Published: May 9, 2024

After 24 years together, my husband fell in love with another woman; I had no idea how to rebuild.
I traveled solo to Mexico City to clear my mind and decided to stay.
Three years on, my sole regret is not relocating to CDMX earlier.

The split arrived abruptly. Following 24 years of marriage, my husband revealed he wanted to explore his bisexuality. Our open arrangement had tolerated casual encounters, but his committed relationship with a woman devastated me. He was truly in love.

For my 50th birthday that October, we visited Mexico City. My high school Spanish class made annual trips there, yet my family's finances prevented me from joining. Years of fantasizing about the vibrant metropolis made it the perfect destination, especially as I embraced my new creed: "50 and fuck it."

A month post-trip, he encountered her. Come January, he confessed his love and proposed a polyamorous setup. I had been organizing our 25th anniversary celebration. Should I include her?

I devised a fresh strategy instead.

The Impossible Dream

Our union was already faltering. Casual sex was manageable, but emotional bonds were not. Six months after my birthday, I returned to CDMX alone for a two-week break. Using accumulated airline miles and craving maximum distance, Mexico City was the clear pick.

Tears flowed as I entered the Airbnb. Messaging friends provided solace; it was time to prioritize solutions over sorrow. Brooding in bed offered no progress. I stepped out for a stroll.

It may sound trite, but wandering the streets, I sensed the city's pulse. Urban sprawl had never suited me, yet the constant hum, clamor, and vitality drew me close. Strangely, it soothed my soul.

Near the trip's close, meandering solo through Chapultepec Park - where my ex and I had ambled months prior - I discovered a statue of Don Quixote beside a fountain adorned with hand-painted tiles depicting his tale. Shadows of that prior visit lingered, but gazing at the figure, a single query echoed: What if I pursued my wildest dream?

Two weeks afterward, I exited the Airbnb committed to my slogan. Fuck it. Spanish skills be damned, I would end the marriage and settle in CDMX.

During deliberations, I connected with Uriel, shattering my personal limit of three hookups to prevent emotional ties. We kept contact after I returned to Washington DC, filled three oversized suitcases, and boarded a flight southward.

Disembarking to begin anew, he greeted me at the airport holding a bunch of flowers.

Collecting a New Life

Securing an apartment required a couple of weeks, but Uriel's assistance led to a compact, furnished one-bedroom in a modern complex featuring a gym and rooftop garden - costing roughly one-third of a subpar DC studio - with a six-month lease.

Locals immediately aided my fresh start. A passerby directed me to the closest market, the landlady suggested local eateries, and Uriel familiarized me with buses and the metro. My ex-husband messaged daily, extending support amid his own grief from our long shared history.

The unit included weekly maid service for cooking and cleaning; she embraced me warmly despite our language gap. The landlady and I bonded gradually after she cared for me during an unexpected ailment.

Uriel introduced me to hidden gems known only to residents, absent from tourist guides. He integrated into the fabric making the city feel like home, alongside the housekeeper, landlady, and market sellers who recognized me.

No grand 25th anniversary gathering with longtime companions from my past. Rather, a intimate meal with emerging friends and Uriel.

As the lease expired, my landlady proposed a larger, bare apartment for a modest rent increase. Beyond higher payments, I needed to acquire furnishings and utensils anew. Intimidating, yet the prior space resembled an extended hotel stay. Nothing truly belonged to me. I committed.

Approval of my temporary residency visa sealed it. Rather than constructing a life, I had gathered one from the city's fragments and its inhabitants. This surpassed a prolonged getaway. It was home.

Three years later, I remain. Uriel persists, as do the landlady, housekeeper, and kind acquaintances. The space has expanded, my Spanish improved. When others claim they could never match my boldness, I recall Don Quixote's statue. Occasionally, one must charge at windmills and hunt the unattainable.

Fuck it. Your heart's desire might just await.