Coco and Me

On breakdowns, motor transplants, the open road - and knowing when to keep going

Coco going for a ride

Sitting in my living room last night, about ten of us. Some are sitting on the floor, some on the small purple velvety sofa, and some sprawled out on the bed-turned-into-couch, unaware that the quilt they are resting on is made of love.

Others are cooking as we are baptizing my new Le Creuset pot with a headily fragrant Boeuf Bourguignon.

Leo-the-almost-six-year-old is squirming around, talking about many things; in a while, the teenagers will arrive. Add to the scene several dogs of various colors and much energy, and you have the kind of mayhem that fills my heart.

I love my home with its curved brick ceilings and old lacy curtains, and I love these people. When they come together, my Core Essences purr.

Getting to that point took a few detours.

As I was waiting for a diagnostic on my car at the repair shop two days ago, some thoughts showed up, swirly and asking for attention.

The car topic has been rough these past few months. About a year ago, I bought a “new” car, which seemed to check all the boxes one would want when buying a new/old car. A 2007 Nissan XTerra with very, very few miles. Not great on fuel efficiency (gas is pricey down here) but it had had only one owner who drove it very little and only for three months each year, was always kept in a garage, and it looked brand new. It was relatively well priced, recommended to me by a man who knows a whole lot about anything related to cars locally. It seemed that it would easily give me what I needed from it: allow me to travel with peace of mind.

The car, which I named Coco, had never been on extended trips and last September my friend and I packed the pups and headed to Mexico City. We arrived smoothly, making fun stops along the way, and expected just as easy a trip when returning a month later.

Not so.

Stopping for gas, we were told that the engine was low on oil, which seemed strange. We added a quart, went on our way, only to pretty much run out of oil the next evening in a small village, the motor making ominous ticking sounds.

I will spare you the details of the next few days (they do include a maybe-mechanic making us tea from guava leaves he just picked, and trying to convince us to stay while he fixed the car). I will spare you the various mechanics, opinions, and possibly bad decisions. The waiting, the pondering, the frustration.

I had bought the car with one main request: give me the Essence of Reliability. Its history pointed to just that, and because of this, I was willing to overlook its drinking habit (I may have done this before in other, non-car relationships. But that's another story)

As I stood with my head under the hood with yet one more mechanic, I slowly had to come to terms with the fact that only a new motor was going to get this car running well again.

A new motor. Somehow I did not even know that we could put new motors in cars.

Mama Mexico smiled, knowing she was about to walk me through a new lesson.

Uff.

I did cost comparisons at three in the morning. I filled my son’s ears with my tales of frustration and hesitation. He was always a patient listener, walking through options with me all the way from Hawaii.

I learned that older cars with very few miles are still older cars, with parts that haven’t moved - which does not make them any less old.

I learned that sitting in a garage nine months out of the year and being taken out to drive to Costco and back did not make for the best health; that the open road, especially for this kind of car, was a much healthier life.

I understood all of it very much and took notes that were as much about myself as about Coco. We both need the open road to thrive.

And then, having stared at my cost-comparison sheet once too many times, I entered the world of online engine-buying.

The engine arrived, shiny and heavy, and then I found the person to do the transplant.

I will call him Pedro. A local mechanic, highly recommended by someone I trust. That too, took some Mexican-style pirouettes.

Pedro set up shop in front of my home, on the dirt road under the banana trees, and over the course of a few weeks, sometimes at 11 at night and with a light bulb clipped to the hood of the car, he took out the old engine and replaced it with the new one.

The whole thing kicked my butt.

He was sure of himself, but his attendance was spotty, fraught with varied and creative reasons for not showing up days on end. I learned new words, I found new strength, I dodged the odd flirting, I insisted on things I did not even know existed the day before and was learning through phone calls with my son and friends’ well-timed suggestions (“yes, we must change the motor mounts” - what in the world is a motor mount?) Occasionally, I let myself be talked out of something I had read I should ask for (“Ok … we don’t change the radiator” was one of them)

I ran to my neighbors more than once, wondering out loud if I was doing the right thing, remembering that it was too late to give the question any energy.

Finally, a few weeks ago, while I was working on my patio, I heard Coco’s new motor start. Oh the sweetness of the sound! I sprang out of my seat and looked in awe as the car’s new heart was beating within its chest.

Pedro smiled.

A few more adjustments, a list of what to do and not to do, and I was back on the road, hopefully for a good long time. It had been a setback, it had not been easy, but here I was with a good car that would take me places. Reliability.

I was told that the first 500 miles were crucial to make sure that both the engine was sound and the installation successful. I was paying attention and also driving it daily to get there sooner.

Last week I passed the 500-mile mark and started to relax.

At the 525 miles mark, the car overheated and lost all its coolant.

Tow truck. Repair shop. The gringo kind of repair shop this time. Waiting for a diagnostic in a “proper” waiting room. Having been told it could be bad.

Apparently, it wasn’t that bad. A missing clamp here, a cracked coil housing there, new radiator caps needed for pressure, and then the big one. Can you guess?

A new radiator. Yup.

As I was coming back from the repair shop, I asked myself why this was happening. I often ask myself why things are happening. What was I missing? What was I being shown and unwilling to see?

I found myself really dancing with the “you are being stubborn about this” story. I connected with the “it should not be so hard, this is clearly not the right path” narrative.

I like reading signs, and I try to heed their messages. Was I not doing this? Was I being stubborn?

And then, I remembered my house.

Building this house was one of the biggest lessons of my life. There were several times when I wanted to give up, and one day, when it was raining hard inside, when I really meant it. It was hard, really hard. Some weeks, one blockage after the next. Not always “the flow” I have come to rely on.

But I did become stubborn about it. I climbed the mountains, and I slayed the dragons, and I looked up the words in Spanish. I re-did the shower - and the roof, and the plumbing - twice.

And last night, because I persisted, we had a splendid evening of togetherness in this beautiful home of mine.

As my friend said to me last night, both of us sitting on the purple couch, there is a difference between Stubbornness and Persistence. In French, we call it “acharnement,” and it perfectly depicts a mild form of madness that prevents us from letting go.

How do we know which it is? How do we know when it is time to let go and when it is time to keep going because right there, right around the corner is the prize, the home, the car, the job, the love, the breakthrough?

We often don’t.

And so we do our best. We use our intuition, and we use the knowledge available to us. We ask our friends and those who know more than we do. We look at our track record. We look at our hearts. And then we keep going – or we don't.

Finally, the big one: we trust that no matter what, we will be ok.

In the end, we get to live the chapters, the life. We get to go out onto the open road and live it all, bumps and all.

Because staying parked in the garage is not going to stop our parts from getting older - it’s only going to strip away our joy.

And you know we can’t have that.

***

Next week starts my March Retreat in Coyoacán. Just in time for us to delight in the the Jacaranda trees!

I have four spots left for the November Retreat, just a few days after Dia de Muertos, with many altars still up - but less crowds.

Expect Joy, Inspiration, Delight. As a start.
Would you like to join me?

From time to time I host personal Retreats for women who need a few quiet days to think about their own next chapter. Just you and me for a couple of days. Full focus on you, your Core Essences, your fears and your dreams.
More info.