This whole business of life gets tremendously muddled with time, and leading an intentional life is like leading a group of nervous, loud-mouth travelers through an empty desert to a remote oasis with an unreliable compass. Clarity makes the compass work properly.
On my first morning in Todos Santos, I woke in a small bed, in a room with four other guests, heavy with regret and confusion. What am I doing here? I asked myself.
It squeezes me like it’s trying to make a point. My chest tightens, and a vortex between my lungs twists my insides like a blanket, knotting inward, slouching my shoulders, and constraining my limbs to a point of heaviness. Outside is a foreign country, with stone chapels and high cathedrals, white washed alleyways and cobble …
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