric shapes—told a story. I found it beautiful that something so functional could also be so expressive. These bars, I realized, weren’t a sign of fear or danger; they were a symbol of resilience and creativity, a reminder of how deeply culture and history are intertwined here.
By the time I reached the Centro, I was immersed in the heartbeat of Oaxaca. The square was alive with activity—people strolling, shopping, eating, or simply sitting and soaking in the atmosphere. I pulled out my camera, eager to capture the beauty around me. The architecture, much of it dating back to the 16th and 17th centuries, was breathtaking. I imagined what life must have been like back then when this square was the center of everything. The walls, the gates, the buildings—all of it told a story of a past shaped by conquest and resilience. I couldn’t help but wonder how different history might have been if those who came here had sought harmony instead of domination.
Still, the overwhelming feeling that lingered wasn’t sadness—it was peace. I didn’t hear the sounds of violence or see the tension that had become so familiar back in the States. It was quiet in a way that felt profound, not eerie. There was no fear, no chaos, just people living their lives. I realized how much I had been carrying—a constant undercurrent of anxiety that had followed me for years. Here, in this moment, it was gone. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could truly breathe.
After hours of exploring and taking pictures, I decided to sit down for a cup of coffee. I found a small café in the square, where I was greeted with a kind smile and a menu. I ordered a café Americano and some fresh Pan. The coffee came with frothy milk instead of the cream I was used to, and though it was different, it was just what I needed. I sipped slowly, letting the warmth of the coffee and the life around me sink in. The simplicity of it all—the clinking of cups, the quiet hum of conversation, the laughter of children nearby—was pure joy.
Eventually, hunger crept in, and I made my way to a family-run restaurant I’d discovered the day before. Their salad was fresh, vibrant, and exactly what I was craving. As I ate, my thoughts drifted to the path that had brought me here. A few months ago, I wasn’t even sure if this trip was possible. Now, here I was, fully immersed in a new place, feeling alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
It’s easy to dismiss the power of manifestation as wishful thinking, but I know better. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when you focus your energy, align with your intentions, and trust the process. The key is to want it deeply and vibrate at the frequency of what you desire. Everything I’m experiencing now—this peace, this adventure, this moment—began as a vision I held in my mind and nurtured in my heart. Manifestation is real, but it requires you to show up, to trust, and to let go of the fear that holds you back. Sitting there in Oaxaca, surrounded by the energy of the square, I felt an overwhelming gratitude—not just for where I was but for the journey that brought me here.
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